“Their marriage was a huge social event in Madrid, I heard later.”
“What a horrible woman!” she cried indignantly. Her lovely heart-shaped face was stricken as she faced him across the shadowy bed. “No wonder you think so little of love. And marriage, too. What did you do, after she told you she was marrying your brother?”
He shrugged. “I came back to New York. I worked harder. My fortune is bigger than theirs now. The Zoya family owns an estancia in Argentina, so I bought a bigger ranch in Texas. They have an art collection. Now mine is better. I don’t need them now. They’re nothing to me.”
“They’re your family,” she said forlornly.
“They chose not to be.”
Reaching out, Belle put her arms around him, hugging him close to her on the bed, offering comfort. For a moment, he accepted the warmth of her smaller body cradled against his. He exhaled deeply. He hadn’t even realized his jaw had been tense, until now, as the tension melted away. Drawing back, he looked down at her, and gently tucked a dark tendril of hair back into her loose chignon.
She’d offered him comfort tonight, and loyalty, and her charm had even helped him close a business deal. She’d given it all without asking for anything in return.
He wanted to show his appreciation. Give her a present. But she wouldn’t care about jewelry or clothes or art. Especially not art, he thought with amusement. So what?
Then he knew.
“I’ll cancel the wedding planner, Belle. We can have any kind of wedding you want.”
Her eyes lit up. It was worth it for that alone. She breathed, “Really?”
“I know you’ll want your brothers to attend. I’ll send my private jet to collect them. We don’t have to hold the ceremony at the cathedral. I don’t care about the details.” He looked at her. “As long as we are husband and wife before our child comes into this world.”
She tilted her head thoughtfully. “What about having the wedding here?”
“Here?”
She nodded eagerly. “I can have a flower bouquet, instead of holding a cactus. A real cake, instead of foam.” She was beaming. “We can have good food that people might actually want to eat!”
“Ah, Belle.” With a low laugh, he drew her closer on the bed, cupping her face. “Forget what I said about fitting in. You will never fit in.” She looked hurt. Still smiling, he reached out and gently lifted her chin. “Because you were born to stand out, querida. You were the most beautiful woman at o
ur engagement party. No one could even compare. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”
Her cheeks flushed with shy pleasure. “Really?”
“Just one thing is wrong. That dress.” He ran his hand along the black fabric. “It’s driving me crazy.”
Belle checked the back zipper self-consciously. “What’s wrong with it?”
Sitting next to her on the bed, he pulled her into his arms.
“That you’re still wearing it,” he whispered, and lowered his mouth to hers.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR SANTIAGO, SEX had always been simple. Easy. A quick release. A brief pleasure, swiftly forgotten.
Sex with Belle was different than he’d ever experienced before. It was fire. A conflagration. A drug he could not get enough of.
But as with any drug, he was soon hit by unwanted, bewildering side effects.
Having Belle in his Upper East Side mansion, in his bed every night, he was shocked by the way their night-time pleasures started to bleed into his days. He could not refuse her anything.
First, he’d agreed to change their wedding, even though the celebration the famous wedding planner had proposed would have been the social event of the year. The wedding Belle wanted, small and private, without pomp or press coverage, would do nothing for the prestige of his name.
But he let Belle have her way. And it didn’t stop there.
He found himself thinking about her during the daylight hours, when his focus was supposed to be on running his company. The Canadian deal had gone through, but other deals began to fall apart. He was distracted, and it was affecting his business. He found himself impatient, even bored, at meetings—even when he himself was the one who’d called them.