“Did you sign the post-nup?”
“Yes.” Her heart was pounding. I signed it because I love you. Why couldn’t she say it?
“Where is it?”
“I left it in the bedroom.”
“So you agree to the terms?”
“Yes.” She’d barely skimmed the contract, as she’d been in a hurry to get ready for the party. But she’d have physical custody of their child, which was all she cared about. The money didn’t matter.
“Good.” He gave a brief nod. “I hope you feel the financial settlement was generous.”
“Yes. Thank you,” she said numbly, because he seemed to be waiting for a response. Did he expect her to be grateful to him for carefully planning their divorce, when all she wanted was for him to love her?
She had to tell him.
Her body temperature suddenly went up twenty degrees. Feeling hot and afraid, she pulled off her long white gloves. Abruptly changing the subject, she said brightly, “I heard a rumor this evening.”
“Rumor?” Antonio watched her peel the long gloves down her arms, one by one. A hunger came into his eyes.
“I can hardly believe it,” she continued.
“Believe what?” His gaze fell onto her lips, his hard-edged face half in shadow. He looked devastatingly handsome in his perfectly cut tuxedo.
She smiled. “I heard a rumor that you not only let Horace Lund off the hook, you gave him a loan so his company would survive.”
His dark eyes flashed up to hers, looking almost vulnerable, as if she’d caught him doing something wrong.
“So?” His tone was dismissive.
She didn’t understand. “I’m glad.”
His jaw hardened in the guttering candlelight. “You need to stop trying to interfere with my company.”
His company. For such a brief amount of time, it had been their company. The lump returned to her throat and she looked away. “You mean when I was discussing the new aircraft with Pierre.”
“It’s not your place.”
Heart aching, Hana lifted her gaze to his and said, “I don’t know where my place is anymore.”
Taking her hands in his own, he lowered his head and kissed the back of each one.
“In my home,” he whispered. “In my bed.”
Their eyes met. Still holding her hand, he led her out of the shadowy ballroom and down the hall. He pulled her up the sweeping staircase, beneath the chandelier soaring high overhead, and the gaze of the angelic cherubs regarding them from the painted ceiling.
The palacio was strangely quiet, in the darkest hours of night, with all the servants long gone to bed. Their footsteps echoed against the tile as he led her down the hallway to their bedroom.
Closing the door behind him, he set her back gently on the bed, then fell to his knees on the priceless Turkish rug in front of her. Without a word, he untied each of her stiletto sandals, one by one, sending them skittering to the floor.
Rising to his feet, he slowly undid his cuff links and pulled off his black tuxedo jacket. His hard, handsome face was edged with moonlight from the window as he unbuttoned his shirt.
Her heart started to pound, in rhythm to the words she could not say. I love you.
His hard-muscled chest was lightly dusted with dark hair, his skin hot and smooth beneath the rough bristles as he lifted her back to her feet as if she weighed nothing. Unzipping the back of her blue Regency-style ball gown, he let it drop to the floor, leaving her standing in front of him
in nothing but white lace panties, cut low to fit beneath her swelling belly, and a white lace demi-bra that barely contained her overflowing breasts.