HELEN BIANCHIN - Public Marriage, Private Secrets

Gianna derived immense pleasure in providing warm and friendly service. Something which had earned her a loyal and select client base.

She’d made the boutique her life, constantly searching for unusual items to attract her customers. She also provided a comprehensive catalogue, and maintained a constantly updated Web page to showcase upcoming imports and deliveries.

The fact she’d achieved it on her own, with loan funds from the bank, was a source of pride. Monthly amounts paid by Raúl directly into a separate bank account remained untouched.

Work had become all-involving, filling her waking hours. Her focus was now, and the immediate future.

There were a few good friends, but, while she occasionally socialised, she didn’t date. Dinner and pleasant conversation didn’t include an automatic agreement for consensual sex at evening’s end. At least not in her book.

She tried…she really did. Her friends meant well. They wanted to see her happy, content, with a regular man in her life who cared.

‘ He’s wonderful — a real gentleman ’ didn’t hold true, she had discovered to her cost.

‘You’ll adore him, he’s so charming…’ Uh-huh—if you enjoyed the obsequious type.

No matter how well-intentioned, their efforts failed. Or perhaps she failed…for moving on from Raúl wasn’t happening.

He was there, his physical image so easily summoned to mind she almost expected to see him, and occasionally felt the breath catch in her throat whenever she sighted a tall, broad-shouldered male whose stance at first glance seemed achingly familiar. Followed by a heart-lurching few seconds when everything within her peripheral vision froze into a fixed tableau…until she glimpsed his profile and saw the face of a stranger, and her personal world returned to its normal kilter.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chastised in self-castigation. There was work to do. Stock to arrange. Deliveries to check. And her clientele. A business to run.

Busy was good. A steady flow of people wanting assistance ensured there was little time in which to think or reflect, and Gianna welcomed Annaliese, the part-time assistant who helped out in the boutique from ten-thirty to four, seven days a week.

It was an employment arrangement that worked well, and had done so for the past two years.

Attractive, intelligent, sunny-tempered, with a droll sense of humour, Annaliese was a superb salesperson and, importantly, dedicated.

‘Hi. One double-shot skim latte for madame. ’

Delivering coffee, hot and strong, had become a welcome habit Annaliese had initiated during the first week of her employment.

‘Thanks.’ Gianna’s gratitude was genuine, and Annaliese offered a warm smile as she took the capped takeaway cup to the small back room. ‘Busy morning?’

The day brought several customers into the boutique. There were the serious buyers, and those who merely browsed, as well as a few regulars.

It was almost five when Gianna checked the sales register. The recorded total revealed a satisfactorily high figure…sufficient to warrant ordering replacement stock. Something she’d tend to prior to closing time.

A faint prickle began at her nape and slipped down her spine as she cut the phone connection to her supplier with bare minutes to spare before she was due to walk out through the door.

The electronic door buzzed, and she summoned a pleasant smile…only to have it freeze with shock at the sight of the man entering the boutique.

His powerful frame appeared no less imposing than she remembered, and his dark hair gleamed beneath the artificial lighting, emphasising broad-boned facial features, a strong jaw, wide cheekbones, the Mediterranean skin tone…and eyes so dark they appeared almost black.

Raúl.

Ex-lover, estranged husband…and a man she had fervently hoped never to see again.

Dear heaven. What was he doing here?

For a startling moment she was flung back to a time when her life had been everything she could want it to be.

Until it had all fallen apart in those wretched few months following her miscarriage, when the pain of grief had wrought such havoc.

He’d phoned, and when she had refused to take his calls he’d arrived on her doorstep, demanding she return with him to Madrid.

Except she’d stood her ground, wanting time and space alone…and he’d left, assuring her the next move had to be hers.

‘Nothing to say, Gianna?’

The slightly accented drawl curled round her nerve-ends and brought her crashing back to reality as she took in his etched features.

Eyes as dark as sin, with tiny lines fanning out from the edges. Vertical grooves bracketing each cheek, which seemed slightly deeper and more clearly defined.

She lingered a little too long on his mouth…The sensual curve revived a host of memories she fought hard to control. Vivid, primitive…so much so she could almost feel the touch of his lips, the wicked sweep of his tongue.

Oh, God. The silent despairing groan remained locked in her throat. Don’t go there.

It took all her effort to tilt her head a little and summon a wry smile.

‘What would you have me offer? Hello, how are you? seems…’ She paused deliberately.

‘Inadequate?’

‘Incredibly banal,’ Gianna concluded, and saw his eyes darken.

‘Now, there’s an interesting word.’

She glimpsed a muscle bunch above the edge of his jaw and felt a moment of satisfaction as she enjoyed the small visible sign of his tension.

Even though she wore high heels Raúl still towered above her, and she tilted her head in order to align her eyes with his.

‘What brings you here?’

‘Australia? The Gold Coast in particular?’ he drawled, and she swept an arm to encompass the boutique.

‘Here.’

One eyebrow lifted in cynical query. ‘To see you.’

‘A phone call would have taken care of whatever you have to say.’

‘If you chose to take my call.’

Would she have? She still had his name on her caller register. So she could pick up or ignore if he rang. He hadn’t, but she’d felt the need to have the option.

‘I can’t imagine anything being sufficiently important to warrant your personal appearance.’

He looked at her carefully, examining her slender form…more slender than he remembered. Pale features beneath the skilled touch of light make-up, the almost undetectable shadows beneath her brilliant blue eyes. The deep-beating pulse at the base of her throat.

Not so calm beneath her projected persona, Raúl detected with a degree of satisfaction.

‘No?’

She couldn’t quite restrain the faint edge to her voice. ‘There’s nothing you could say that I want to hear.’

At that moment the door buzzer sounded, and it took her a few seconds to ignore the silent as if I need this now? before she turned towards the entrance.

‘Excuse me? Are you still open?’

Raúl inclined his head towards Gianna in silent query, admiring her switch to polite composure as she summoned a smile and moved forward to greet the customer.

‘Is there anything I can help you with?’

‘The large red bowl in the window display. As soon as I saw it I knew it would be perfect.’

‘Exquisite, isn’t it?’ Gianna relayed with professional ease. ‘Imported Venetian glass.’ She crossed to the display and carefully removed the item. The ticket price was clearly visible and, although expensive, the woman didn’t hesitate.

‘I’ll take it.’

Gianna produced a warm smile. ‘Is it a gift? Would you like it gift-wrapped?’

‘If it’s no trouble.’

‘It’ll be a pleasure.’ It took only minutes to extract the appropriate box and carefully package the bowl, select wrapping paper, ribbon and effect an elegant bow.

With deft movements the task was completed, credit card swiped, a signature attached to the slip, and a very satisfied customer expressed gratitude as Gianna accompanied her to the entry, wished her good evening, then carefully locked the glass doors.

‘Do whatever needs to be done, then we’ll leave.’

‘We?’ Gianna queried with deliberate emphasis as she crossed to the sales counter. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

‘I think you will.’ His voice held a dangerous silkiness, and her eyes sharpened into deep blue shards.

The thought of sharing time with him and pretending to make polite conversation was the last thing she wanted to do.

‘Give me one reason why I should.’

He didn’t prevaricate or lead into it gently…just a single word, aware that it would get her attention as no other would. ‘Teresa.’

Gianna’s eyes widened, only to cloud with concern at the mention of his mother. For it had been Teresa Velez-Saldaña who had welcomed her son’s lover with affection, fondly sanctioned the marriage and wept genuine tears at the loss of their child.

A very special woman, who’d kept wise counsel when Gianna had left Madrid, and who’d chosen to remain in contact at regular intervals…warm, quirky missives despatched in a continued bid to maintain their close bond, including an open invitation for Gianna to visit at any time.

Letters to which Gianna had responded with caution at first, managing to overcome her initial reserve only as the months passed with no mention of Raúl’s name.

Her stomach clenched in pain at the thought Teresa might be ill, injured or…heaven forbid…worse.

‘No.’

‘No what ?’ Gianna demanded trenchantly, unbearably irked that he still retained the ability to read her mind. Somehow she’d imagined, hoped, she had acquired an impenetrable façade in the past few years.

Apparently not.

For a long moment she simply looked at him, silently daring him to shift his gaze. Except he didn’t, and she became conscious of the pulse at the base of her throat kicking into a quickened thud.

Every cell in her body seemed to blaze into life, and she hated that he knew.

‘Tell me, dammit.’

His eyes darkened measurably. ‘A few weeks ago Teresa was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.’

For a few seemingly long seconds she was lost for words. ‘Teresa made no mention of illness in any of her letters,’ she managed at last—for affection, trust and mutual respect had developed into a genuinely warm friendship between both women. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Yes, I believe you are.’ His eyes held her own, and she almost swayed at the intensity of his gaze. ‘Enough,’ he continued quietly, ‘to fulfil one of her dearest wishes?’

She schooled her voice to remain calm in spite of the premonition that she wasn’t going to like what he intended to say. ‘If it’s possible,’ she managed with instinctive caution.

‘Teresa has requested the pleasure of your company.’

Gianna froze, the colour leaching from her cheeks, revealing starkly pale features as she contrived to control the onset of nerves threatening to play havoc with her emotions.

‘In Madrid?’ An unnecessary query, when she already knew the answer before he could confirm it.

‘Initially.’

MADRID.

The city where Raúl resided and ruled his late father’s multibillion-dollar consortium.

A silent scream rose and died in her throat at the mere thought of seeing him, pretending politeness whenever he visited to spend time with Teresa.