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‘Xander—’
‘There won’t be any paps around, if that’s what you’re worried about.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not.’
His face became unusually thoughtful. ‘Are you worried about those absurd drug charges?’
She froze. In the midst of falling in love with a man she could never have she’d shoved all thoughts of her upcoming trial to the back of her mind. They flooded back now. ‘Absurd or not, they’re real.’
He nodded. ‘Do you have any idea who put the hook into you?’
‘No, but thanks for not assuming I’m guilty.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Please—you go green if anyone so much as mentions taking an aspirin. You could be the poster child for a universal anti-drug campaign.’
‘That doesn’t give me any idea of who did it.’
He eyed her silently for several seconds, making her heart race.
‘Xander...?’
‘I’m not pointing fingers, but perhaps you need to look closer to home for the culprit. And I mean home in the literal sense.’
Her heart lurched. ‘Are you sure?’
He shrugged. ‘All I’m saying is explore that avenue thoroughly.’ He jumped up and pecked her on the cheek. ‘Now, doll yourself up. It’s time to par-tay.’
About to refuse again, she paused.
She was in love with a man she’d wronged beyond forgiveness. In the middle of the night, racked with pain and guilt, she’d toyed with calling Tatiana to find out where he was. In the end she’d decided the best thing to do was to give him his space.
There would be time for nursing her broken heart later. Once she was far away from here.
She’d achieved what she’d set out to do for Bastien—salvage his ad campaign. To cause tongues to wag now would undo all the good she’d done, and refusing to attend the party would do just that.
‘Okay, I’ll come.’
Xander whooped on his way out, his fingers flying over the keyboard of his phone.
She chose a designer outfit that was more of a tunic than a dress. Its large sleeves covered her arms, but the bold, colourful, striped dress stopped at mid-thigh. Hoping it lent her an urgently needed vibrancy, she cinched it with a bronze diamante-studded belt and bronze high heels. Leaving her hair loose, she expertly applied her make-up and headed downstairs.
The trip to Montreux took less than half an hour.
The Hotel Suisse’s Belle Epoque private dining suite had been reserved exclusively for their use. Appreciative murmurs went through a crowd who, even used to working in an industry of blatant wealth, weren’t used to such extravagance.
Ana tried to feel joy in her surroundings but failed miserably. Desolation crashed over her, closely followed by the pain she felt every time she thought of Bastien.
She loved him. He would never love her.
But, with time, would he love another? Jealousy, hot and fierce, seared her at the thought of him married, perhaps raising children with another woman. By the time that happened—please God—she’d be at the opposite end of the earth with no access to newspapers or television. Because Ana didn’t think she could stand it. She couldn’t stand thinking about it now—
‘Hey, Ana, my Twitter fans are asking about you. You want to say something to them?’ Xander shoved his phone under her nose.
She froze, the familiar wave of shame gripping her as she stared at the phone.
‘Type in any message you want.’
She took the phone and carefully typed in five letters, feeling a quiet sense of triumph when she succeeded. Xander looked at the screen.
