“I’ve met them,” she reminded with an urge to laugh, because it was such a gross overstatement. She had stood behind Darna on three occasions without garnering even a glance as Darna had nodded understanding of the duquesa’s orders. Rico’s father had once held out a dirty glass as she walked by, not even looking at her, let alone thanking her for taking it.
“The press release will go out while we’re there. I expect a few photographers will gather at the gate. You need to look the part.”
“Paparazzi are going to want photos of me? Really?” She crossed one foot over the other and hugged herself. “How are your parents going to react to that?”
“By presenting a united front. That’s why we’re having dinner there.”
“Presenting a united front,” she repeated. “That tells me how sincerely they’ll welcome me at their dining table, doesn’t it? And then what?” She thought of all the gossip sites where she’d seen pictures of him with Faustina, then snapshots of his grim expression as he put her in the ground. “Rico, I can’t do this,” she realized with sudden panic. “I’m not prepared. You know I’m not.”
“That’s why I’ve called a stylist. You’ll be fine.”
To her horror, tears of frustration and yes, fear, pressed into her eyes, but the housekeeper came in and invited them to sit down to the breakfast she had prepared.
Poppy had to suck up her misgivings and let her new life unfold.
* * *
“You look beautiful,” Rico said sincerely. “If you could drop the wide-eyed terror, you’d be flawless.”
His attempt to lighten Poppy’s mood fell flat.
Her stylist had understood perfectly the effect Rico wanted and had spent a good portion of the day achieving it.
Poppy wore a bronze slip with a lace overlay embroidered with copper roses. It was simple and feminine, sophisticated yet held a decidedly innocent flair. Her hair had been meticulously coaxed into tamer waves then gathered into a “casual” chignon suitable for a low-key dinner with family. Her makeup was all natural tones and her heels were a conservative height.
By the time he’d offered the jewelry he’d bought her, she’d looked like a dog that had been at the groomers so long she’d lost her will to live.
Now the fresh-faced nanny, who couldn’t be more than a year over Poppy’s age, suggested carrying Lily into the villa so their daughter wouldn’t stain or snag Poppy’s dress.
Rico agreed and Poppy shot him a glance of betrayal then fell into step beside him, mouth pouted.
Her angry dismay plucked at his conscience like a sour note on a string. He kept telling himself that she had already seen the workings of his family from an insider’s perspective. None of this should be a surprise to her. And this was how it was. He couldn’t pretend their life would be anything different. That would be a lie.
Even so, he sensed she’d put up a wall between them and it rankled. Which was hypocritical on his part because he’d taken steps to withdraw from her last night, after their lovemaking had left him in ruins.
What should have been a sensual celebration of a convenient marriage had become a conflagration that had turned him inside o
ut. He had been right back to that interminable family dinner after his encounter with Poppy two years ago. Cesar and Sorcha had turned up—an engagement Rico had completely failed to recall had been scheduled. They’d eaten in polite silence while his mother had stiffly come to terms with Rico’s wedding being off. She had already been floating the names of alternatives and a timeline for courtship.
Rico had sat on the pin of a land mine, wanting to rise from the table and go after Poppy. He hadn’t seen a way in which he could even sustain an affair with her, though. As he’d eaten what might have been sawdust, facts had been reiterated about his father’s prospects in the next election. The importance of certain alliances had been regurgitated.
Rico wasn’t so shallow as to value money and appearances and power over all other things, but he understood how possessing those things allowed him and his family to live as comfortably as they did. All the actions he took were about them, never only himself.
So, even though his engagement had been broken, even though he was sexually infatuated with his mother’s maid, another bride would be slotted into place very quickly. The show must go on.
There had been some relief in living up to those expectations, too. As earth-shattering as his encounter with Poppy had been, he had instinctively recognized how dangerous that sort of passion was. How easily exposure to a woman who provoked such a deep response within him could dismantle him. Turn him against the best interests of his family and even impact him at a deeper level. A place even more vulnerable than the injuries of bruised ego and broken trust that his first wife had inflicted on him.
That premonition was playing out. His daughter had been the excuse, but the lure of Poppy had drawn him halfway around the world. He hadn’t waited for tests to prove they should marry. He had accomplished it with haste and dragged her back here as quickly as he could.
Last night had proved to him they were still a volatile combination. Afterward, he’d felt so disarmed, so satisfied with having blown up his own life, he had had to leave her to put himself back together.
If Lily hadn’t awakened a few hours later, he might very well have succumbed to temptation and crawled into bed with Poppy again.
He couldn’t let her have that kind of power over him. That was what he kept telling himself. He had to keep control of himself or there would only be more scandal and disruption.
But he loathed that stiff look on her face.
It was too much like the ones on his parents’ faces as they entered the small parlor where Faustina had once thrown down a vase like a gauntlet.