It was probably for the best if there was one, he reasoned. This was an affair. They couldn’t afford to develop deeper feelings.
Still, he left his room with a pain cleaved into his chest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TIFFANY TRIED TO ignore the fact that Ryzard was in love with a dead woman and soak up what he offered her: generous lovemaking and a boost to her confidence.
On his catamaran, she’d quit trying to hide herself from his crew. Three days in Bregnovia and she was even more comfortable in her own skin. He kept threatening to take her along on his public appearances and she always managed to talk him out of it, but part of her longed to go on a date the way they had at Q Virtus.
Pressing a strapless dress in sunset colors to her front, she decided to have a pretend date with him tonight. She imagined that like all men he had a thing for short skirts and low necklines. She’d knock his socks off.
An hour later, she’d run the straightening iron over her hair to give it a sheen and applied a final layer of glossy pink to her lips, making them look pouty and ripe. The dress offered her breasts in half cups, hugged her waist and clung so tightly across her hips she could barely walk. The gladiator sandals didn’t help, but man did she look hot. The fact her scars were fully revealed by the itty-bitty dress didn’t faze her.
She paused to consider that. A light coat of concealer downplayed the mottled scar on her face, but she wasn’t about to smear her whole body with the stuff. Ryzard wouldn’t notice or care either way. He thought she was gorgeous exactly as she was. It was such a painfully sweet knowledge, she had to stop and cradle it and blink hard or ruin her carefully applied makeup.
Digging her nails into her palms, she focused on the sting to clear her head, aware she was dangerously close to tumbling into love with him. It was because he was her first, she reasoned. He was gorgeous and smart and so patient with her moodiness and baggage. He commanded everything around him with calm ease, and that would make anyone feel safe and protected and cherished.
The real tell would be when they separated. She couldn’t hide from her parents forever. The one stilted conversation with her mother had centered on exactly how long she intended to be away.
Tiffany hadn’t wanted to admit she was afraid to leave. Would Ryzard miss her if she went home for a week? Or would it be the end of their associations?
She shook her head, having learned to be present in a moment, especially if it lacked pain. No one had a crystal ball telling what would come next. For now, she and Ryzard were together and happy.
With a calming breath, she searched him out in his office. He was watching his favorite newscaster and remained behind his desktop screen as she entered, head bent in concentration as he listened, expression grim and contained.
“What’s happening in the world to make you look so severe?” she teased as she sidled up to him. “A beautiful woman just walked in. Whatever you’re watching, forget it and notice me.”
His arm came around her waist, grasping her close and tight, but his other hand caught hers before she could press his head down for the kiss she wanted. The look in his eyes was not easily interpreted, and the voice beside her startled her out of trying.
“Should we continue this later?” the newscaster asked.
“No,” Ryzard answered.
Tiffany cried out in surprise and jerked against Ryzard’s arm, but he held on to her without laughing.
“I thought you were watching a broadcast,” she gasped, covering her heart.
The familiar face on the screen gave a tight smile of acknowledgment.
“I didn’t realize I was walking into a video call. I apologize. Oh, gosh,” she realized with a belated hand going to the bad side of her face. “I can’t imagine what you think of me, making an entrance like that.”
“I was already aware you two were close,” the talking head said. He was a globally known face, one who’d elevated from foreign-correspondence stories to hard-hitting investigative stories and in-depth analyses of world politics.
At the moment she didn’t have much choice with regard to how close she was to Ryzard. His arm was like a belt of iron, pinning her to his side, his tension starting to penetrate as she read zero amusement in his expression over her mistake.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, instinctively bracing herself.
“We had company after our dive,” he replied.
“Paparazzi?” She tried to step back, but he kept a tight grip on her.
“It doesn’t matter, Tiffany.”
“Of course it matters! Otherwise your friend here wouldn’t be calling to warn you. Is it photos or video?”
“Photos.” Ryzard fairly spat the word.
“The photographer knew I would never touch something purely to incite sensation,” the newscaster said. “So they didn’t offer them to me or I would have kept them off the market completely. Instead I heard about it secondhand and I’ve suggested a countermeasure to draw attention from their release.”
“What kind of countermeasure? What are they saying?” She looked between the screen and Ryzard, panic creeping into her bloodstream.
“They don’t sell clicks by being kind,” Ryzard said brutally. “We’ll meet in Rome,” he told his friend on the screen. “You’re right that a face-to-face broadcast interview will have more impact than something thrown together remotely.”
“I’m not going on camera!” Tiffany cried.
“No,” Ryzard agreed with the full impact of his dictatorial personality. “But you’ll accompany me to the interview—”
She shook her head, growing manic. Part of her wanted to explode in rebellion, the other desperately needed to crawl away and hide.
“I need to go home.” Had her father heard yet? She struggled against Ryzard’s steely grip, then froze, thinking of her mother’s reaction. “My family will be livid. They’re already barely speaking to me—”
“Calm down.” He thanked his friend and promised to be in touch with his travel arrangements, then turned off the screen. “The sun will still rise tomorrow, Tiffany. No one has died.”
“It would be better if I had. That’s what they’ll be thinking.”
“Don’t talk like that. Ever.” He gripped her arms and gave her a little shake.
She quit struggling, but kept a firm hand of resistance against his chest. “We’re not one of these families who has a disgrace every minute, Ryzard. My accident was the worst thing Dad has ever had to field with the press. Given it was more tragedy than scandal, it didn’t do him any harm in the polls, but it was still a monumental circus. He won’t appreciate this.”
The look of wild outrage Ryzard savaged over her made her shrink in his hold. “Your father enjoyed some kind of political benefit from your near death?”
“He didn’t mean to! I’m just saying that’s how it works. Chris and I know that. We don’t go off and sleep with people who are shaking up the maps of an atlas, putting the UN on notice, then get ourselves photographed for the gossip rags so Dad has to make explanations for our behavior. This, what you and I are doing, has to stop. I have to go home.” She tried again to push away.
“So you can be shunned and cloistered? No,” he gritted through his teeth, holding her in place. “The photographer is the villain here, not you. Not us.”
“I’m still about to be vilified, aren’t I? And I don’t want...” Her voice wavered. Her muscles ached where she still held him off. “Home is my safe place, Ryzard. I’d rather be there when— How bad are they? The photographs, I mean.”
“Don’t think about them,” he commanded. “You’ll never see them if I have anything to do with it.” His voice sent a wash of ice from her heart to her toes, it was so grim. “But I can’t allow you to be away from me when they’re released. They’ll say I’ve rejected you, and that’s not true. Besides, it doesn’t sound as if your family will support you, so no, you stay with me.”
She drooped her head. “They would support me,” she insisted heavily. “The wagons get circled at times like this. And after it blows over, they would still be there for me. They do love me. It’s just complicated.”
“I will ensure it blows over,” he said, forcing her chin up and looking down his nose from an arrogant angle, but his touch on her gentled even if his voice didn’t. “You’re coming to Rome with me, Tiffany.”
She held back from pointing out she was perfectly capable of booking a charter flight and getting herself anywhere she darned well wanted to go. If he was only being authoritarian, she probably would have, but he sounded concerned. He sounded as if her feelings mattered, not just his image. That softened all the spikes of umbrage holding her stiff, making her shudder in surrender.