His arrogant grin confirmed this opinion before he even opened his mouth. ‘Robert has kindly agreed to let us take a little trip on one of his yachts. Just the two of us. It’s my anniversary present for you.’
* * *
Rosa was glad Nico had declined Robert’s offer of a golf-buggy to drive them back to their villa. She needed fresh air to think, and this clear, warm night with a delicious breeze from the ocean was the perfect setting to do just that. Well, it would be if she was alone, not walking by the side of the man who had put her in such a pickle.
‘Are you not going to remove your shoes?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your crippling shoes.’ Nico stopped and nodded at her feet.
‘Right. Yes. You’re right.’ Her head was full of so much confusion she had completely forgotten her feet were killing her. Of course now he had mentioned it she felt the full force of her shoes’ constriction and quickly took them off. But not before debating stamping on his foot first.
Why did he have to display proper concern at the moment when she wanted nothing more than to bodily harm him?
‘When are you going to start scolding me?’ he asked, with a definite hint of anticipation.
‘What’s the point?’ She shrugged tightly. ‘You’re clearly one step ahead of me.’
When Nico had made his announcement he had placed his hand on her thigh and squeezed it gently. To the casual observer it would have been a sign of affection. To Rosa it had been a warning.
He had been counting on her not making a scene and, goddamn him, he had counted correctly.
She would sooner cut her thumbs off than have a scene in public—or a scene anywhere, for that matter.
And so she had smiled sweetly and thanked Nico and Robert for the lovely, thoughtful gesture. At the same time she had placed her own hand on Nico’s thigh. She had tried hard not to notice the muscular strength as she dug her nails in as hard as she could and said, ‘You conniving bastard,’ in Russian.
He had translated this to the rapt Kings as, ‘You are a wonderful husband.’ At least Robert had looked rapt. Rosa’s one small consolation was that Laura’s immovable face had looked positively sulky.
How she had longed to lash out at him properly—still longed to. How dared he manipulate her in such a fashion?
The fury racing through her was only matched by the tendrils of excitement unfurling in her stomach—tendrils she wanted to find scissors for and snip dead.
All these emotions were terrifying. The only way she could cope was to suck it up and ride it out. In no way, shape or form would she allow Nico to glean how deeply he’d affected her.
Was this how hormonal teenagers felt? Rosa had never been a proper hormonal teenager. Not for her the lashing out or falling off the rails that befell so many other adolescents. Who had there been for her to lash out at? The one person she had really wanted to kick out at, namely her mother, hadn’t been there. Her mother had gone. No forwarding address. No Rosa.
Now the additional translators made sense. Nico could whisk her off for the day without affecting the contract schedule and everyone would think how romantic he was.
This one gesture more than any other killed the annulment idea stone-dead.
She would suck it up. It was only for one day. She could cope with Nico for one day.
‘Did you bring a bikini?’
‘No.’ And if she had she wouldn’t wear it in front of him.
‘Why not?’
‘We are supposed to be here to work, not go day-tripping on a yacht.’
‘We are in one of the most beautiful locations in the world. Surely you brought some clothes to relax in?’
With the exception of a couple of dresses, the clothes she had brought were decidedly practical. She mentally ran through her wardrobe, trying to think of something suitable she could wear for a day’s cruising.
‘Never mind,’ he said, interrupting her private musings. ‘I’ll arrange for a member of staff to bring a bikini for you from the resort boutique.’
‘Can you make sure it’s a burkhini?’ she could not resist saying. She would bet Nico had never seen cellulite. At least not in the flesh.
‘What is that?’
‘Never mind.’ She sighed. ‘Go ahead. Do what you like. You generally do.’
‘You’re learning.’
They had arrived back at the villa. Nico dug his hand into his pocket for the key.
‘Is your neck still hurting?’ he asked as he unlocked the door, holding it open for her.
‘Yes. And, no, I don’t want a massage, thank you.’ Her throat caught and she turned her face away. It shouldn’t have surprised her that he had noticed something wrong with her neck—Nico noticed everything. Yet it had. His simple concern had touched her in a way she could hardly bear to think about.