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Her eyes brightened before cooling. ‘Am I still expected to stick to our pact?’
‘Of course. We have an agreement, cariño.’ He leaned forward to place his cheek against hers, inhaling the scent of faded vanilla. ‘Nothing has changed.’
Inside, though, he knew that everything had changed.
If he had any kind of decency, he would make their pact void.
They would stay together, he decided, until the renovations were complete. He would give her all the support he could to see it through to its conclusion. They would work together, just as he should have insisted in their marriage’s first incarnation.
The simple truth was that he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. Not yet.
He never had been.
A whispering voice inside him told him he never would be.
CHAPTER TEN
CHARLEY STOOD IN her dressing room, nose wrinkling as she tried to decide what to wear. If she was going to the centre she would wear something casual, which food and paints could be splattered all over. Dressing for a day in Raul’s HQ required an entirely different form of dress. It required the kind of attire she’d shunned since she’d left him.
High-powered business outfits left her cold.
So far she’d mixed and matched anything suitable she could find but was quickly running out of options.
She sighed. She supposed she should take a shopping trip to stock up. Mixing and matching wouldn’t see her through the four months she was supposed to be at Raul’s side learning the ropes of business she’d shunned all those years ago.
Why had she shunned his advice?
Had she really been so scared that allowing him to help would give him undeniable proof of her stupidity? The sad answer to that was yes. She had been scared. She hadn’t wanted to give him evidence that she was less than perfect.
She’d been honest about her past and lack of education but had tried to romanticise it, to insist she had the know-how and savvy to build her own business. She’d tried to convince herself as much as him, starting her businesses with bags of enthusiasm. But she’d been faking it.
The sad fact, one she’d never been able to bring herself to admit, was that business left her as cold as the high-powered suits she’d worn. Working at Poco Rio made her feel warm.
Hearing movement in the bedroom, she turned and found Raul with a pile of papers in his arms. He’d risen early, long before she’d hauled herself out of bed.
He put the papers on her dressing table and handed the top sheet to her. ‘Here’s a list of my schedule for the next month. The dates highlighted are when I won’t need the helicopter. You’re welcome to use it on those dates to get to and from Valencia.’
She eyed him warily. She’d thought during their meal at the pizzeria last night that they were reaching an understanding, that his time at the centre had softened his attitude towards her. He’d been quick to put her straight on that.
Nothing has changed, he’d said.
And while their lovemaking when they’d returned home had been long and tender, that counted for nothing. Raul was nothing if not a generous lover. Even when he hated her.
‘Are you saying I can work at the centre?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be glued to your hip?’
A glimmer of a smile curled on his lips. ‘I would much rather have you glued to a different part of my anatomy.’
She couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped and she almost responded with, ‘So would I.’ Almost.
As he’d said only the evening before, nothing had changed. He hadn’t entirely reclaimed his humanity, not when he still had her in his bed as a form of punishment.
‘I’ve been on the phone to Pierre Binoche,’ he said, referring to the interior designer he used for his hotels and cruise liners, ‘and have arranged a meeting with him at the end of the month at the new building. I assume you will want to be there?’
‘Pierre’s going to do the interior design?’ she asked in amazement. ‘That’s incredibly good of you but, really, it’s not necessary. Once all the renovations are done, all we’ll need to do is give the place a lick of paint.’
‘Pierre won’t be discussing colour charts; he’ll be looking to create the right mood for the centre. He’ll take your lead, cariño.’
‘Really?’
‘You know the brief better than anyone. Think of it as PR. His name will help in the awareness drive we’re going for.’
‘There is that,’ she conceded. This, on top of the fundraising cruise trip, would raise so much awareness and funds for the children she felt like pinching herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream.
