The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Something suitable to wear had been dealt with with remarkable ease. All it had taken was a phone call to a prominent boutique with her measurements to have a selection of gowns delivered to Marcello’s home.

  Now she viewed the café-au-lait gown in silk organza with its elegant, finely pleated bodice, thin spaghetti straps and full-length soft, flowing skirt, the stiletto-heeled evening shoes … and felt reasonably confident her choice was the right one.

  Understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes, a faint tinge of blush at her cheeks and lipgloss … with her hair in a smooth twist.

  ‘You look like a princess.’

  Shannay turned towards Nicki and blew her a kiss. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Gracias,’ her daughter corrected with a grin. ‘Me and Maria are going to watch Shrek.’

  ‘Just for a little while. When Maria says it’s time for bed, you won’t fuss. OK?’

  ‘‘Kay.’

  Time to go downstairs, join Marcello, then step into a Martinez chauffeured limousine … secure in the knowledge Nicki would be well looked after in Maria’s care, with Carlo in charge, and a direct private line on speed-dial to both her and Marcello’s cellphone.

  Shannay collected the matching evening bag, then held out her hand. ‘Come on, imp. Party-time.’

  A faint knock on Nicki’s bedroom door accompanied by the sound of a familiar male voice had the little girl racing through the connecting en suite.

  ‘Daddy’s here!’

  Large as life and far too stunningly attractive in dark evening wear, Shannay perceived as she attempted without success to still the warmth flooding through her veins at the mere sight of him.

  Fine white shirt linen provided a stark contrast with his olive skin and dark, well-groomed hair, his tailored suit displaying an impeccable fit as it moulded his superbly muscled frame.

  It was little wonder women of all ages felt emboldened to flex their flirting skills in his presence, for he possessed a raw sexuality combined with the hint of something forbidden, almost verging on the savagely primitive.

  A modern-day warrior who fought daily with powerful brokers in numerous countries around the world, constantly seeking an essential edge … and always watching his back.

  Dark inscrutable eyes took in her slim form, the child regarding him with dancing anticipation, and he leant down and scooped Nicki into his arms.

  ‘Isn’t Mummy beautiful?’ his daughter confided, and his mouth curved into a generous smile.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Marcello agreed. ‘Just like you.’

  A compliment that earned him an enthusiastic kiss to his cheek.

  Ten minutes later Shannay sat in the rear seat of the limousine as it cleared the gates and traversed the avenue leading towards the main arterial route into the city.

  ‘There’s something missing,’ Marcello drawled and reached into his jacket pocket, extracted a small velvet case and snapped it open.

  ‘Give me your hand.’

  He sensed her hesitation and simply caught hold of her left hand, and slid the exquisite baguette-style diamond ring onto the appropriate finger.

  Her wedding ring. The one she’d left behind the night she’d fled his home, his country.

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Want to wear it?’ His dark eyes met hers and held them. ‘But you will.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I would have thought it obvious.’

  ‘The orchestrated reconciliation,’ she acknowledged drily, and saw his cynical smile.

  ‘Need I remind you the marriage remains intact?’

  ‘For the time being.’ She’d play the game for the duration of her stay, for Ramon’s sake. An extra week or two was little to gift him from her lifetime.

  The wide platinum diamond-encrusted band shot prisms of brilliantly coloured fire as the light caught the numerous facets, and its unaccustomed weight felt strange.

  ‘There’s also these.’

  He revealed a pear-shaped diamond pendant and matching earrings he’d gifted her on their first wedding anniversary.

  Without a word he leant towards her and attached the delicate platinum chain in place and fastened the clasp at her nape.

  It took only seconds, but it felt like an age as his warm breath feathered her cheek, and the touch of his fingers at her nape wrought an intimacy in the close confines of the limousine.

  How easy would it be to move her head a little and have her cheek brush his own? To turn into him and seek his mouth, feel the sensuous slide of his tongue in an erotic tasting that could never be enough … merely a tantalising preliminary to how the evening would end. As it had in the early days of their marriage.

  A time when she had dared and teased, and exulted in every moment.

  Now she sat still, waiting with indrawn breath for him to move away so her heartbeat could return to its normal rhythm.

  She made a slightly strangled protest as he lifted his fingers to her ear and carefully attached the hooked pin of one ear-stud before tending to her other earlobe.

  Shannay couldn’t fault his touch, or accuse it lingered a little too long. But the action felt incredibly personal, intimate … and she had to fight against the way it affected her wayward emotions.

  As he meant it to do?

  And if so, to what purpose?

  Physically, Marcello could do nothing to prevent her leaving the country.

  So why this persistent niggle of doubt?

  The hotel was one of the city’s finest, and Shannay cursed Marcello afresh as she pinned a smile on her face and prepared to play an expected part.

  Numerous photographers’ cameras flashed as they alighted from the limousine and trod the red carpet into the foyer.

  Marcello’s hand was warm as it rested at the back of her waist, and the bodyguard who’d ridden up front in the limousine now flanked her as they moved towards the gracious staircase leading to the mezzanine level.

  A well-remembered scene, Shannay perceived, with the beautiful people who mostly came to be seen. Women who chose to showcase designer gowns and expensive jewellery, gifted by husbands and lovers who presided as captains of industry.

  Socialites, fashionistas, models … she caught a glimpse of a few familiar faces, smiled and kept her head high.

  Waiters and waitresses dutifully presented trays of drinks, from which Marcello selected two flutes of champagne and placed one in her hand.

  Alcohol on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea, and she merely took a sip of the chilled bubbly liquid, then regarded the flute as a prop.

  ‘Marcello!’

  ‘Miguel and Shantal Rodriguez,’ Marcello intoned quietly as a man and woman greeted them, followed by voluble Spanish … which Marcello immediately explained was not his wife’s first language.

  Shannay was supremely conscious of him at her side, the occasional touch of his hand at the edge of her waist, his attentive manner, and suppressed the wayward desire it was real, instead of the expected portrayal of a husband with his wife.

  It was a relief when the large ballroom doors opened and guests were instructed to begin making their way to reserved seats at designated tables.

  There was one face in the crowd Shannay subconsciously searched for, and failed to notice.

  Estella de Cordova.

  A woman whose presence at the evening’s prestigious event would be obligatory.

  Then there she was, tall, impossibly elegant in Versace only someone with a superb figure and an overdose of panache could wear.

  Dark, thick, curling hair framed her perfect features, and an abundance of diamonds sparkled with every move she made.

  The centre of attention as always, and actively seeking to make an impression.

  Shannay’s gaze shifted slightly to the man at her side. Distinguished, and at least fifteen years Estella’s senior.

  Estella de Cordova was known to scope out a room, hone in on her quarry, then patiently wait for the opportune moment to strike.

&nbs
p; Somehow Shannay doubted anything had changed.

  Impossible the news of Marcello’s reconciliation with his Australian wife hadn’t reached Estella’s notice. Or the knowledge Shannay’s attendance tonight at his side wouldn’t garner speculation.

  It wasn’t so much a matter of if Estella would make her move, only when.

  Not, she perceived, before the guests were all seated.

  Those who had been aware of the purported affair between Estella de Cordova and Marcello Martinez would be subtly watching for the slightest sign to fuel the social gossip mill.

  Shannay could almost sense it, and hated being the focus of speculative interest.

  Sandro and Luisa moved into sight, and their exchanged greeting held politeness, faint smiles and a reassuring touch to Shannay’s arm together with a whispered “brava” from Luisa a few seconds before they were shown to another table.

  How … nice, Shannay conceded silently. A friendly ally.

  The thought of calmly forking morsels of food into her mouth, sipping wine, and participating in meaningless conversation while waiting for Marcello’s former mistress to strike was enough to ruin her appetite.

  Maintaining a façade didn’t help, for she was supremely conscious of her husband’s presence, the faint, exclusive tones of his cologne and the essence of the man himself.

  Worse, the tantalisation of having an intimate knowledge of his touch, the caress of his hands, his lips, the way he could make her body sigh, then heat with passion. The heights he helped her reach, and how he held her when she fell.

  ‘It is good you have returned to Madrid.’

  Shannay heard the heavily accented feminine voice, attached it to a woman seated directly opposite and offered a polite smile in acknowledgement.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘A man in your husband’s position needs a wife by his side.’

  But not a wife and a mistress.

  And the mistress had won out.

  Words she didn’t care to voice. Didn’t need to, surely? Estella’s contretemps at the time had caused sufficient speculation.

  ‘I’m sure Marcello didn’t lack for a suitable companion.’

  An understatement, if ever there was one. The women would have been lining up … keen, willing and able to serve in every way possible!

  ‘Why—no. Marcello usually chose to accompany his aunt, or appear alone.’

  He did? How … surprising, was the only word that came to mind.

  Shannay took a sip of wine, then followed it with a measure of water, and became aware of Marcello’s interested gaze.

  ‘The food isn’t to your liking?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she hastened quickly. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

  His eyes held hers, and saw more than she wanted him to see. Without a word he speared a morsel of food from his plate and offered it to her. ‘Try this. You’ll enjoy it.’

  Don’t, she silently pleaded, and veiled her eyes against the deliberate sensuality evident.

  It’s a game, she reminded. We’re like players on a stage, acting out an anticipated part.

  With care, she cupped his hand, drew the proffered fork to her lips and eased the morsel into her mouth.

  Her lashes swept up to reveal a provocative gleam as she edged the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, let it slide fractionally over her lower lip, then carefully bit the morsel of food without taking her eyes from his own.

  And watched his eyes darken.

  Mission accomplished.

  Shannay offered a faint smile in silent compliment to his acting ability, then momentarily froze as he slid a hand to her nape and gently massaged the knot of tension there.

  To anyone viewing the subtle actions they would appear as two lovers who could barely wait to get a room.

  Was that what he wanted to convey?

  To many … or just Estella?

  Shannay waited a few minutes, then she leaned towards him. ‘You’re verging on overkill, querido,’ she warned in a softly taunting voice.

  Marcello lowered his head to hers. ‘There’s the need to set a precedent.’

  She took the opportunity to surreptitiously check her cellphone, saw an SMS message alerting Nicki had gone to sleep at eight-thirty, and felt a sense of relief.

  There were speeches in between numerous courses, some discourses brief and amusing … others long as the charity was lauded, together with the efforts of the tireless volunteers without whose help the fundraiser would not have been as successful.

  Or at least that was the overall drift, and she joined in the applause, aware Marcello had placed his arm across the back of her chair.

  An action which brought him close, and heightened her level of awareness.

  As he meant it to do?

  Did he know the effect he had on her?

  She assured herself she didn’t like or condone what he was doing. Or his manipulation. For at almost every turn she was caught in a trap, bound by love for her daughter, her affection for an elderly ill man, and now the subterfuge of deception.

  Only for a certain length of time, she reminded, for her sojourn in Madrid would reach an end and she’d return with Nicki to resume their life in Perth.

  Custody arrangements involving travel would be minimal for the next two years, and Marcello’s visits brief, if relatively frequent.

  She could cope. So too would Nicki.

  So what if she played the game according to Marcello’s dictum in the presence of others?

  It was only temporary.

  At that moment there was an entertainment announcement, and a female singer offered a rousing rendition in Spanish while colourfully attired back-up dancers performed an energetic routine.

  Coffee was served, and Shannay declined the strong espresso in favour of tea.

  It was the time of evening when guests were no longer restricted to their seats, and several rose to seek out friends, to linger, share coffee and conversation.

  Would Estella make her move now? Or engineer a staged encounter as Marcello rose to leave?

  She told herself she didn’t care. But she did, and a tension headache took hold behind her eyes.

  Presenting a sparkling façade had taken its toll. So too had attempting to correlate much of a language she hadn’t practised in a few years.

  Consequently it was a relief when Marcello withdrew his cellphone and summoned their driver to wait out front.

  There was the opportunity for a few brief words with Sandro and Luisa before their attention was diverted.

  They were about to exit the ballroom minutes later when a familiar sultry feminine voice purred a greeting, and a sinking feeling manifested itself in the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Estella.’ She could do polite. It really was the only way to go.

  Was it chance or design the man at Estella’s side drew Marcello into conversation, conveniently allowing Estella an opportunity to deliver a verbal barb or three?

  ‘I see Marcello was able to persuade you to return.’ There was a very subtle pause. ‘Not very clever of you to deny him the child.’ Her smile failed to reach the coolness in her eyes. ‘I doubt he’ll forgive you for that.’

  If the figurative knives were out, it was time to dispense with the niceties. ‘You don’t read the media news?’

  ‘The reconciliation announcement?’ A soft, humourless laugh escaped her lips. ‘A mere ploy to soothe Ramon’s rapidly ailing health.’

  ‘And this concerns you … because?’

  Something shifted in the woman’s eyes. ‘He’s a very—’ Estella paused, weighting the momentary silence with innuendo ‘—special man.’

  ‘Yes, he is.’ Shannay aimed for a secretive smile, and saw Estella’s mouth tighten a little.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Marcello’s voice held a silky quality Estella chose to heed.

  ‘Of course.’

  It could have been worse, Shannay accorded as the limousine eased its way clear of the hotel’s entrance and
joined the flow of traffic.

  She let her eyelids drift down in an attempt to shut out the neon lights and the frequent stab of headlights as the headache moved towards migraine territory.

  ‘You don’t have your medication with you?’

  He knew? ‘If I did, I’d have taken some by now.’

  There was the faint whisper of sound, followed by another as he released both safety belts, then firm hands positioned her to rest against him. A male arm curved down her back and settled over her thigh, holding her there as she began to protest.

  ‘Just close your eyes and relax.’

  Relax? With her body curled into the contours of his, her head cradled against the curve of his shoulder? Her face mere inches from his own?

  He had to be joking!

  Warmth heated her veins, tantalising her senses as the perceived intimacy invaded pleasure places they had no right to be.

  It wasn’t what she wanted. And knew her mind to be at odds with the dictates of her body.

  How easy would it be to slip free a few buttons on his shirt and slide her hand to rest against the strong beat of his heart. To feel it kick into a quickened beat as she caressed a male nipple.

  Hear his husky murmur as she lowered her hand and traced the hardened outline of his arousal held in tight restraint within the confines of his evening trousers.

  To tease a little, then lift her mouth and savour the touch of his in a preliminary to what they’d soon share in the privacy of their bedroom.

  A slow, teasing discovery, or a quick shedding of clothes as desire and need meshed and became electrifying passion.

  A time when they’d been in perfect sync, two halves of a whole … and she’d innocently believed nothing and no one could touch them.

  How wrong had she been.

  It almost made her wish it were possible to turn back the clock, and possess the power to change actions and words.

  Except it was done, and the past couldn’t be altered.

  Did Marcello have any regrets?

  How could he?

  He hadn’t followed her to Perth.

  Hadn’t sought to make contact.

  As far as he was concerned, she could have vanished from the face of the earth.