“It’s early days, Mother,” Rico cut in. “We’ll talk more about that another time.”
At this point he was only looking as far as getting through this evening.
* * *
The meal passed in a blur of racking her brains for the names of Canadian politicians who might have said something brilliant or stupid lately and trying to look as if she knew how to eat quail in gazpacho. Poppy was infinitely relieved when they left and went to Rico’s Valencian penthouse.
This wasn’t a family property. It was his own home, purchased after Faustina had died. It was luxuri
ous and in a prime location with a pool and a view, but it was a surprisingly generic space, tastefully decorated in masculine tones yet completely without any stamp of his personality.
She dismissed the nanny, put Lily to bed herself, then moved into the bedroom to kick off her heels and sigh with exhaustion.
Rico came in with a nightcap for each of them.
She immediately grew nervous. It had been a long, trying day, one that had started out with a rebuff when she’d woken alone. That sense of foreboding had grown worse as his stylist had spent hours turning her into some kind of show pony.
She suspected she had disappointed anyway. As he set down his own drink and loosened his tie, she had a sick, about-to-be-fired feeling in her stomach, much like the one she’d had when she’d lost her first babysitting job after accidentally letting the hamster out of its cage.
“Well?” she prompted, trying to face the coming judgment head-on.
“I thought it went well.”
She strangled on a laugh. “Are you kidding? I’ve never spent a more horrendous two hours and twenty-three minutes in my life.”
“You were there, then.” He shrugged out of his jacket.
“Don’t make jokes, Rico.” She stared at him, but he wasn’t laughing. Uncertain, she asked, “Was that really a normal dinner for you? The way it’s been your whole life?” She had thought her own mother awful for calling in lame efforts at nurturing with insincere apologies from afar. His parents had displayed zero remorse as they had openly dismissed his newfound daughter.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said with scathing sarcasm. “I didn’t sit at that table until I was twelve. Children are invited to the dining room when they know how to eat quietly and speak only when spoken to.”
She thought of the way Lily squealed and slapped her tray and wore more food than she ate. But even Gran with her old-fashioned ideals about child-rearing had always insisted that dinner was a time for the whole family to come together.
“Why are they like that?”
He stripped his tie and threw it away with a sigh. “My father is a scientific genius. He only speaks logic and rational debate. Emotion has no effect on him. It’s one of the reasons he makes a genuinely good politician. He reads and considers policy on its own merit, not worrying about his popularity or future prospects. Mother was born with a title, but no money. She had to marry it and prove she was worth the investment. Having brought herself up this far, she refuses to backslide. And, after thirty-five years of my father’s lack of sentiment, she’s abandoned any herself.”
“That sounds so empty. Is she happy?”
“They set out with specific goals and achieved them. They are content, which is the standard to which we’ve been taught to aspire.”
She searched his expression. “And you’re content with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? My life is extremely comfortable.” He peeled off his shirt, revealing his gorgeous chest and tight abs.
She swallowed and turned away, annoyed with herself for reacting so promptly to the sight of him.
“Is that why you agreed to an arranged marriage the first time? To maintain the status quo?”
“Yes. I was expected to do my part in preserving the life we all enjoy.” His voice was suddenly right behind her, surprising her into lifting her gaze to the mirror.
He lightly smoothed his hand across her shoulders, grazing an absent caress against her nape as he ensured no tendrils of hair would catch as he unzipped her.
“How angry are they that Lily and I ruined everything?” She braced herself as she held his gaze. “Be honest. I need to know.”
“They don’t get angry.” He sounded mild, but she thought she caught a flicker of something in his stoic expression.
“What about you? You were angry when you showed up at my door.”