One Night Mistress...Convenient Wife

by Anne McAllister

  Natalie wasn’t surprised at the image. Xanti was far more playful and flirtatious than his son.

  “Of course he had to be,” Christo’s grandmother went on. “He always felt he had to keep things together. He’d been taking care of his mother for most of his life, it seems, and when at last she and Xanti married, I think he believed he could start being a child. But things just got worse.”

  Natalie raised her brows. “Worse?”

  Lucia nodded. “Such children they were, those two. Squabbling, fighting. Each wanting their own way. It was better when Christo was here. He could be a child here.”

  Natalie had a million questions about the little boy Christo had been, but she didn’t ask. She waited, hoping that Lucia would share, and was rewarded when she did.

  “That first time was hard for him. Xanti, of course, didn’t stay around. He just left Christo with me and went on his merry way back to Italy. Christo didn’t know what to do, what to think. He didn’t speak the language. He didn’t know me. But—” she smiled at the memory “—we worked it out. He knew how to get along. He thought I might keep him if he made himself useful.” Another smile. “So he did. And he worked at learning Portuguese. I admired him for it. I learned English because of him. We taught each other.”

  “You are the most important person in his life,” Natalie said.

  “I was,” Lucia agreed. “Now it is you.”

  “Not really. I—”

  But Lucia cut her off gently but firmly. “And that is how it should be.” She reached out and patted Natalie’s hand.

  “He is still too solemn sometimes,” his grandmother said. “Still very, what do you say? Self-contained? He is hard to know, sim?” She slanted a glance at Natalie who nodded. Lucia smiled. “So I think you have great powers to get inside his walls.”

  Natalie swallowed the lump in her throat. “I love him.”

  Lucia tilted her head. Her gaze rested on Natalie a long moment—so long that Natalie knew how a bug under a microscope felt. But she didn’t flinch away. It was only the truth.

  Whatever Lucia saw, at last she, too, nodded. “Sim,” she said gently and reached out to take Natalie’s fingers between hers. “I believe you do.”

  Her smile changed then. It had always been a polite smile, a welcoming smile. But now it reached her eyes. And in them Natalie saw a love that embraced not only Christo, but her as well as she leaned across and touched soft lips to Natalie’s cheek.

  “You don’t know how happy you have made me.” Her voice was husky with emotion. “I was so afraid Christo would never find a woman who would capture his heart.”

  What was Natalie supposed to say to that? I haven’t? I love him but he’s only hired me to be his fiancée for the week?

  Of course, she couldn’t say that—or anything remotely like it. She could only squeeze his grandmother’s fingers lightly and smile.

  “It is time he let down his defenses.” Lucia went on approvingly. “He is very well-defended, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “He must trust you very much.”

  “I hope so.” Maybe he didn’t love her, but she thought he did trust her. He wouldn’t have brought her if he hadn’t. She glanced over at him and found that he was looking at her as well.

  After one more kick, he left his father dribbling the ball and jogged over to them, his gaze moving from Natalie’s face to her fingers clasped with his grandmother’s. He raised his brows.

  “Telling secrets?” he said to his grandmother with a smile.

  “Of course.” She laughed lightly and patted Natalie’s hand. Then she shook her head. “I am simply telling your Natalie how happy I am that you have found the woman of your heart.”

  Something unreadable flickered in his gaze for a brief instant. But then he smiled. “Of course I have,” he said smoothly, and bent to drop a light kiss on Natalie’s lips.

  It was an act. Natalie knew that. Of course it was no hardship to kiss her, but he didn’t mean anything by it. But even so, after he went back to the soccer ball and his father, she couldn’t help touching her lips and holding the memory in her heart.

  “Where did you meet my Christo?” Lucia asked her.

  “When I was interning at the firm he worked for.” She told the truth as far as she could—about how she’d met him that first time, and how she’d fallen for him—on looks alone—without really even knowing him. But then she said she’d got to know him better, but she’d only come to appreciate what a good man he was later that summer.

  She didn’t say how she’d figured that out. Telling Lucia that she’d gone to Christo’s bed and he’d turned her down was a bit more truth than she could bring herself to share.

  Then she told Lucia about the time she’d spent at her mother’s where she’d met him again. She told her about his kindness to Jamii, about his getting Jamii to go in the water by telling her about when he’d been able to get over his fear of heights after falling.

  “Because you helped him,” she told Lucia.

  His grandmother laughed. “I was terrified. I hate heights. But for Christo—well, sometimes you have to do things that you’re afraid of, don’t you? I love him. You know how that is. You are Christo’s lady.”

  Natalie knew how it was, oh yes. Just as she knew that she was not really Christo’s lady.

  The wedding took place just before sunset in the garden between Xanti’s house and Lucia’s. Natalie sat next to Christo’s grandmother, her fingers firmly entwined in the older woman’s as Xanti, looking surprisingly pale and nervous, and Christo, his best man, looking more serious and remote than ever, stood waiting for the bride and her attendants to walk down the path to join them.

  It was a tableau to memorize and keep in her heart—father and son together, so alike in their dark suits, crisp white shirts and neat bow ties. Yet, after a moment, Natalie had eyes only for one. She could have sat there and simply drunk in the sight of Christo forever.

  He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Taller and broader-shouldered than his father. Less fidgety, too. Xanti kept running his finger inside the collar of his starched shirt. Christo didn’t move a muscle, not even when the quintet began to play and the guests turned to watch the first of the bridesmaids come down the path.

  Then, because everyone else did, Natalie turned to watch the procession as well. There were three bridesmaids, followed by a resplendent Katia, who was a beautiful bride.

  In a short, simple, understated dress of ivory silk, she looked regal and serene and steady as she approached Xanti. He still had the look of a rabbit caught in headlights. But when at last Katia reached him and put her hand in his, he swallowed hard, his color seemed to return. And in his eyes when he looked at his bride, Natalie could see that despite his nerves, despite his mercurial personality, despite everything—Xanti was exactly where he wanted to be.

  As they stood together and the ceremony began, Natalie found that she didn’t need to speak Portuguese to understand. While Katia’s gentle voice and Xanti’s gruffer one might repeat words she didn’t recognize, the sentiments expressed and the vows taken were crystal-clear.

  The familiar form and expectations provided a sort of anchor for her to hang on to in the dangerous sea of her current emotions.

  A very dangerous anchor, Natalie knew.

  It gave her unrealistic ideas. It drew her eyes away from the bride and groom to study Christo again, to allow herself to imagine what it would be like to be marrying him.

  Would he look worried and nervous, as his father did? Would he smile? Could he ever wear the same look of love that Xanti had worn?

  None of the above, she reminded herself sharply.

  Thinking about Christo and marriage in the same sentence was the quickest way imaginable to a broken heart.

  As if she wouldn’t have one anyway by the time this way over.

  Deliberately, Natalie forced her gaze away, focusing once more on the radiant bride and the still-nervous groom
who fumbled the ring when Christo handed it to him and nearly dropped it before he got it on Katia’s finger.

  But the moment the celebrant pronounced them man and wife, Xanti kissed his bride triumphantly, and suddenly he was a new man. He turned to face the guests, grinning broadly and clutching Katia’s hands in his. And the expression on his face told them that they were looking at the happiest man on earth.

  Next to Natalie, Lucia was wiping tears from her eyes and smiling radiantly. Everyone was—laughing, cheering and applauding the new Senhor e Senhora Xantiago Azevedo.

  Everyone except Christo, who stood staring into the middle distance, stone-faced and remote. He might have been a million miles away, Natalie thought. And doubtless wished he were.

  The determined indifference of his gaze was so at odds with his father’s and grandmother’s and, indeed, everyone else’s, that Natalie couldn’t look away—not even when, for a brief moment, his eyes met hers. His gaze was dark and unreadable.

  Natalie hoped the longing didn’t show in hers.

  If he detected it, she didn’t know. But barely a second passed before he looked away. Then it was his turn to offer his arm to the maid of honor so they could follow Xanti and Katia up the path together.

  The immense rambling garden had been hung with thousands of twinkling white fairy lights for the reception immediately following. It looked like a magical world. And as the sun set it took on an even more bewitching aura.

  The verandas outside Xanti’s house and his mother’s had each been set with groups of tables for a casually elegant catered meal. At many of the weddings Natalie had attended the wedding party ate at their own table. But here they mingled with the guests and she was seated next to Christo.

  “Where else?” his grandmother had said when Natalie expressed her surprise. “It is the right place for you.”

  It was certainly the right place to make Natalie even more aware of him than she was already.

  Maybe it was because they were at a wedding. Maybe it was the determined restraint he’d shown all week, even as unacknowledged desire still hummed between them. Maybe it was simply her heightened awareness of how short the time was growing when she would still have him in her life.

  But as they sat next to each other at dinner, she was aware the instant that the elbow of his suit jacket brushed against her arm when he cut his meat. When he gave the toast to his father and Katia, then touched his champagne glass to hers, their fingers touched, and both of them seemed to jerk as if electricity had arced between them.

  As they stood together after the meal, casually he slipped an arm around her shoulders, as any good fiancé would do. But Natalie sensed it the second his fingers twined in her hair.

  He didn’t have to do that, did he?

  No. He wanted to do it. And she wanted him to. She couldn’t help sidestepping to bring them just a little bit closer so that her hip rested against his as he talked to a couple of his cousins.

  She was just being a good fiancée. That was all. Christo could have stepped away. He didn’t.

  He turned his head and she felt his breath stir the tendrils of hair by her ear. It sent a frisson of longing through her. Emboldened by her desire, she slid an arm around his waist and felt his body stiffen.

  But still he didn’t let go. If anything, his grip on her tightened. He held her fast to his side—exactly where she wanted to be.

  Tomorrow it would be all over. They would fly home and go their separate ways. Natalie knew that. Accepted it.

  But tonight?

  She swallowed. Faced the reality of her desire and knew that tonight she would take her touches where she could get them. And to hell with the consequences.

  Christo let his fingers play with her hair while he talked to his cousin Marcelo. It wasn’t much of an indulgence. Not even close to what he wanted to do. But it was something a fiancé would do at his father’s wedding, and so Christo allowed himself to do it.

  He hadn’t allowed himself much all week.

  A kiss here. A touch there. A little bit of public handholding. Just enough, he assured himself, so that Avó would believe. Not so much that he would lose his sanity and common sense.

  Now Natalie laughed at something his cousin Breno was saying. She shifted her weight slightly and he felt her hip press against his. He swallowed. Drew in a slow breath.

  He could have stepped away. He didn’t. It was only a for moment, after all.

  Then the breeze lifted her hair and blew a strand toward him, and he turned into it, let it trail across his face, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

  It was one that he knew he would never forget. The hint of fresh lime and coconut might once have reminded him of summers at the beach. Now they brought back the nights Natalie had spent in his arms.

  He itched to pull her into them again. The arm that he had slung over her shoulder instinctively drew her just a little closer and he felt her body mold itself against his side. She leaned her head against his shoulder and her cheek rubbed against the light wool of his jacket.

  He knew how soft the skin on that cheek was. He wanted once more to feel that softness rub against his whisker-stubbled one, wanted to brush his lips against it and—

  “Christo! Vem! Time to dance.” His father’s voice jerked him out of his reverie.

  “Dance?” Christo echoed, then remembered that his duties as best man hadn’t quite ended.

  “One dance with my maid of honor,” Katia had told him yesterday at the rehearsal. At his pained look, she’d patted his cheek. “Just one. And then you can dance all night with your Natalie.”

  Dance all night with Natalie? And keep his hands off her afterwards? How much of a saint did Katia think he was?

  Probably she didn’t think he was a saint at all. Probably she thought he’d do exactly what he wanted to do.

  Christo drew back sharply and let go of Natalie. “I have to find Amelia,” he said abruptly, started away, then realized he wasn’t acting as quite a doting fiancé as he ought. “You’ll be all right with Breno and Marcelo?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  Of course she would. It was why he’d brought her, after all. She had done everything he’d wanted her to do.

  He went in search of Amelia, a tall, svelte, dark-haired beauty, single and, judging from the looks she’d been giving him, quite likely available.

  The music started and he spun her into his arms and focused on the dance. The woman didn’t interest him.

  Only one woman interested him. And she was “fine” right where she was, on the other side of the dance floor, tapping her toe in time with the quick beat of music.

  Her gaze was on him. He could feel it. Could feel her eyes follow him as he moved. He could almost feel them physically—as if her fingertips were outlining the curve of his ear, caressing the nape of his neck, heating his body, boiling his blood.

  Amelia murmured something. He didn’t hear her. Didn’t look at her. His eyes were solely on Natalie across the floor while he danced easily, almost instinctively. Avó had taught him how when he was only a child.

  “Feel the rhythm,” she would say. “Let it carry you like the waves.”

  He’d given himself over to it then, let it carry him, make him part of it. The rhythm became his nature. It pounded in his blood.

  So did Natalie.

  In his arms he had Amelia, in his mind, in his heart, he danced with Natalie. God knew he wanted to.

  God also knew what would happen if he did.

  So he didn’t. He didn’t dare.

  Natalie wasn’t much of a dancer. She moved with music, but rarely outside the privacy of her apartment. She tended more often to sit on the sidelines, as she was doing tonight, and admire those who could do it and do it well. She’d never wanted to be one of them.

  Until she saw Christo on the dance floor.

  Watching his body move with such primal grace in unison with another body made her wish the body was hers. Of course she woul
d never be as accomplished as Katia’s bridesmaid. She would never move so easily, so beautifully as the woman in Christo’s arms.

  But once she had, she realized. In fact, more than once.

  When she’d made love with Christo, they’d moved together. Their bodies had meshed. She had danced with him in his bed.

  She had known him with a deeper intimacy than this woman ever could.

  Now, watching, unable to take her eyes off him, she desperately wanted to again. Surely he would come to her. When the music ended, so did his obligation to Amelia.

  Breno, following her gaze, said, “Don’t worry. He’s got one duty dance, then he’s all yours.”

  But when the dance was over and a new one began, he didn’t come to her. It was a slow dance, wistful, romantic—perfect for a fool like her, Natalie thought as she watched him cross the floor and reach his grandmother’s side, hold out his hand to her, draw her to her feet.

  Of course, Natalie thought, smiling at the rightness of it as Christo led Lucia to the floor and took her small frail body so gently in his arms. Her eyes pricked with tears as she watched them, saw them dance together slowly, saw them sway to the rhythm together, so in tune with each other.

  She saw Lucia turn her face up and smile into Christo’s, and saw his face light with rare tenderness as he said something in reply. He had lost his grim distant expression at last.

  He was in the moment. He was where he ought to be. He had made his grandmother happy—exactly as he’d wanted to do.

  When the music ended he took his grandmother back to her table and sat down with her.

  A fast lilting tune filled the air, Xanti and Katia led the dance and eager couples headed to the floor again. But Christo stayed with his grandmother, not even glancing Natalie’s way.

  “Dance with me?” Breno said, giving her a wink and a smile. He held out his hand.