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Granda looked torn between approval and annoyance. “Where, indeed? He’s gone off someplace, I don’t know where, and a hell of a time for him to go, right before the wedding.”
Before I could protest, Ian slid in smoothly. “I sent him, Granda. The Finacci account is in jeopardy, and you know how good Marcus is at soothing ruffled feathers.”
“The Finaccis? They’re one of our oldest customers—why would they have ruffled feathers?” He paused for a moment, and annoyance crossed his face. “Stupid question—of course it was you.”
“Finacci wanted a ridiculous price. I simply told him no. I was very polite, but I managed to rile him anyway.”
“I’ve seen your attempts at being polite.” Granda gave a ghost of a laugh. “What price did he want?”
Ian mentioned a number, though I had no idea whether it was bad or good. Granda frowned. “Serves him right then. What’s Marcus going to do?”
“What Marcus does best—flirt and flatter until Finacci is begging to pay us more. My brother is a consummate charmer—how else would he have won his beautiful bride?”
I was so tempted to drop my plate onto his lap, but I simply nodded. “So true,” I murmured.
“Which part—that’s he a charmer or that you’re beautiful?” Ian said.
“Both. I don’t take credit for my looks—it’s a fluke of nature, and I just count my blessings,” I said airily. In fact, it was Bella’s hard work that turned me into a stunner—beneath the designer clothes lurked Cinderella, plain old Podge, minus a few pounds, minus the glasses.
“You know what you should do,” Granda said suddenly. “You should take Bella out on the town. It would teach Marcus a lesson not to leave his fiancée alone.”
“Hardly. I sent him away—if I turned around and poached his fiancée, he would be rightfully pissed.”
“It’s because you sent him away that you should take her. You know Bella has an insatiable craving for nightlife. Take her dancing down at the taberna. We can’t have our Bella growing bored.”
Ian gave a long-suffering sigh. “All right,” he said. “Unless ‘our’ Bella has changed her ways and would now prefer a quiet night at home.”
That screwed me, and I wondered if he knew. If I claimed I’d rather stay home at night, I’d be adding more fuel to the fire of his suspicions. But if I went out with him...
He was watching me, too closely, and I tossed back my head in a patented Bella gesture. “You’re not my idea of a perfect date.”
“Neither are you. Take your choice—come down to Max’s Taberna for a bit of nightlife or curl up with a fashion magazine.”
He knew Bella far too well, even down to her choice of reading material. It was a challenge, one I’d be stupid to accept. But then, I hadn’t been making overly bright choices for quite a while.
“Max’s Taberna sounds wonderful,” I said, flashing Ian a defiant smile. “How soon do you want to leave?”
“How soon can you be ready?” He countered my bluff, but I simply preened.
“Half an hour.” I rose and gave Granda a kiss on his paper-soft cheek. “See you in the morning.”
“Indeed.” But the old man looked pleased. I wasn’t quite sure why—as far as he was concerned, I was successfully tied to his older grandson. There was no need to throw me at the younger one who’d always despised the woman I was pretending to be.
“I’ll have the car waiting,” Ian said.
Bella’s wardrobe didn’t include anything for dancing at the taberna, and the best I could find was a form-fitting dress that clung a little too closely to my curves. It was cut too low in the front, but I yanked it up, hoping my breasts would hold it there, grabbed a sweater and some gold hoop earrings, and made it downstairs in twenty minutes.
Of course, Ian was already waiting. He barely glanced at me, and I told myself his lack of reaction was a relief. After all, I knew what I looked like in the mirror, and it was good enough for me.
He, of course, was looking gorgeous in black pants and a shirt rolled up at the elbows, and I remember Max’s Taberna was more working class than high society. I was overdressed, but it was too late to do anything about it.
He flew down the mountain at his usual breakneck speed, and I slid back in my seat, occasionally tugging at my neckline to make sure I was properly demure. He said nothing, which was just fine with me—I had nothing to say to him.
It was a busy night at Max’s—cars were parked haphazardly all around the low white building, and music and light poured forth with all the energy and gaiety of the Spanish people I loved so well. I could feel my pulse quicken as I climbed from the car, and I gave my neckline one last tug.
“Enough,” Ian said in sudden disgust, and a moment later I found myself pushed against the car. “That fucking dress is not a turtleneck no matter how much you pull at it. You’ve got glorious boobs, but I think I can restrain myself.” He yanked the dress into place, showing a great deal of cleavage, and it took everything I had to keep from quickly covering myself like a nervous virgin. Fuck him. I straightened my back and looked him in the eye.
“You can keep your hands off my glorious boobs, thank you very much.”
