Latin Lovers: A Convenient Bridegroom / In the Spaniard's Bed / The Martinez Marriage Revenge

‘I have never been dishonest with you.’

She felt sick inside, a dreadful gnawing emptiness that ripped away any illusions she might have had that affection and caring on his part were enough.

Without a further word she turned and walked towards the front door, released the locking mechanism, then took the few steps necessary to reach the bank of lifts.

Please, please let there be one waiting, she silently begged as she depressed the call button.

The following twenty seconds were among the longest in her life, and she gave an audible sigh of relief when the heavy stainless steel doors slid open.

Aysha stepped inside and turned to jab the appropriate floor panel, only to gasp with outraged indignation as Carlo stepped into the cubicle.

‘Get out’

Dark eyes lanced hers, mercilessly hard and resolute. ‘I can drive you, or follow behind in my car.’ The ruthlessness intensified. ‘Choose.’

The lift doors slid closed, and the cubicle moved swiftly down towards the car park.

‘Go to hell.’

His smile held little humour. ‘That wasn’t an option.’

‘Unfortunately.’

The flippant response served to tighten his expression into a grim mask, and his anger was a palpable entity.

‘Believe you wouldn’t want me to take you there.’ His drawl held a silky threat that sent shivers scudding down the length of her spine.

The doors whispered open, and without a word she preceded him into the huge concrete cavern. Her car was parked next to his, and she widened the distance between them, conscious of her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

Carlo crossed to the Mercedes, unlocked the passenger door, and held it open. ‘Get in.’

Damned if she’d obey his dictum. ‘I’ll need my car in the morning.’

His expression remained unchanged. ‘I’ll collect you.’

Aysha felt like stamping her foot. ‘Or I can have Teresa drop me, or take a cab, or any one of a few other options.’ Her eyes were fiery with rebellion. ‘Don’t patronise me, dammit!’

It had been a long night, fraught with moments of sheer anger, disillusionment, and introspective rationalisation. None of which had done much to ease the heartache or the sense of betrayal. Each of which she’d examined in detail, only to silently castigate herself for having too high an expectation of a union based solely in reality.

Worse, for allowing Nina’s deviousness to undermine her own ambivalent emotions. Nina’s success focused on Aysha’s insecurity, and it irked unbearably.

Carlo watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features and divined each and every one of them.

‘Get in the car, cara.’

His gentle tone was almost her undoing, and she fought against the sudden prick of tears. Damn him. She wanted to maintain her anger. Lash out, verbally and physically, until the rage was spent.

Conversely, she needed his touch, the soothing quality of those strong hands softly brushing her skin, the feel of his mouth on hers as the sensual magic wove its own spell.

She wanted to re-enter the lift and have it transport them back to his apartment. Most of all, she wanted to lose herself in his loving, then fall asleep in his arms with the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

Yet pride prevented her from taking that essential step, just as it locked the voice in her throat. She felt raw, and emotionally at odds.

Did most brides suffer this awful ambivalence? Get real, a tiny voice reminded her. You don’t represent most brides, and while you have the groom’s affection, it’s doubtful he’ll ever gift you his unconditional love.

With a gesture indicating silent acquiescence she slid into the passenger seat, reached for the safety belt as Carlo closed the door, and fastened it as he crossed in front of the vehicle. Seconds later he fired the engine and cruised up the ramp leading to street level.

‘Call your parents.’

Aysha reached into her purse and extracted the small mobile phone, and keyed in the appropriate digits.

Giuseppe answered on the third ring. ‘Aysha? Something is wrong?’

‘No, Papà. I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes. Can you fix security?’

Thank heavens it wasn’t Teresa who’d answered, for her mother would have fired off a string of questions to rival the Spanish Inquisition.

Aysha ignored Carlo’s brief encompassing glance as the car whispered along the suburban street, and she closed her eyes against the image of her mother slipping on a robe in preparation for a maternal chat the instant Aysha entered the house.

A silent laugh rose and died in her throat. At this precise moment she didn’t know which scenario she preferred... The emotive discussion she’d just had with Carlo, or the one she was about to have with Teresa.

Aysha had no sooner stepped inside the door than her mother launched into a series of questions, and it was easier to fabricate than spell out her own insecurities.

She justified her transgression by qualifying Teresa had enough on her plate, and nothing could be achieved by the confidence.

‘Are you sure there is nothing bothering you?’ Teresa persisted.

‘No, Mamma.’ Inspiration was the mother of invention, and she used it shamelessly. ‘I forgot to take the samples I need to match up the shoes tomorrow, so I thought I’d come home.’

‘You didn’t quarrel with Carlo?’

Quarrel wasn’t exactly the word she would have chosen to describe their altercation. ‘Why would I do that?’ Aysha countered.

‘I’ll make coffee.’

All she wanted to do was go to bed. ‘Don’t bother making it for me.’

‘You’re going upstairs now?’

‘Goodnight, Mamma,’ she bade gently. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Gianna and I will meet you for lunch tomorrow.’ She mentioned a restaurant. ‘I’ll book a table for one o’clock.’

She leaned forward and brushed lips to her mother’s cheek. ‘That sounds nice.’

Without a further word she turned and made for the stairs, and in her room she slowly removed her clothes, cleansed her face of make-up, then slid in between the sheets.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘I’LL be there in half an hour,’ Carlo declared as Aysha took his call early next morning. ‘Don’t argue,’ he added before she had a chance to say a word.

Conscious that Teresa sat within hearing distance as they shared breakfast she found it difficult to give anything other than a warm and friendly response.

‘Thanks,’ she managed brightly. ‘I’ll be ready.’ She replaced the receiver, then drained the rest of her coffee. ‘That was Carlo,’ she relayed. ‘I’ll go change.’

‘Will you come back here, or go straight into the city?’

‘The city. I need to choose crockery and cutlery for the house.’ Pots and pans, roasting dishes. Each day she tried to accumulate some of the necessities required in setting up house. ‘I may as well make an early start.’

In her room, she quickly shed shorts and top and selected a smart straight skirt in ivory linen, added a silk print shirt and matching jacket, slid her feet into slim-heeled pumps, tended to her hair and make-up, and was downstairs waiting when Carlo’s Mercedes slid to a halt outside the front door.

Aysha drew a calming breath, then she walked out to the car and slipped into the passenger seat. ‘There was no need for you to collect me,’ she assured him, conscious of the look of him, the faint aroma of his cologne.

‘There was every need,’ he drawled silkily as he sent the car forward.

‘I don’t want to fight with you,’ she said ingenuously, and he spared her a swift glance.

‘Then don’t.’

A disbelieving laugh escaped her throat. ‘Suddenly it doesn’t seem that easy.’

‘Nina is a woman who thrives on intrigue and innuendo.’ Carlo’s voice was hard, his expression an inscrutable mask.

Oh, yes, Aysha silently agreed. And she’s so very good at it. ‘She wants you.’

‘I’m already spoken for, remember?’

‘Ah, now there’s the thing. Nina abides by the credo of all being fair in love and war.’

‘And this is shaping up as war?’

You’d better believe it! ‘You’re the prize, darling,’ she mocked, and incurred his dark glance.

‘Yours.’

‘You have no idea how gratifying it is to hear you say that.’

‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’ Carlo slanted her a slight smile, and she raised one eyebrow in mocking acquiescence.

‘Shall we change the subject?’

He negotiated an intersection, then turned into Rose Bay.

‘I’ve booked a table for dinner tonight. I’ll collect you at six.’

They’d had tickets for tonight’s première performance by the Russian corps de ballet for a month. How could she not have remembered?

The remainder of the short drive was achieved in silence, and Carlo deposited her beside her car, then left as she slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche.

City traffic was horrific at this hour of the morning, and it was after nine when Aysha emerged onto the inner city street.

First stop was a major department store two blocks distant, and she’d walked less than half a block when her mobile phone rang.

She automatically retrieved the unit from her bag and heard Teresa’s voice, pitched high in distress.

‘Aysha? I’ve just had a call from the bridal boutique. Your headpiece has arrived from Paris, but it’s the wrong one!’

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. It had taken a day of deliberation before making the final choice... How long ago? A month? Now the order had been mixed up. Great. ‘OK, Mamma. Let’s not panic.’

Her mother’s voice escalated. ‘It was perfect, just perfect. There wasn’t another to compare with it.’

‘I’ll go sort it out.’ A phone call from the boutique to the manufacturer in Paris, and the use of a courier service should see a successful result.

Aysha should have known it couldn’t be that simple.

‘I’ve already done that,’ the boutique owner relayed. ‘No joy, unfortunately. They don’t have another in stock. The design is intricate, the seed pearls needed are held up heaven knows where, and the gist of it is, we need to choose something else.’

‘OK, let’s do it.’ It took an hour to select, ascertain the order could be filled and couriered within the week.

‘That’s definite,’ the vendeuse promised.

Now why didn’t that reassure her? Possibly because she’d heard the same words before.

An hour later she had to concede there were diverse gremlins at work, for the white embroidered stockings ordered hadn’t arrived. The lace suspender belt had, but it didn’t match the garter belt, as it was supposed to do.

Teresa would consider it a catastrophe. Aysha merely drew in a deep breath, ascertained the order might be correctly filled in time, decided might wasn’t good enough, and opted to select something else with a guaranteed delivery.

It was after midday when she collected the last carry-bag and added it to the collection she held in each hand. Shoes? Did she have time if she was to meet Teresa and Gianna at Double Bay for lunch at one? She could always phone and say she’d be ten or fifteen minutes late.

With that thought in mind she entered the Queen Victoria building and made her way towards the shoe shop.

It was a beautiful old building, historically preserved, and undoubtedly heritage-listed. Aysha loved the ambience, the blend of old and modern, and she admired a shop display as she rode the escalator to the first floor.

She’d only walked a few steps when an exquisite bracelet showcased in a jeweller’s window caught her eye, and she paused to admire it. The gold links were of an unusual design, and each link held a half-carat diamond.

‘I’m sure you’ll only have to purr prettily in Carlo’s ear, and he’ll buy it for you.’

Aysha recognised the voice and turned slowly to face the young woman at her side. ‘Nina,’ she acknowledged with a polite smile, and watched as Nina’s expression became positively feline.

She took in the numerous carry-bags and their various emblazoned logos. ‘Been shopping?’

Aysha effected a faint shrug. ‘A few things I needed to collect.’

‘I was going to ring and invite you to share a coffee with me. Can you manage a few minutes now?’

The last thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with Nina... with or without the coffee. ‘I really don’t have time. I’m meeting Teresa and Gianna for lunch.’

‘In that case...’ She slid open her attaché case, extracted a large square envelope and slipped it into one of Aysha’s carry-bags. ‘Have fun with these. I’m sure you’ll find them enlightening.’ Closing the case, she proffered a distinctly feline smile. ‘Ciao. See you tomorrow night at the sculpture exhibition.’

Given the social circle in which they both moved, their attendance at the same functions was inevitable. Aysha entertained the fleeting desire to give the evening exhibition a miss, then dismissed the idea. Bruno would never forgive their absence.

Aysha caught the time on one of the clocks featured in the jeweller’s window, and hurriedly made for the bank of escalators.

Five minutes later she joined the flow of traffic and negotiated a series of one-way streets before hitting the main arterial one that would join with another leading to Double Bay.

Teresa and Gianna were already seated at a table when she entered the restaurant, and she greeted them both warmly, then sank into a chair.

‘Shall we order?’

‘You were able to sort everything out with the bridal boutique?’

It was easier to agree. Afterwards she could go into detail, but right now, here, she didn’t want Teresa to launch into a long diatribe. ‘Yes.’

‘Bene.’ Her mother paused sufficiently long for the waiter to take their order. ‘You managed to collect everything?’

‘Except shoes, and I’m sure I’ll find something I like in one of the shops here.’ Double Bay held a number of exclusive shops and boutiques. ‘I’ll have a look when we’ve finished lunch.’

It was almost two when they emerged onto the pavement, and Aysha left both women to complete their shopping while she tended to the last few items on her list.

A rueful smile played at the edges of her mouth. In a little over a weeek all the planning, the shopping, the organising... it would all be over. Life could begin to return to normal. She’d be Aysha Santangelo, mistress of her own home, with a husband’s needs to care for.

Just thinking about those needs was enough to send warmth coursing through her veins, and put wickedly sensuous thoughts in her head.

During the next two hours she added to the number of carry-bags filling the boot of her car. The envelope Nina had slid into one of them drew her attention, and she pulled it free, examined it, then, curious as to its contents, she undid the flap.

Not papers, she discovered. Photographs. Several of them. She looked at the first, and saw a man and a woman embracing in the foyer of a hotel.

Not any man. Carlo. And the woman was Nina.

Aysha’s insides twisted and began to churn as she put it aside and looked at the next one, depicting the exterior and name of a Melbourne hotel, the one where Carlo had stayed three weeks ago when he’d been there for a few days on business. Supposedly business, for the following shot showed Carlo and Nina entering a lift together.

Aysha’s fingers shook as she kept flipping the photographs over, one by one. Nina and Carlo pausing outside a numbered door. About to embrace. Kissing.

The evidence was clear enough. Carlo was having an affair... with Nina.

Her legs suddenly felt boneless, and her limbs began to shake. How dared he abuse her trust, her love... everything she’d entrusted in him?

If he thought she’d condone a mistress, he had another think coming!

Anger rose like newly ignited flame, and she thrust the photographs back into the envelope, closed the boot, then slid in behind the wheel of her car.

There were many ways to hurt someone, but betrayal was right up there. She wanted to march into his office and instigate a confrontation. Now.

Except she knew she’d yell, and say things it would be preferable for no one else to overhear.

Wait, an inner voice cautioned as she negotiated peak hour traffic travelling the main east suburban road leading towards Vaucluse.

The car in front braked suddenly, and only a split-second reaction saved her from running into the back of it.

All her fine anger erupted in a stream of language that was both graphic and unladylike. Horns blared in rapid succession, car doors slammed, and there were voices raised in conflict.

Traffic banked up behind her, and it was ten minutes before she could ease her car forward and slowly clear an intersection clogged with police car, ambulance, tow-truck.

Consequently it was after five when she parked the car out front of her parents’ home, and she’d no sooner entered the house than Teresa called her into the kitchen.

‘I’ll be there in a few minutes,’ Aysha responded. ‘After I’ve taken everything up to my room.’

A momentary stay of execution, she reflected as she made her way up the curved staircase. The carry-bags could be unpacked later. The photographs were private, very private, and she tucked them beneath her pillow.

She took a few minutes to freshen up, then she retraced her steps to the foyer. The kitchen was redolent with the smell of herbs and garlic, and a small saucepan held simmering contents on the ceramic hotplate.

Teresa stood, spoon in hand, as she added a little wine, a little water, before turning to face her daughter.

‘You didn’t tell me what happened at the bridal boutique.’

Aysha relayed the details, then waited for her mother’s anticipated reaction. She wasn’t disappointed.

‘Why weren’t they couriered out? Why weren’t we told before this there might be a problem? I’ll never use that boutique again!’

‘You won’t have to,’ Aysha said drily. ‘Believe me, I’ve no intention of doing a repeat performance in this lifetime.’

‘We should have used someone else.’

‘As most of the bridal boutiques get all their supplies from the same source, I doubt it would have made a difference.’

‘You don’t know that,’ Teresa responded sharply. ‘I should have dealt with it myself. Can’t they get anything right? Now we learn the wedding lingerie doesn’t match.’

‘I’m sure Carlo won’t even notice.’

Teresa gave her a look which spoke volumes. ‘It doesn’t matter whether he notices or not. You’ll know. I’ll know. And so will everyone else when you lift your dress and he removes the garter.’ The volume of her voice increased. ‘We spent hours selecting each individual item. Now nothing matches.’

‘Mother.’ Mother was bad. Its use forewarned of frazzled nerves, and a temper stretched close to breaking point. ‘Calm down.’ One look at Teresa’s face was sufficient to tell a verbal explosion was imminent, and she took a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘I’m just as disappointed as you are, but we have to be practical.’ Assertiveness probably wasn’t a good option at this precise moment. ‘I’ve already chosen something I’m happy with and they’ve guaranteed delivery within days.’

‘I’ll check it out in the morning.’

‘There’s no need to do that.’

‘Of course there is, Aysha.’ Teresa was adamant. ‘We’ve put a great deal of business their way.’

If she stayed another minute, she’d spit the dummy and they’d have a full-scale row. ‘I haven’t got time to discuss it now. I have to shower and change, and meet Carlo in less than an hour.’

It was a cop-out, albeit a diplomatic one, she decided as she quickly ascended the stairs. Differences of opinion were one thing. All-out war was another. Teresa was Teresa, and she was unlikely to change.

Damn Nina and her Mission. She was a bitch of the first order. Desperate, and dangerous.

The worst kind, Aysha determined viciously as she stripped off her clothes and stepped beneath the cascade of water.

Five minutes later she emerged, wound a towel around her slender curves and crossed into the bedroom bent on selecting something mind-blowing to wear.

Dressed to kill. What a marvellous analogy, she decided. One look at her mirrored reflection revealed a slender young woman in a black beaded gown that was strapless, backless, with a hemline that fell to her ankles. A long chiffon scarf lay sprawled across the bed and she draped it round her neck so both ends trailed down her back.

Make-up was, she determined, a little overstated. Somehow it seemed appropriate. Warriors painted themselves before they went into battle, didn’t they? And there would be a battle fought before the night was over. She could personally guarantee it.

Teresa was setting the table in the dining room. ‘Mamma, I’m on my way.’

Was it something in her voice that caused her mother to cast her a sharp glance? When it came to maternal instincts, Teresa’s were second to none. ‘Have a good time.’

That was entirely debatable. Dinner à deux followed by an evening at the ballet had definitely lost its appeal. ‘Thanks.’

Fifteen minutes later she garaged her car in the underground car park, then rode the lift to Carlo’s apartment. The envelope containing the photographs was in her hand, and the portrayed images on celluloid almost scorched her fingers.

He opened the door within seconds, and she saw his pupils widen in gleaming male appreciation. A shaft of intense satisfaction flared, and she took in the immaculate cut of his dark suit, the startling white cotton shirt, the splendid tie.

The perfectly groomed, wildly attractive fiancé. Loving, too, she added a trifle viciously as he drew her close and nuzzled the sensitive curve of her neck.

The right touch, the expert moves. It was almost too much to expect him to be faithful as well. His love, she knew, would never be hers to have. But fidelity... That was something she intended to insist on.

‘What’s wrong?’

Add intuitive, Aysha accorded. At least some of his senses were on track. She moved back a step, away from the traitorous temptation of his arms. It would be far too easy to lean in against him and offer her mouth for his kiss. But then she’d kiss him back, and that wouldn’t do at all.

‘What makes you think that?’ she queried with deliberate calm, and saw his eyes narrow.

‘We’ve never played guessing games, and we’re not going to start now.’

Games, subterfuge, deception. They were one and the same thing. ‘Really?’

His expression sharpened, accentuating the broad facial bone structure with its strong angles and planes. ‘Spit it out, Aysha. I’m listening.’

Aysha rang the tip of one fingernail along the edge of the envelope. Eyes like crystallised smoke burned with a fiery heat as she thrust the envelope at him. ‘You’ve got it wrong. You talk. I get to listen.’

He caught the envelope, and a puzzled frown creased his forehead. ‘What the hell is this about?’

‘Hell is a pretty good description. Open the damned thing. I think you’ll get the picture.’ She certainly had!

His fingers freed the flap and she watched him carefully as he extracted the sheaf of photos and examined them one by one.

His expression barely altered, and she had to hand it to him... He had tremendous control. Somehow his icy discipline had more effect than anger.

‘Illuminating, wouldn’t you agree?’

His gaze speared hers, dark, dangerous and as hard as granite. ‘Very.’

Her eyes held his fearlessly. ‘I think I deserve an explanation.’

‘I stayed in that hotel, and, yes, Nina was there. But without any prior knowledge or invitation on my part.’

How could she believe him when Nina continued to drip poison at every turn?

‘That’s it?’ She was so cool it was a wonder the blood didn’t freeze in her veins.

‘As far as I’m concerned.’

‘I guess Nina just happened to be standing outside your room?’ She swept his features mercilessly. ‘I don’t buy it.’