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“That’s Marlena. An ex.”
Her heart was racing. “Oh?”
“Not that he ever stays with them for long enough to call them relationships,” Cristoff said with barely-disguised contempt. “Caradoc’s always been more of a wham bam thank you ma’am kind of asshole.”
“Has he?” Finn’s voice was weak. Her chest was tight.
“Surely you’ve come across men like him before? Frankly, I don’t see why any woman would fall for it, but then again, I guess money talks and God knows he’s as rich as Croesus.”
No, that wasn’t it, Finn argued mentally. She wasn’t someone to be impressed by something as inconsequential as wealth. Perhaps the nous he’d shown in doing so well for himself, but not the wealth for its own sake.
“Marlena seems to have more staying power than most, though. He bounces back to her when he’s between flings, and she’s always waiting, ready to welcome him back with open arms.”
Finn felt hot and cold. She had never experienced a panic attack before, but she was pretty certain one was threatening to engulf her.
“They’ll probably get married one day. I mean, look at her. She’s just about gorgeous enough for that arrogant prick. No one less than a supermodel trophy wife will do for him.”
Finn swallowed but her mouth was dry and her tongue was heavy.
“I don’t think he’s as bad as that.”
Cristoff’s laugh was genuine. “I thought you said you were a family friend? Everyone knows what Caradoc’s like. He’s the last man on earth to deny it, too. He’s almost proud of his chauvinism.”
Finn’s fingers dug into Cristoff’s shoulders, and the gesture seemed to penetrate the man’s soliloquy on Caradoc’s failings.
“Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“I’m sorry,” she shook her head, and tears were shimmering in her eyes. She blinked furiously, hating the betraying gesture. “I think I just need some fresh air. Excuse me.”
“Of course; come. I’ll help you.” He put a hand around her waist and led her expertly from the floor. Though couples danced everywhere, their departure was noticeable, at least to one person. Caradoc watched Muller lead Finn out of the ballroom and his gnawing sense of displeasure became a full-blown anger.
“Excuse me,” he said to Marlena, without looking in her direction. He emerged from the ballroom just in time to see the fluffed skirts of Finn’s dress disappear through the rotating door that led to the prestigious streetscape beyond.
What the hell?
“You’re German?” She said numbly, when they emerged onto the cold street. Christmas lights sparkled overhead, and she was dimly aware of a suited footman just to their left.
“Ja,” he grinned. “At least, I grew up there.” He put an arm around her for warmth as they walked down the steps.
Finn switched effortlessly into his language, “Where exactly?”
“My family has a chateau on the Rhine – just outside of Basel.”
“How beautiful,” she said truthfully, though a large part of her brain was still trying to process this man’s description of Caradoc. But why did it bother her so much? That he had a history, and with someone like Marlena, was inevitable. Caradoc was gorgeous, sexy, rich, handsome – he was like a drug, and there was no way Finn was the only addict on earth. In fact, she’d put money on any woman who’d been in his arms feeling exactly the same crushing need she did.
So what came next? What came after the inevitable, crushing departure of this larger-than-life man?
“And you’re full of surprises! You speak German very well. Your accent is excellent.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her green eyes staring down the street. If she had been asked to describe what she thought Manhattan would be like, it would have matched this scene perfectly. Hundreds of yellow cabs beetled haphazardly down the wide boulevard and the buildings glowed with golden warmth on the wintry night. As if just remembering it was cold, Finn wrapped her arms around her waist
and thought longingly of her coat, checked safely in the elegant hotel.
“Did you study there?”
She angled her face back to Cristoff. Did she study where? “Oh, in Germany? No.” A dark figure strode out of the hotel room and without looking left or right, moved towards them as though he had a censor on her or something. Finn watched him approach with an ache deep in her gut.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Seraphina? You look very pale.” He employed his native language out of convenience.
