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The words died on her lips when the woman reappeared, holding a long dress under protective covering. ‘Let’s try this, shall we? And go from there.’
Afterwards, when Leonora was changing back into her clothes, she had to admire the skill of the stylist. They hadn’t had to go anywhere after that first, perfect dress. Leonora scowled at that. She didn’t want a perfect dress. She wasn’t like other wide-eyed brides, believing in love and happy-ever-after. Her marriage was a business transaction, pure and simple. Gabriel was going to provide a dowry to save her family and she would bear him heirs to continue his line.
So why, when she had stood on the raised dais in the shop and looked in the mirror, had she felt ridiculously emotional?
Was it because she knew it was the perfect dress for a real wedding? Because in spite of everything she wished this was a real wedding?
Just because she trusted Gabriel Torres, she’d be a monumental fool to hope that trust would become something more substantial. If anything, what he’d told her about his parents only gave her more insight into why he was so self-contained. He’d had to learn from a young age to depend on himself. At no point had he mentioned love, wanting it or needing it.
She was still feeling a little raw when she walked back into the main area of the wedding boutique, and she wasn’t at all prepared to see Gabriel sitting on one of the dusky pink chairs, reading a newspaper. He should have looked ridiculously out of place, but of course he didn’t.
He looked up when she emerged, and immediately he frowned, standing up. ‘What is it? Did something happen?’
She realised she must be still scowling and she forced a smile. ‘Nothing is wrong. Everything is...fine.’
The stylist came out behind her, immediately fawning. ‘Señor Torres, what an honour. Is there anything we can get for you?’
He glanced at the stylist, and then back at Leonora, a small smile playing around his mouth, as if he knew exactly the turmoil he caused in her heart and her gut and it amused him. She fought not to scowl again.
The stylist was saying, ‘Purchases can be delivered to wherever you like.’
He said, ‘Have everything but the wedding dress delivered to my castillo. After all, that’s where you’ll be living from next week—isn’t that right, querida?’
Leonora felt dizzy at that reminder. But she refused to show it.
She went over and slipped her arm through his. ‘Yes, of course it is, mi amor.’ She wanted to see him as off-balance as she felt.
His jaw clenched, but instead of feeling a sense of satisfaction that she’d got to him, all she felt was an ache near her heart.
He thanked the stylist and then took Leonora’s hand in his, entwining his fingers with hers, and led her out of the boutique to the street. She slipped on her sunglasses, wanting some kind of armour against Gabriel.
He stopped outside the shop and looked at her. ‘You weren’t lying when you said you didn’t like the idea of me buying you clothes.’
Leonora’s heart thumped. ‘It’s not that. I’m very grateful—and I know I have to maintain a certain standard. I’ve just got used to doing without all the fuss and anxiety about what’s fashionable and what’s not...’
He made a non-committal sound and then he said, ‘There’s one more place I need to take you.’
He was walking down the street at a brisk pace before she could ask him where they were going. She saw women doing double-takes—men too, for that matter—as they cut through the shoppers. Leonora felt dowdy in her jeans and plain shirt and suddenly lamented that fact, in spite of her words to Gabriel. Right now she wished she was wearing something more flattering. And her hair was still in a rough bun, after the stylist had asked her to put it up to see how the veil would look.
‘Where are we going?’ She hoped it wasn’t somewhere too public.
‘My bank.’
Leonora rolled her eyes behind her glasses. Only someone like Gabriel could actually say my bank and literally mean his bank. The bank that he owned.
The ornate façade of Banco Torres, one of Spain’s oldest financial institutions, used mainly now as an investment bank, rose up before them at the end of the street. And Leonora couldn’t help but be intimidated as they went through the revolving door into the hushed exclusivity of the marble foyer. Classical statues were dotted around the space. Huge paintings hung on the walls. Presumably Gabriel’s ancestors.
A woman approached them, beautiful and sleek in a dark suit. ‘Señor Torres, the item you requested is ready in the vault.’
‘Thank you.’
Still holding Leonora’s hand, Gabriel led her over to where a uniformed security guard was holding an elevator for them. They got in and it went down to the basement level. They were met there by another sleek employee, male this time. He led them through open steel doors and into a long room filled with security boxes. There was a box on the table, and after unlocking it he left them alone.
Gabriel said, ‘This is the family vault.’
Leonora looked around. ‘Oh...’ Their family vault had been cleaned out by her father.
Gabriel let her hand go and went over to the box, opening it up. He lifted out a tray and laid it down in front of Leonora. She sucked in a breath. It was a tray full of sparkling rings. Antique rings. Sapphires, rubies, diamonds.
