by Abby Green
Isobel flushed at being reminded of their unbreakable ties. And also at being reminded of that nebulous pull she felt to the estancia that had been her grandmother’s.
Even so, she fought. It was all she had left to do. Her response to him made her lash out again. ‘Damn you, Rafael, you think you know it all. It goes against everything in me to bind myself into a loveless marriage to fulfil the terms of some agreement. There has to be another way.’
He smiled a hard smile. ‘I’m not a tyrant, Isobel. I won’t be locking you away in a high tower.’
Isobel still fought. ‘I’d rather be locked in a tower than be forced into an arranged marriage with a cynical, spoilt, jaded Buenos Aires playboy who has nothing better to do than make arrogant demands because he’s decided he’s happy to honour some ancient agreement.’ Isobel realised she was breathing hard. ‘I want you to leave.’
An incredulous expression stole across Rafael’s face. ‘You have no idea, do you?’
Despite herself Isobel had to ask. ‘No idea about what?’
Rafael was watching her carefully. ‘About how badly your father is doing…He’s made some highly risky investments lately, spurred on by your mother, and they’ve all backfired. He’s on the verge of bankruptcy.’
‘Oh, please,’ Isobel said disgustedly. ‘If this is just your attempt to make me feel even more vulnerable—’
‘It’s not.’
He sounded so grim that Isobel just looked at him, and felt a cold finger of dread touch her spine.
‘Your father is in serious trouble, Isobel. He stands to lose everything.’
Isobel instinctively reached for the high-backed chair near her, needing to hold on to something. Right then she knew implicitly that Rafael wouldn’t be lying about this. He wouldn’t need to. Her father had always had a rash side; it was what had made him a financial whiz in the first place, and brought him to the attention of her mother’s family, who’d wanted her to marry into the prestigious and more stable banking world in Europe. Isobel had always suspected that the sale of the estancia had probably had as much to do with her father’s reckless trading as her grandfather’s own poor judgment. And she could well imagine now that the collapse of the global economy hadn’t been kind to him.
She tried not to reveal how shaken she was by this news, and recalled that she hadn’t heard from her father in some weeks. He’d always made an effort to keep in touch.
‘How do you know this?’
Rafael grimaced. ‘It seems you’ve forgotten how small our world is in Buenos Aires. It’s not common knowledge yet how bad things are for him, but I’m in close contact with some of his lenders and it’s not good. I’d say he has at the most a month before it becomes public knowledge.’
Isobel had gone inward, and she said now, more to herself than Rafael, ‘My mother mustn’t know…if she knew about this…’
‘Oh, she knows all right. That’s why they came to see me some weeks ago. Their very future hinges on this marriage going ahead, so needless to say they were extremely relieved when I told them I had it in hand.’
Isobel looked at Rafael. She was stunned. Everything had just been tipped on its axis, and suddenly her last remaining hope of any possible way out was being ripped from under her feet.
As if to ram it home, Rafael spelt it out. ‘When we marry, the estancia will become half yours, as my wife. Your parents will receive their sizeable inheritance and your family will be fine. And there’s something else you should know—the agreement says that I only have to pay half of what the estancia was worth, but I’ve agreed to pay your parents half of what it’s worth now. Needless to say, we’re talking a difference that runs into millions. But I’m prepared to do this as I have no wish for my wife’s family to struggle financially in the future.’
And then he stuck the knife in even deeper. ‘How can you turn your back on your family when they need you? Or turn your back on receiving the legacy of your grandmother’s ancestral home for your own children?’
Isobel had let go of the counter and her fingernails were scoring half-moons in the palms of her hands. She hated Rafael for the sense of responsibility that washed over her in a sickening wave.
Isobel realised she was shaking like a leaf. ‘Get out of my apartment, Mr Romero. You’ve said what you came to say, now get out.’
‘Isobel, you know you don’t have a choice.’
‘Of course I do,’ she said desperately, refusing to give up even now. ‘There’s always a choice. And I’m not going to ask you again to get out.’
She walked over to the door and opened it wide. To her intense relief Rafael moved towards it. But he stopped just at the threshold. Isobel tried desperately to ignore the way her skin felt hot and seemed to be stretched tight. She avoided Rafael’s eyes.
‘I’ll come for you tomorrow afternoon, Isobel. It’s time to come home and fulfil your duty—to me and your family. Your fate was written a long time ago, and it’s bound up with mine—irrevocably.’
‘Get out,’ Isobel said, almost pleading.
Finally he’d gone, and she heard his steps descending the stairs. Closing the door, she sagged back against it and then her legs gave way. She slithered to the ground and sat like that for a long time, her brain blissfully frozen in a state of shock.
Across Paris Rafael stood at the window of his dimly lit bedroom suite. The Eiffel Tower shone and glistened like a giant bauble outside. He had to admit that he admired Isobel more and more after meeting her again. She was still fighting. A dart of panic gripped his gut for a second. He couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t have run again by tomorrow.
He knew, though, that the news of her father’s dire straits would have made her stop to think. Rafael frowned. He’d truly never been in this situation before, where a woman patently wanted nothing to do with him. His ego wasn’t dented…he knew Isobel wanted him. And after that kiss the depth of his own attraction for her had stunned him slightly. It had been near impossible to pull back and not give in to the urge to keep going—to caress her slender curves, pull up her dress to inch his hand up those quivering thighs.
He frowned. If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d even hazard a guess that she was still innocent. It was in every skittish move she made when he was near, in the way she’d look at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way that telling colour stole into her cheeks whenever he got too close. While he couldn’t be certain she hadn’t had a lover, there had clearly been no one significant.
The thought that she might be a virgin sent a frisson of pure masculine thrill through him and it surprised him. He’d never entertained any kind of romantic notion of bedding a virgin bride. He’d always made sure to gravitate towards women who were experienced and knew how to pleasure him.
One thing was sure: he hadn’t lied when he’d promised he would be faithful. He had to concede that the memory of her had hovered over the shoulder of every other woman he’d been with since that night. He hadn’t met anyone who had touched some primal part of him as effortlessly as she had. The kiss tonight had just proved that they had explosive chemistry.
He placed a hand on the glass and realised his heart was thumping hard. He was becoming aroused by little more than thinking of Isobel—not a usual effect of any woman who occupied his mind, no matter how seductive.
He would have Isobel in his life, and in his bed, as his wife. And once she saw what he could provide for her she’d soon realise how futile it would be to fight him, or her fate. He smiled then. This marriage was beginning to look appealing on many more levels than he might ever have anticipated.
The following day the weather seemed to be in sympathy with Isobel’s mood. Bleak and stormy. She was hollow eyed after a long, sleepless night. Her landlord had just been, and her ears were still ringing from his long rant because she was leaving with no notice. She’d had to fork over some precious cash to appease him, and she’d thought a little hysterically of the fact that within a short space of time she’d be
the joint owner of a multi-million-dollar estate.
In the lonely hours in the middle of the night she’d resigned herself to the fact that she had submit to this marriage. All avenues of escape were cut off. Curiously, as soon as she’d articulated the thought, a sense of calm had washed over her—not panic, as she’d expected. It was almost as if the fates were conspiring against her to say, You were never going to escape this.
She’d called her dance partner José that morning, and without getting into the whole explanation had just said that she had to leave to go home indefinitely because of a family crisis. He’d been sad, but delighted to think he could take over her classes. It drove home to Isobel how tenuous her links to Paris really were, and that was disturbing. Why hadn’t she forged deeper links?
Isobel knew a big part of her was still in shock, not really contemplating the reality that faced her.
A peremptory knock sounded on the door. With her stomach in freefall she took a last glance around what had been her home for the best part of three years and went to the door.
‘You don’t have much baggage.’
Still feeling exposed and raw from realising how easy it had been to walk away from three years of a life, Isobel was trying her best to block out the far too dominant male all but sprawled across the back seat of the luxury car as they were driven to the airport.
She gritted her teeth and recalled his look of pure disbelief when she’d presented herself at the door of her apartment with one wheelie suitcase.
‘Not all of us need possessions and money and real estate to feel validated.’
He chuckled softly, but the sound was anything but friendly. ‘Very noble. Are you afraid I’ll corrupt you with my debauched and materialistic ways?’
Isobel just clamped her mouth shut and said nothing, watching as Paris gave way outside the car to the start of the gritty suburbs and then the anonymous motorway. She felt all at once clammy and sweaty, and her heart beat a restless tattoo in her chest which got worse every time Rafael made the minutest move. She hated to be so aware of him, and told herself it was only antipathy, not attraction.
He was on the phone now, speaking rapidly in Spanish to someone. Isobel could only make out the gist of the conversation as he was talking about something she had no knowledge of: stocks and shares and bonds. But she was supremely aware of the hand nearest her, gesticulating the emphasis of his words, fingers long and graceful.
He terminated the conversation just as they approached the airport and said, ‘We’re going straight to the plane. Customs will check your passport and documents there.’
Before Isobel could draw breath, they’d been cleared to go, and she was stepping into a private jet straight out of a magazine spread. The carpet alone felt like stepping onto a cloud. She’d never seen anything so decadently opulent in her life.
‘I suppose you’re happy with a carbon footprint the size of Everest?’
Rafael had been moving around behind her and stopped. His hands were on his hips when Isobel turned to face him, drawing attention to how lean they were in faded jeans. It was the first time she’d looked directly at him all morning. He was just too beautiful. And the feelings jumping around her belly were far too ambiguous.
‘I share this jet with a group of businessmen, one of whom happens to be my older half-brother. Much as I’d like to take a scheduled flight, sometimes it’s just not practical—not when I have back-to-back meetings lined up as soon as we return to Buenos Aires. I’m just lucky that my brother happened to be here in Paris at the moment.’
She couldn’t even feel mildly chastised at being put in her place. Intense relief that he was going to be busy nearly made Isobel sag back into the seat behind her. She tried to school her expression, but obviously failed.
‘No need to look so pleased, Isobel. You’ll need some time at home with your family to prepare for the wedding anyway.’
This time she did sag back into the seat, and she asked shakily, hating having to speak the words out loud, as if that was making it more concrete, ‘We’re getting married on my birthday?’
Rafael came and sat down in the seat on the other side of the aisle, taking out papers from a briefcase and a super slim platinum laptop. ‘Yes. Exactly according to the terms laid out in the agreement.’
She looked away with effort, and her hands shook as she did up her seat belt. ‘I can’t believe you’re making me do this.’
In a flash Rafael had surged out of his seat and was leaning over her, hands on the armrests either side of her body. Isobel shrank back into her seat, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest.
‘I’m not making you do anything Isobel. We’re bound together by a set of circumstances outside of our control.’ His mouth became a bitter line. ‘This marriage has been set in stone for years and it will happen, whether you like it or not. No fairytale endings here, Isobel.’
Panic at his proximity made her blurt out, ‘If I had a choice I wouldn’t marry someone like you in a million years.’
His eyes flicked up and down, and Isobel felt her skin grow hot. ‘So you keep saying. I’m going to think you’re protesting just a little too much if you keep this up.’
Rafael just looked at her for an intensely long moment, and then went back to sit down. With a few feet separating them again Isobel felt her heart slow down and her brain cleared. Was he suggesting that on some level she wanted this? That she would choose this if given a choice? Nausea rose. She couldn’t want this on any level. It went against everything she believed in and wanted for herself.
Isobel stayed silent as they taxied and then took off into the air. She watched as Paris fell away below them, gradually becoming smaller and smaller until it got obscured with clouds and disappeared completely. To her surprise, her dominant feeling as they left wasn’t of sadness or even anger, it was a kind of ambivalence. Had it really touched her so superficially?
Far too disturbed to investigate that line of thinking, Isobel got her book out of her bag and pretended to be engrossed. But all the while she was acutely aware of every movement Rafael made just feet away.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY arrived in Buenos Aires on a cool August morning, with dawn breaking over the horizon, sending crimson ribbons across the sky. For some reason it felt like an omen to Isobel, and she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad. She could sense Rafael behind her, urging her on to go down the steps. She had to move forward. She took a deep breath and stepped out. When she came to the bottom of the steps and stood on Argentinian soil for the first time in three years she felt something intangible move within her and thought of her grandparents. To her utter disgust, emotional tears prickled ominously.
Blinking them back and feeling betrayed by her emotions, telling herself it had to be tiredness, jet-lag…anything but the fact that she’d actually missed Buenos Aires…she felt Rafael take her arm and lead her over to a waiting car.
Once they were in the back Isobel sent him a quick glance, disgusted to see that Rafael looked as if he’d just woken from a deep, restorative sleep—which, she had to remind herself, he had. He’d worked for a bit at the start of the flight, they’d eaten a meal, and then he’d reclined his chair and snored softly for the whole flight. Isobel knew because she’d been tense and wound up the whole time, casting him suspicious looks, hating him for sleeping so easily.
‘What happens now?’ she asked, trying to ignore his perfection.
He faced her. ‘What happens now is that I drop you at your house. I’ve been invited over this evening for dinner, and I’ll bring your engagement ring with me. It belonged to my grandmother.’
‘Engagement ring…’ Isobel repeated weakly, with visions of an enormously ostentatious ruby-red rock surrounded by diamonds.
Rafael frowned, unaware of the horror rising within Isobel at how fast things were moving. He took one of her hands and inspected it, making little fires of sensation race up Isobel’s arm. ‘Your fingers are slim. I’ll probably have to ge
t the size adjusted, but that shouldn’t take long…’
Isobel pulled her hand free and choked back the urge to shout at the driver to turn right around and go back to the plane. They were entering the outskirts of BA, and Isobel found that she was experiencing that same welling of emotion she’d had on leaving the plane. Her hands clenched in her lap. How could her emotions be so fickle? When she was coming home to be all but marched up the aisle with a gun to her head?
Before long they turned into a familiar road, her road, and the gates of Isobel’s house opened smoothly. As they came up the drive Isobel could see that her parents were standing at the door, flanked by the staff on either side. All up and dressed, as if it wasn’t ungodly early.
Isobel felt a sense of resignation…and with a heavy heart she knew that she was doing the right thing. Losing everything would have destroyed her parents. As much as they might not be close, they were still her parents, and she loved them. The realisation made her feel very vulnerable as Rafael came around and opened her door.
The next few minutes were a blur, but a few things stood out: how possessive Rafael’s arm felt clasped around her waist and how it made a churning mix of emotions run through her; her father’s relieved and grateful expression; her mother’s insincere tears of joy at having her prodigal daughter returned.
And then Rafael was gone, his car disappearing back down the drive. Isobel actually felt bereft for a moment, as if some kind of anchor was being taken away—which was crazy. But then she was being hustled into the house and the door was shut firmly behind her. If she closed her eyes for a brief moment it was almost as if the last three years hadn’t happened…
