Her shoulders stiffened as she remembered back to the birthdays and Christmases after her father had left. Her mother had tried—they both had—but it had been such a struggle.
As an assistant housekeeper at one of the embassies in London, her mother worked long hours for a salary that had to support both of them and never quite did. On the plus side, her job was live-in, but the rooms had never felt like a home, and it had been difficult for either of them to relax there. And the nature of her mother’s job meant that any private celebration always seemed secondary to the needs of the family in residence.
Oh, how she’d envied them—those people with their birthday cakes, their turkey and their tinsel, their board games. It had made her feel like the little match girl in that story, shivering outside in the cold, her nose pressed against the glass. And being a paparazza had only exacerbated her sense of being uninvited and unwelcome.
Only now here she was. A guest of the family.
She hadn’t expected to be asked, and had initially declined. But Sofia had refused to accept her answer, and Agusto had backed her up, and in the end she’d capitulated.
Of course that hadn’t stopped her worrying about what Luis would think when he found out. But ever since breakfast, when Sofia had invited her, she’d had other, more pressing concerns. Such as what the hell was she going to wear?
Glancing down at the green silk dress that skimmed her body and left her shoulders bare, she suddenly wanted to smile and keep on smiling. It hadn’t taken long to answer that question. This trip was a work assignment, so she’d brought work clothes. Smartish trousers, shirts, a couple of skirts, some T-shirts, and—yes—one dress. Only it was navy, knee-length, and she’d only packed it because it didn’t need ironing.
It certainly wasn’t something she would have chosen to wear to an elegant restaurant like La Almazara, where presidents and painters mingled with Hollywood A-listers. She’d actually noticed an action movie star and his latest girlfriend on the way in.
It all felt slightly surreal—but not as surreal as returning to her room and finding this dress and a pair of beautiful gold ombré heels in her wardrobe, with a note from Sofia entreating her to wear them.
It was such a sweet gesture—and so generous. Even from just looking at the label inside the dress, and the red soles on the shoes, she had known that this outfit had cost more than her mother’s monthly pay packet. And, although she had already thanked Sofia and Agusto, she wanted to make sure that they understood how grateful she was.
‘It really was very good of you to invite me,’ she said quickly. ‘And so kind to give me this dress and the shoes. It was such a lovely idea.’
‘Querida!’ Leaning forward, Sofia smiled. ‘You really don’t need to keep thanking me. But, actually, it wasn’t my idea.’ Turning to her son, her face softened. ‘It was Luis who suggested it this morning, when we were talking about the meal.’
Cristina froze, the other woman’s words sending shock waves down her spine.
‘Luis…?’ She swallowed. ‘But I thought—’
Sofia shook her head apologetically. ‘I know you did, and I wanted to tell you the truth only Luis asked me not to—’
She broke off as a waiter approached the table with another bottle of champagne and spoke softly into her ear.
Turning towards her husband, she said, ‘Cariño, apparently Felipe and Isabella Alba are here tonight, and they have ordered this beautiful bottle of champagne for us.’ She smiled at Cristina. ‘Would you excuse us for a moment? We should go and thank them.’
Cristina nodded, and
then, as they made their way across the restaurant to an elderly couple, she turned towards Luis and said quietly, ‘Why did you do that?’
His grey gaze rested on her face. ‘This place has got a reputation for being swanky, and obviously you didn’t know you were coming here…’ He hesitated. ‘I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.’
His voice was gentle, but that wasn’t why her skin grew warm. It was his words. There was nothing dramatic or striking about them. But they didn’t need to be because they were true, and that was the most important thing. She had mattered to him, and he had cared about her enough to actually do something.
She steadied her breathing. ‘Thank you for doing that for me. It was really thoughtful.’
He met her eyes and she felt her skin start to prickle. His smile might be spectacular, but that gaze… It seemed to pierce her skin, hold her still so that she couldn’t move, couldn’t look away, couldn’t even breathe properly. No one had ever looked at her like that, with such intensity of focus, and her body tensed with fear and fascination.
‘My pleasure.’
Caught off guard by her unaffected expression of gratitude, Luis felt his pulse skip a beat with guilt. It was true that he had been worried about her feeling uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d talked to his mother. In so many ways Cristina reminded him of his brother. Like Bas, she was an odd mix of confident and vulnerable, and she was also stubborn and proud like him too. It had been all too easy to imagine her deciding that none of her clothes were suitable for going out in public with his parents and simply excusing herself.
And he’d wanted her to be there.
His jaw tightened. After he’d pushed her away last night he’d found it impossible to sleep. He’d just kept picturing the expression on her face—the hurt and confusion—and the way he’d let her leave. All night he’d been on the verge of going to her room so that he could explain. But of course that would have meant telling her why his brother was dead, so instead he had spoken to his mother.
‘I’m glad you like it.’ He gestured towards the dress. ‘I was a little worried about the sizing, but…’
Her pulse skipped a beat. She gazed up at him, her eyes widening. ‘You chose it?’
The corner of his mouth slanted upwards. ‘Well, my mother’s been a valued customer of that designer for years, so they were happy to give me a little advice. But I had a kind of idea of what I wanted.’