‘The rest of who?’
‘We think Zane only dates spoilt stuck-up women who don’t want him to mix with his family.’ The contempt in the girl’s voice spoke volumes. ‘Not that you’re one of those. You seem really nice,’ Juana added, her eyes widening as she realised she might have insulted Iona.
‘What makes you think those are the only women he dates?’ Iona asked, more curious than insulted. Juana was turning out to be a font of all knowledge.
‘Because of his father.’
‘What about his father?’ Iona asked, realising he’d never mentioned the man.
‘He was a rich pinche gringo.’ Iona had no idea what pinche meant but, from Juana’s hiss of disapproval, she didn’t think it was complimentary. ‘Not that any of us know who his father is. No one’s allowed to talk about it. Abuelo gets mad at anyone who even mentions Zane is half-Anglo—you won’t say anything, will you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Iona murmured, her mind spinning. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to guess that Zane might be mixed race, not with those pure blue eyes. But why, when the Montoya family seemed to have embraced multiculturalism—at least half of the guests at the party were ‘Anglo’ as Juana put it—was his parentage considered such a scandalous secret?
But as she opened her mouth to quiz the girl, Juana hummed with pleasure. ‘Oh, look, Maria has cut in on Maricruz. That’s so sweet.’
Iona shifted her gaze and her thoughts back to Zane and his dance partner, to see his hands resting on the waist of a statuesque vision in scarlet. All the air rushed out of her lungs.
Sweet wasn’t the word she’d use. The woman oozed a stylish and classic sex appeal. Lush dark-chocolate hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of corkscrew curls, her hourglass figure spotlighted in a stunning red dress that hugged impressive curves but somehow managed to look demure rather than revealing.
Maria? Who was she?
But as she watched them together Iona knew exactly who she was. She had to be a past, possibly even a present lover—the familiarity and affection between them apparent in their co-ordinated dance moves, and the way Zane looked at her with none of the chill he reserved for members of his family.
So that was the real reason why he hadn’t wanted to come tonight.
As Juana continued to wax lyrical in hushed tones about how sweet they looked together, the sick sensation of betrayal gripped Iona’s stomach like a boa constrictor—and her vision dimmed. Why couldn’t he have told her that this woman would be here? And why had he insisted on bringing her along?
A red haze began to descend over her eyes.
Was this why he didn’t bring dates to family events? Because he knew she would be here? And yet he hadn’t thought to spare Iona that humiliation.
Okay, maybe they were only a casual fling, and they hadn’t mentioned exclusivity, but she’d simply assumed that was a given.
The waltz finished and both Zane and the bombshell turned towards the band and clapped politely. Then Iona watched, the boa in her stomach rising up to constrict around her chest as the woman leaned up on tiptoe, placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. The love in his gaze was clear and unequivocal even from this distance, the two of them appearing to be in their own private little world as the other guests milled around them. And the boa squirmed and writhed, turning into something more than sickening, more than humiliating.
‘Excuse me, Juana,’ Iona murmured before threading her way through the crowd at the edges of the dance floor.
She should just go home, forget about him. They had no investment in each other. Just because she’d spent the last three days thinking about him, and the night they’d spent together. This was casual. Less than casual really. And clearly his relationship with Maria was not. She shouldn’t care if he had a hundred former girlfriends, a thousand that he cared about more than he cared about her.
But somehow her feet kept moving forward, the boa rising up her throat. And she justified the confrontation she could feel racing towards her.
She couldn’t go home. She was stranded here without a car. He’d introduced her to his family as his date. Didn’t he know how humiliating this was for her? To have him pawing another woman, while she was expected to stand on the sidelines and watch?
She reached them just as the goddess threw back her head and laughed at something Zane said to her in Spanish.
His eyes met Iona’s, the blue depths full of humour and not a trace of guilt or remorse.
No, he didn’t know, she realised. Or he simply didn’t care. Because her thoughts, her feelings, her pride were of no importance to him.
‘Hey, Iona,’ he said, but she could hear the tension in his voice.
‘Could you take me home, please?’ she said. ‘No
w.’
‘Is there a problem?’ he replied, the flash of guilt replaced with confusion. Did he really think so little of her that he couldn’t guess what the problem was?
‘I’d like to go home and I need you to drive me there,’ she said through gritted teeth, determined not to raise her voice. ‘Or take me to the nearest bus station.’