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Rio frowned. ‘We need to get out of the car, Evie.’
Evie didn’t budge. ‘You don’t write to Santa, you hate decorations, you don’t like snow, you won’t ice skate—there must be something you like about Christmas. Turkey? Meeting up with friends? What’s the best thing about Christmas for you?’
The door was opened by his security chief and a blast of cold air entered the car.
Rio stared at her for a long moment, his face unsmiling. ‘The best thing about Christmas for me is when it’s over,’ he gritted. ‘Now, get out of the car and smile.’
‘So the rumours are true, Rio? You’re engaged? You do realise you’ve just ruined every single woman’s Christmas, and half the married ones, too?’ Tabitha Fenton-Coyle stroked her long red fingernails over his sleeve. ‘Tell me what it is about her that induced a hardened cynic like yourself into marriage.’
‘You need to ask?’
‘Well, she’s pretty, of course, in a slightly unsophisticated way that a man might find appealing—’ There was a flinty glint in Tabitha’s eyes and Rio turned his head and noticed Evie laughing uninhibitedly with the two Russian billionaires, both known for their arrogant refusal to speak English at social events. They were taciturn, remote and notoriously unapproachable and yet both appeared to be listening to Evie with rapt attention.
How was she making herself understood?
From across the table, Rio tried to hear what she was saying. She was chatting non-stop, her hands moving as she illustrated her point. Occasionally she paused to sip champagne or listen to their response.
‘Clever of you to find a woman who speaks Russian,’ Tabitha said, ‘given your business interests in that country. Is that how you met? Is she an interpreter or something?’
Evie spoke Russian?
Unable to hear her above the noise from the surrounding tables, Rio focused his gaze on her lips and realised that she was indeed speaking Russian.
His hostess was watching him. ‘You didn’t know, did you? Well, if she can persuade them to open their wallets when the charity auction begins, then she’ll certainly get my vote.’
Where had Evie learned to speak Russian?
Why hadn’t she mentioned it when he’d told her that Vladimir didn’t speak good English and that she wouldn’t be able to communicate without an interpreter? And then he remembered her responding that she wouldn’t need an interpreter. At the time he’d assumed she’d meant that she’d be using sign language and lots of smiles—not once had it occurred to him that she spoke fluent Russian.
Coffee was served as the auction began and there was a sudden flurry of movement as people swapped seats.
Her cheeks pink with excitement, Evie swayed to her feet and found her way to the seat next to him. ‘I’m having such a nice time. Those men are so sweet. You should have mentioned how funny they were.’
Rio tightened his grip on the glass. ‘Just as you should possibly have mentioned the fact that you’re fluent in Russian.’
‘You were being arrogant and I thought it would be more fun to just surprise you. I thought it might teach you not to underestimate people.’ Craning her neck, she looked over his shoulder towards the stage and the dance floor. ‘What’s happening now?’
Rio fingered the stem of his glass. ‘I do not underestimate people.’
‘Yes, you do. But you probably can’t help it,’ she said kindly. ‘Is there going to be dancing?’
‘It’s the auction first. The bidding will raise money for the charity.’ Rio was still watching her. ‘Do you speak any other languages?’
‘French, Spanish and Mandarin. So am I allowed to bid for something?’
‘You speak four languages?’
‘Five, if you count English. How much am I allowed to bid?’
‘You don’t speak Italian?’
‘No.’ She helped herself to a chocolate from the plate. ‘That CD was always out of the library whenever I looked.’
Rio shot her an incredulous look. ‘You taught yourself all those languages?’
‘I’m good at languages. I taught myself the basics and then there was a teacher at school who helped me and I had a friend who spoke Mandarin and Russian.’ She was looking across the room. ‘Don’t look now but there’s a huge Christmas tree next to the stage—you’d better close your eyes or it will probably give you a nervous breakdown. I’m surprised you didn’t phone ahead and ask them to remove it.’
Still absorbing the fact that she spoke five languages, Rio dragged his gaze to the stage and saw the Christmas tree. She was right; it was huge—a massive symbol of the unspeakable horrors of his childhood. There was a rushing sound in his ears and suddenly the voices around him seemed far away. Instead of staring at glittering baubles, he was staring into a deep, dark black hole. Memories formed pictures in his brain, taking on shapes he didn’t want to see, like a gruesome kaleidoscope. That hideous morning. The discovery he’d made. The shock. And the emptiness.
