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‘As if I could forget,’ said Tristan tonelessly, still looking at the picture.
The casual observer probably wouldn’t notice the person, standing shoulder to shoulder with Tristan, who had been cropped out of the picture. They would be far more likely to look at Nico, Juan Carlos’s youngest son, standing at the front, and remark on the openness of his expression, the infectious charm of his smile.
They would, of course, never suspect what it had cost his older brother to keep it there. ‘Bueno. Talking of which…’ Juan Carlos leaned back in his chair and looked at Tristan speculatively ‘…I am pleased to see that there haven’t been so many unfortunate photographs of you cavorting with unsuitable women in the press lately. I thought that when you gave up that pointless Oxford degree and came to work for the bank that you were ready to apply yourself to your duty as a Romero, but I have been bitterly disappointed by your conduct over the years. Perhaps at last you are beginning to take your responsibilities more seriously?’
Turning to leave, Tristan gave a short, ironic laugh. ‘You could say that.’
‘Not before time. You need to settle down, Tristan. I hope you’re not forgetting the reception tomorrow, after our meeting tomorrow with the European finance committee. Sofia Carranzo will be there. Such a charming girl.’
‘By which you mean wealthy, well-bred and Catholic,’ Tristan said scathingly.
Juan Carlos’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hardly need remind you of your duty to make a good marriage. Provide an heir.’
Tristan paused with his hand on the door. ‘No. As a matter of fact you don’t,’ he said quietly.
‘So you’ll be there?’ Juan Carlos pressed. ‘Good. I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ll be there.’
As he passed Luisa on the way out Tristan smiled. In a funny way he was quite looking forward to it too.
The light of the short autumn afternoon was fading as the car wound its way through the traffic into the centre of Barcelona. Giving up on the book she had chosen for the journey—Cervantes’ Don Quixote—Lily sat back in her seat and stared out into the brightly lit shop fronts and cafés, trying to keep her breathing slow and even.
She had no idea where she was being taken, since the enquiries she had made in basic Spanish to the menacing-looking driver who had hauled her bags into the back of the car had been met by a stone wall of silence. Despite the gloom he wore a pair of dark glasses and from beneath these an angry scar ran down his cheek to the corner of his unsmiling mouth.
Lily shivered. There was something intimidating, hostile, in his unresponsiveness that did nothing to dispel the nervous tension that had dogged her since she’d stepped into the plush interior of Tristan’s private jet in Rome. The fact that Tristan hadn’t bothered to come and meet her himself added a frisson of anger to the apprehension and terrible, treacherous excitement that churned inside her at the thought of seeing him again.
Pregnancy hormones, she told herself firmly. He’d made it quite clear in London what the terms of their marriage would be and she had taken the only option that left her with a shred of dignity. She couldn’t accept the alternative, but as the moment of meeting him drew closer she couldn’t think how she was going to live with her choice either…
The huge black car slid through streets that grew increasingly narrow, increasingly empty, and Lily twisted the diamond ring on her finger anxiously as she craned out into the gloom, searching for landmarks to give her a clue as to where they were. No one knew she was here, she thought as fear began to prickle at the back of her neck. Maybe the car wasn’t sent by Tristan at all, she thought with a thud of horror. Maybe she was being kidnapped by someone who had somehow learned that she was engaged to the heir to the Romero billions…Maybe Tristan was even now receiving a ransom note, demanding a huge sum for her safe release…
Folding her shaking hands protectively across her softly rounded stomach, Lily bit her lip, trying to stamp out the flare of panic that leapt inside her.
No matter how much the demand, the Marqués de Montesa could afford to pay it, she thought with an attempt at self-mockery. This was the man who went to parties by helicopter and sent five carat diamonds by post. But he doesn’t love me, whispered an unpleasant, persistent little voice in her head. That’s the flaw in the kidnapper’s plan. The baby and I are a problem, an inconvenience, and if I were to disappear…
The car stopped. Lily jumped, her eyes widening with alarm as she saw that they were in a narrow street squeezed between very high, very old buildings. Beside the car there was an archway, its mouth yawning blackly in the gloom. Her pulse went into overdrive. The taciturn chauffeur got out, his footsteps ringing on the stone flags, echoing off the tall walls around them, keeping time with the hammering of Lily’s heart as she sat, bolt upright and trembling, in the back of the car. A moment later he opened the door and stood back.
Lily gave a little gasp of terror as she glimpsed a man standing in the shadows of the archway. Instinct told her to get out of the car, that she might still have a chance to run for it, and she stumbled to her feet just as he stepped forward into the dying grey afternoon. He was tall, lean, powerfully built, but even in the gloom there was no mistaking the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the sensual mouth.
‘Tristan!’
The breath seemed to catch in her throat, so that the word came out as a strangled croak, and suddenly she was in his arms, burying her face in the hardness of his chest as relief flooded her. He smelled clean and warm and she breathed in the scent, waiting for the wild crashing of her heart to steady. It didn’t.
From deep in the pit of her stomach she felt bolts of heat shoot along her nerve endings as his hands closed over her shoulders, firm and powerful.
‘What an unexpectedly enthusiastic welcome,’ he drawled with quiet mockery. ‘Do I take it you’ve reconsidered your decision about the nature of our marriage?’
‘No!’ she exclaimed, blushing hotly as she stepped away from him, folding her cashmere wrap tightly around her and hugging herself to stop the trembling that racked her body. ‘I’m just glad that it’s you and not some cold-blooded kidnapper with a gun and a ransom demand.’ Suddenly the fear of a moment ago felt suddenly silly and childish. ‘I didn’t know where we were going, and your driver wasn’t very forthcoming.’
‘Dimitri’s Russian. He doesn’t speak any English, or much Spanish.’ Tristan turned to him and spoke briefly in rapid, flawless Russian, which brought a flicker of a smile to Dimitri’s lugubrious features. ‘He’ll take care of your bags. We go on foot from here.’
Lily had to almost run to keep up with his long, rapid stride.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To church.’
‘Church? The church where we’re getting married?’
‘Of course.’
A shiver rippled down her spine, excitement mixed with apprehension as the reality of what they were doing edged a little closer. They were walking along a narrow street, just a passageway between ancient buildings, and Tristan was walking slightly ahead of her, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his black jacket, his collar turned up, demons at his back.
Just looking at him made Lily’s legs feel weak.
Another stone archway blocked out the remains of the light for a moment, and then suddenly they were in an open space again, a small square hemmed in on all sides by a jumble of ancient buildings, all crammed together as if supporting each other. In the centre stood a hexagonal fountain, and trees stretched their branches up to the pewter sky.
‘Oh!’ Lily stopped, looking around. Apart from a couple drinking coffee at one of the tables of the bar of the hotel in one corner, the square was empty. The only sound was the gentle trickle of water from the fountain, the soft crooning of pigeons. It was like stepping through a magic doorway, into another time.
Her gaze returned to where he stood beside a huge and ornately decorated doorway set into a wall of pockmarked stone and she smiled. ‘It’s lovely—so perfect and romantic.’
The words were met with a mocking twist of his mouth. ‘Romantic?’ he repeated sardonically, pushing open a small door set into the tall, imposing entrance. ‘I never really thought of it that way before.’
‘Really? You do surprise me,’ said Lily dryly, glancing up at him from under her lashes as she stepped through the door he held open for her. For a moment he scowled down at her, and then he gave her a reluctant smile.
‘Don’t push your luck, Señorita Alexander,’ he murmured. ‘And remember what I said. If you play with fire…’
‘I haven’t forgotten.’
Lily followed him into a cavernous space with a high domed ceiling. Her eye was immediately drawn past the rows of wooden pews to the dramatic edifice that rose up behind the altar, of gilded and polished marble pillars supporting a row of angels with their magnificent wings unfurled, and life-sized saints in various attitudes of dramatic supplication. Wrapping her arms around herself Lily walked slowly forward, looking around, trying to imagine what it would be like on the day of their wedding…
