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“Oh. Um.” She bit her lip, lowering her gaze, feeling the smiling gaze of others around them at the table. “Good.”
Lola wondered what he’d say if she told him about Ulrika’s accusation. Surely, Rodrigo would laugh. Yes. He’d laugh. Then they’d both laugh together.
And yet, she couldn’t force the words out. Because she was scared of what would happen. Scared of what he’d say.
Lola remembered again that man on the beach. Walking alone, without any apparent reason to be there. Or any way of getting there, unless he’d climbed over the cliffs jutting out into the ocean. Why would anyone do that?
Unless he was paid.
Unless it was his job.
How easy would it be to hire an actor willing to do underhanded work for exceptionally high pay? Especially for a billionaire who happened to own an international conglomerate of television networks and film studios?
“Lola? Did you hear me?”
She blinked up at Rodrigo,
sitting beside her in the hotel’s grand ballroom in the center of Madrid. “Yes, I mean, no. What did you say?”
He looked at her like she was crazy. “I’ve decided I’ll go with you and the baby to New York for Thanksgiving.”
An unexpected smile lifted her lips. “You will?”
“If nothing else, I can use the time to negotiate with Cristiano Moretti for a deal with his hotels.” He grinned. “Though I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt that,” she said faintly.
“You’re going to tell me that I work too much. That Thanksgiving is a time for friends and family.”
“Yes. Exactly.” She turned away, reaching for her tiny handbag so he couldn’t see her expression. “I’ll let Tess know to expect us.”
As she sent a message on her phone, the ballroom lights suddenly became brighter, as guests began to take their leave. With a deep breath, she looked up at her devastatingly handsome husband, sitting beside her, barely acknowledging people’s congratulations as they passed by. His dark gaze was focused only on her.
“Shall we take advantage of the housekeeper watching Jett tonight, and go to the after-party?” Leaning forward to tuck hair behind her ear, he whispered huskily, “Or would you rather go home?”
Lola tried to pull away. To keep her body from responding to his touch. To be guarded and cold. To protect herself, just in case her worst fears were true.
But she couldn’t.
“Home,” she breathed, searching his gaze.
“Good.” Her husband cupped her cheek, his dark eyes lazy as he gave her a sensual smile. Exactly, Lola thought with a shiver, like a cat would look at the mouse in its claws.
* * *
“You’re sure this is it?” Lola said nervously, juggling their whining baby in her arms.
Rodrigo stopped ahead of her down the hall, pushing the empty stroller. Double-checking the number, he looked back at her.
“There are only two on the penthouse level,” he said, waiting for her to catch up. “This is it.”
Lola saw the number clearly on the door, and felt foolish. But then, she’d felt foolish a lot today.
After their five-day trip to Madrid, they’d left for New York later than planned yesterday. Jett had been fussy on the plane. He was teething, which made the baby irritable and unable to sleep, which made him miserable. Which made his parents miserable, too.
They’d woken up exhausted that morning in Rodrigo’s luxurious SoHo loft, cranky and tired from a transatlantic flight followed by a sleepless night. Her husband had suggested they let the baby sleep in that morning, and the two of them enjoy the time in bed.
But Lola had dreamed of seeing the New York Thanksgiving Day parade since she’d watched it on television with her mother, long ago, and then later, when her mother worked on that day, with her little sisters. She was determined that their baby’s first holiday season would be magical, starting with this Thanksgiving weekend in New York.
