She was still trembling with the realization as they landed on the top of Diogo's office building and took the elevator to the street, where Guilherme waited with the Bentley.
“Leblon,” Diogo ordered his chauffeur.
Leblon? As they drove south from the business center of the city, Ellie felt her heart clench. He'd visited that ritzy Rio neighborhood before. During their business trip in February, Diogo had abruptly cancelled a meeting and told the chauffeur to drop him off alone on the Rua João Lira. Distracted with juggling paperwork and her growing attraction for her boss, Ellie hadn't paid attention. She'd been relieved to be left alone for a night at the Carlton Palace to organize the English-language contracts. But now…
Even in February, he'd been seeing this other woman. Catia.
And Diogo cared about Ellie's feelings so little he couldn't even be bothered to hide it.
Her eyes filled with tears as she stared out at the Cariocas playing volleyball across Copacabana Beach. They traveled east into the Ipanema neighborhood past the southern tip of the Lagoa Rodrigo de Freitas. She saw happy young mothers pushing strollers along the edge of the lagoon. Passing into Leblon, all the houses and shops were sleek and gorgeous and new.
But directly behind the new buildings, the slums of the favelas packed onto a hillside, casting a shadow over Leblon's bright beauty.
Diogo was just like Rio. So seductive. So brutal. Did he really expect that she would be so thrilled to be his wife that she'd be willing to turn a blind eye to the ugliness of constant infidelities?
The chauffeur pulled the Bentley to the curb. “Estamos aqui, senhor.”
Diogo looked at Ellie for the first time since they'd left Bahia. “Guilherme will take you home.”
Ellie looked up at him and fire burned through her, leaving her eyes hot with unshed tears. “Don't leave like this. Please.” Her throat felt tight. “Don't go to her.”
He looked down at her, his handsome face devoid of expression. “Go home, Ellie.”
And he closed the car door behind him.
The chauffeur pulled the Bentley back into the busy Rio traffic. Turning around, Ellie looked through the back window as they drove away. She saw Diogo go up a flight of stairs to knock on the bright red door of a town house. A beautiful brunette flung open the door with a beaming smile. Taking his hand in her own, she pulled him inside.
And cold rage such as Ellie had never felt in her whole life swept through her. Fury swept through her body, freezing her heart into stone, congealing her spine into steel.
How dare he?
“Stop this car.” Turning to the chauffeur, she said more loudly, “Stop this car!”
“No, Senhora Ellie,” he replied, giving her a nervous smile in the rearview mirror. “The senhor, he ordered me to take you home—”
Her heart was pounding so furiously she thought she'd explode if she didn't tell Diogo exactly what she thought of him—and that little brunette of his, too. All right, so maybe Ellie wasn't the most glamorous or wealthy or well-educated woman in the world, but she didn't deserve to be tossed aside like a bag of chips!
“Fine,” she growled. “Don't stop!”
As the car still moved, Ellie flung open her door. With a horrified gasp, the chauffeur slammed on the brakes in the crawling rush-hour traffic.
She ran through the honking cars for the curb. Panting, red-faced with anger, she ran up the exact same stairs she'd seen Diogo climb.
She pounded on the door.
Once.
Twice.
The door opened. The same beautiful brunette answered. She was every bit as lovely, mysterious and irresistible as Ellie had feared.
She spoke with an upper-crust British accent as she looked Ellie up and down scornfully. “What do you want?”
“You must be Catia.” Ellie drew herself up with all the blue-collar pride of the generations of steel workers and coal miners that ran in her veins. She stalked past her husband's mistress with her chin held high. “Tell Diogo Serrador that his wife is here.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ELLIE.” DIOGO'S FACE became instantly angry as he rose to his feet. He'd been sitting back on the sofa, looking far too comfortable in the brunette's cozy little house. As if this place were his home!
“I won't share you!” she ground out. “I won't!”
His brows lowered furiously. “Maldição, I won't be spied on like this—not by you or anyone!”
“You expect me to just accept whatever story you give me?” she demanded, perilously close to tears. “You think I should be quiet and grateful and put up with you cheating on me? I won't!” Her hands clenched into fists. “I'm your wife, I have feelings, and I expect you to—I expect—”