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Marco clenched his fist on his thigh and forced himself to calm down. He’d never been so thoroughly and utterly ignored by a date in his life.
So Sasha wasn’t technically his date. So what? She’d arrived with him. She would leave with him. Would it hurt her to try and make conversation with him instead of engaging in an in-depth discussion of the current Premier League?
Slowly unclenching his fist, he picked up his wine glass.
Sasha laughed. The whole table seemed to pause to drink it in—even the two women who had so rudely ignored her so far.
By the time the tables were cleared of their dinner plates he’d had enough.
‘Sasha.’
She smiled an excuse at the older man before turning to him.
‘Yes?’
At the sight of her wide, genuine smile—the same one she’d worn when she’d offered her friendship at Casa de Leon—something in his chest contracted. He forced himself to remember the reason Sasha Fleming was here beside him. Why she was in his life at all.
Rafael. The baby brother he’d always taken care of.
But he isn’t a child any more …
Marco suppressed the unsettling voice. ‘The ceremony’s about to start. You’re presenting the second award.’
Her eyes widened a fraction, then anxiety darkened their depths.
‘Yes, of course. I … I have my speech ready. I’d better read it over one more time, just in case …’ Her hands shook as she plucked a tiny piece of paper from her bag.
Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. ‘Take a deep breath. You’ll be fine.’
Eyes locked onto his, she slowly nodded. ‘I … Thanks.’
The MC took to the stage and announced the first award-giver. Sasha smiled and clapped but, watching her closely, Marco caught a glimpse of the pain in her eyes. Forcing himself to concentrate on the speech, he listened to the story of a four-year-old who’d saved her mother’s life by ringing for an ambulance and giving clear, accurate directions after her mother had fallen down a ravine.
The ice-cold tightening his chest since he’d stepped from the car increased as he watched the little girl bound onto the stage in a bright blue outfit, her face wreathed in smiles. Forcing himself not to go there, not to dwell in the past, he turned to gauge Sasha’s reaction.
She was frozen, her whole body held taut.
Frowning, he leaned towards her. ‘This is ridiculous. Tell me what’s wrong. Now.’
She jumped, her eyes wide, darkly haunted with unshed tears. Her smile flashed, only this time it lacked warmth or substance.
‘I told you, I’m fine. Or I would if I’d remembered to bring a tissue.’
Wordlessly, he reached into his tuxedo jacket and handed her his handkerchief, a million questions firing in his mind.
Accepting it, she dabbed at her eyes. ‘If I look a horror, don’t tell me until I come back from the stage, okay?’ she implored.
It was on the tip of his tongue to trip out the usual platitudes he gave to his dates. Instead he nodded. ‘Agr
eed.’
Marco watched her gather herself together. A subtle roll of her shoulders and a look of determination settled over her features. By the time she rose to present the award her smile was fixed in place.
Watching the lights play over her dark hair, illuminate her beautiful features and the generous curve of her breasts, Marco felt the familiar tightening in his groin and bit back a growl of frustration.
‘As most of you know, Rafael de Cervantes was supposed to present this award to Toby this evening. Instead he’s skiving off somewhere in sunny Spain.’
Laughter echoed through the room.
