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‘The inquisition is over for now. But I reserve the right to pursue it at a later date.’
‘And I reserve the right not to participate in your little witch hunt. I read the small print and signed on the dotted line. I know exactly what’s expected of me and I intend to honour our agreement. You can either let me get on with it, or you can impede me and cause us both a lot of grief. Your choice.’
She sailed out of the room, head held high. Just before the door swung shut Sasha suspected she heard a very low, very frustrated growl emitted by a very different bull stag from the one hanging on the wall.
Her smile widened as she punched the air.
Marco didn’t come back for dinner. Even after Rosario told her he’d gone to his office in Barcelona Sasha caught herself looking towards the door, half expecting him to stride through it at any second.
Luke had dropped off the engine testing results, which she’d pored over half a dozen times in between listening out for the sound of the helicopter.
Catching herself doing so for the umpteenth time, she shoved away from the table, ran upstairs to her suite and changed into her gym clothes.
Letting herself out of the side entrance, she skirted the pool and jogged along the lamplit path bordering the extensive gardens. Fragrant bougainvillaea and amaranth scented the evening air. She breathed in deeply and increased her pace until she spotted the floodlights of the race track in the distance. Excitement fizzed through her veins.
A few hours from now she’d start her journey to clear her father’s name. To prove to the world that the Fleming name was not dirt, as so many people claimed.
Fresh waves of sadness and anger buffeted her as she thought of her father. How his brilliant career had crumbled to dust in just a few short weeks, his hard work and sterling dedication to his team wiped away by vicious lies.
The pain of watching him spiral into depression had been excruciating. In the end even his pride in her hadn’t been enough …
Whirling away from her thoughts, and literally from the path, she jogged the rest of the way to the sports facility half a mile away and spent the next hour punishing herself through a strenuous routine that would have made Charlie, her physio, proud.
Leaving the gym, Sasha wandered aimlessly, deliberately emptying her mind of sad memories. It wasn’t until she nearly stumbled into a wall that she realised she stood in front of a single-storey building. Shrouded in darkness, it sat about half a mile away from the house, at the far end of the driveway that led past the villa.
About to enter, she jumped as the trill of her phone rang through the silent night.
Hurriedly, she fished it out, but it went silent before she could answer it. Frowning, she returned it to her pocket, then rubbed her hands down her arms when the cooling breeze whispered over her skin.
Casting another glance at the dark building, she retraced her steps back to the villa. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floors.
‘Where the hell have you been?’
Marco’s voice was amplified in the semi-darkness, drawing her to a startled halt. He stood half hidden behind one of the numerous pillars in the vast hallway.
‘I went to the gym, then went for a walk.’
His huge frame loomed larger as he came towards her. ‘The next time you decide to leave the house for a long stretch have the courtesy to inform the staff of your whereabouts. That way I won’t have people combing the grounds for you.’
There was an odd inflection in his voice that made the hairs on her neck stand up.
‘Has something happened?’ She stepped towards him, her heart taking a dizzying dive when he didn’t answer immediately. ‘Marco?’
‘Sí, something’s happened,’ he delivered in an odd, flat tone.
He stepped into the light and Sasha bit back a gasp at the gaunt, tormented look on his face.
‘Rafael … It’s Rafael.’
CHAPTER FIVE
FEAR pierced through her heart but she refused to believe the worst. ‘Is he …?’ She swallowed and rephrased. ‘How bad is it?’
Marco shoved his phone into his pocket and stalked down the hall towards the large formal sitting room. Set between two curved cast-iron balconies that overlooked the living room from the first-floor hallway, a beautifully carved, centuries-old drinks cabinet stood. Marco picked up a crystal decanter and raised an eyebrow. When she shook her head, he poured a healthy splash of cognac into a glass and threw it back in one quick swallow.
A fire had been lit in the two giant fireplaces in the room. Marco stood before one and raked a hand through his hair, throwing th
e dark locks into disarray. ‘He’s suffered another brain haemorrhage. They had to perform a minor operation to release the pressure. The doctors …’ He shook his head, tightly suppressed emotion making his movements jerky. ‘They can’t do any more.’
