by Abby Green
The warning bell rang again outside and, feeling overwhelmed, Isobel grabbed blindly for the lock on the door and turned it, all but falling out in a heap. She felt clammy. To her utter surprise Rafael was waiting on the other side.
He took her arm. ‘I was just coming to look for you. Is something wrong? You look ill.’
Just then the door opened again, and the woman sauntered out. Unable not to watch, Isobel took in Rafael’s reaction with sick fascination. His eyes narrowed and his face flushed. Clearly he was not immune to this woman. Isobel felt even more nauseous.
‘Ana,’ he bit out.
‘Rafael, darling,’ the woman purred. T wanted to come and introduce myself to your lovely new wife. After all, we almost had so much in common.’
Rafael’s hand had tightened on Isobel’s arm so much that she bit back a cry.
‘Actually, Ana, you’ve got so little in common it’s almost funny.’
And with that Rafael strode away, dragging Isobel in his wake. When she could finally speak she managed to get out, ‘Rafael—my arm. You’re hurting me.’
He finally stopped, and she wrenched her arm from his grasp, rubbing it. Now she was feeling mortified and angry. ‘What on earth was that all about?’
He looked a little shell-shocked, and something curiously like hurt ripped through Isobel’s chest.
He ran a hand through his hair with an impatient gesture and then said curtly, ‘Nothing. I just haven’t seen her in a long time. Come on, or we’ll miss the second half.’
That night Isobel lay in bed and couldn’t sleep. Her insides roiled and all she could keep thinking about was Rafael saying to his ex-fiancée, ‘You’ve got so little in common it’s almost funny.’
Following their exchange before they’d gone out for the evening Isobel had fully expected Rafael to take her to his bed that night. But after bumping into Ana Perez he’d been abnormally quiet and subdued, barely bidding Isobel goodnight when they’d returned to the house. And she knew why—what it had to be. Because seeing her next to Ana Perez had reminded him of everything he was missing from his marriage.
Passion and love.
No matter how cynical his exterior, he couldn’t truly not want that.
It wasn’t hard to remember the passionate pictures of them all those years before, when they’d been engaged. He’d looked devastated to see his ex-fiancée that evening. Isobel turned on her side and stared sightlessly into the gloom, unwilling to acknowledge how much that thought hurt.
Isobel felt hollow-eyed the next morning when she came down to breakfast. She’d deliberately come down later to try and avoid Rafael, but he was sitting there in shirt and tie, finishing his coffee when she came in. He glanced up and took her in.
‘You look like hell.’
‘Thanks,’ she muttered, and sat down, feeling even more exposed.
Rafael cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry you were subjected to Ana’s unique brand of social grace last night.’
Isobel affected blithe unconcern as she poured herself some coffee. ‘Oh, that? I’d forgotten all about meeting her.’
‘Yes,’ he said tightly. ‘Well, it won’t happen again. I can assure you of that.’
Isobel flicked him a quick glance so she wouldn’t have to look at him properly. ‘Look, really, it’s no big deal. You were engaged. It’d be weirder if she’d said nothing at all.’
Rafael went very still. ‘Just exactly what did she say?’
Isobel squirmed in her seat and cursed herself silently, especially when Rafael said grimly, ‘Isobel, I’m not leaving here until you tell me, and you can forget about pretending you talked about the weather. I know exactly what she’s like.’
Isobel’s insides felt as if they were being lacerated. His interest in what Ana had said had to be evidence that he still felt something for her, or else why the need to know?
So she blurted out, ‘Fine. She wanted me to know that if you hadn’t lost everything when you had, you’d be married to her by now.’ Rafael snorted indelicately, and Isobel was reminded of her curiosity of the night before. ‘What did she mean about losing everything?’
Rafael looked as grim as Isobel had ever seen him—face taut, the lines harsh. ‘What my dear ex-fiancée was alluding to was the fact that our engagement had disastrous repercussions. My father died just after we announced the engagement, leaving the company in disarray. When rumours emerged that Ana and I might elope, and thus break the legal agreement between our families, investors and banks washed their hands of me, sure that I wouldn’t be able to turn things around like my father always had.’
‘Elope?’ Isobel repeated faintly, recalling just then that Ana had mentioned it last night.
Rafael’s eyes were cold and black. ‘Ana thought it would be romantic. She played on the fact that I felt trapped by this agreement, that I was promised in marriage to someone who was barely a teenager at the time. She thought eloping would be the quickest way to entice me into marriage, but before we could get that far my finances collapsed overnight.’
Isobel shook her head, trying to absorb this information and ignore the way it made her feel to know that he’d been willing to elope for love. ‘But what about your brother? Wasn’t he—?’
‘My brother had his own concerns by then, in Greece. It was up to me to get things back on track. And I did—before we could lose our home and before we could lose the estancia.’ His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘However, Ana didn’t trust my ability. She ran, and within months she’d married a Swiss industrialist who could keep her in the manner to which she’d become accustomed.’
All Isobel could think of in that moment was how hollow and empty her belly felt. ‘I had no idea…’ she said ineffectually.
‘Why would you?’ He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The press had a field day, but once I started to make money again it was soon forgotten and I was welcomed back into the fold.’
Rafael stood then, and his chair sounded harsh on the floor. Isobel flinched slightly.
‘Still flinching, Isobel?’ His voice sounded unbearably harsh, as if talking about the past had tapped into something within him. She looked up.
Rafael leant down and put his finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his. For a terrified moment she was afraid he was going to kiss her, just when she was feeling far too vulnerable. But then he said, ‘I’m bored with talk of the past and ex-fiancées. You are my wife now, Isobel, and I’m done with waiting. Tonight I’ll have you in my bed. But first we have to entertain a business contact. Be ready to go out at eight.’
Still a little dazed and stunned at what had just transpired, Isobel finished her breakfast and went out to the hall. She saw that someone had put the post in the door and went to pick it up. Along with it was one of the tabloid papers that Juanita liked reading.
When Isobel flipped open the paper fully there was a lurid headline proclaiming that Ana Perez was back in town, and an old picture of Rafael and Ana just after they’d announced their engagement. They were hand in hand, with Rafael curving his other hand protectively around Ana’s face to shield her from the paparazzi. Rafael looked so young, vibrant and handsome, with a softness to his face that she’d never seen.
Nausea surged again just as Juanita appeared. Isobel all but pushed the letters and the paper into her hands and fled, leaving Juanita to look at the paper curiously.
‘I believe you’re a professional dancer?’
Isobel turned to Rita, the wife of Rafael’s business contact and smiled weakly, trying to ignore the fact that her head spun a little with the movement. ‘Well, not professional. Although I did teach tango when I lived in Paris.’
The middle-aged woman sighed expressively. ‘My husband and I went to a tango show last night. It’s just about the most erotic and sexy thing I’ve ever seen. I’d love to be able to dance like that.’
Isobel flushed when she remembered how it had felt to dance with Rafael in Paris and took another sip of her wine, knowing that she was pla
ying with fire but needing something, anything, to block out the fact that here she was, all but colluding in her husband’s business concerns, and that tonight Rafael expected her to—
‘Go easy on that wine, Isobel. I don’t want to have to carry you out of here.’
Rafael said it quietly, just to her and with a smile, but also with a clear warning in his eyes. It made Isobel rebelliously pick up her wine again and take an even bigger gulp this time.
He said urbanely to Rita, ‘Isobel and I would love to perform a tango for you if the opportunity arises. When you’re here for longer perhaps she could give you a few lessons.’
The woman stuttered. ‘Oh—oh, no, I couldn’t expect that—’
Isobel took pity on her and said effusively, ‘Don’t be silly. I’d love to teach you the basics. It’d be no problem at all. I have so much time on my hands these days I almost don’t know what to do with myself.’
The woman looked from Rafael to Isobel, clearly registering the barbed comment, and just said, ‘Well, that’d be great, honey. Thank you.’
Isobel took another drink, almost revelling now in Rafael’s dark, censorious glances. Who did he think he was anyway? She knew the wine was going straight to her head, despite the dinner they’d eaten.
Bob, Rita’s husband, who sat opposite, engaged her in conversation, but Isobel found herself having to carefully enunciate everything she said. In truth she wasn’t able to keep track of much of the conversation around her, knowing that on some level she was blocking it out because she didn’t want to hear just how ruthless Rafael was. It wasn’t long before she began to feel a little sick and knew she’d gone too far. She wasn’t even really aware any more of what she was saying.
Feeling a sudden urge to get some air, she moved to get up. A surge of dizziness made her sit straight back down. Immediately, Rafael’s arm was around her. She heard him murmur something about ‘getting home…long day…not long after honeymoon…’ and then he was supporting her out of the restaurant.
In the back of the car on the way home, the alcohol provided a nice safe distance from the waves of anger she could feel coming off Rafael. She started to giggle when she imagined it like a force field, protecting her from his wrath.
His filthy look in her direction made her giggle even harder—and then she was gone, tears streaming down her face, nearly bent double over her knees, unable to catch her breath.
It was only when Rafael reached in to pluck her out of the car that she realised that they were home. Rafael lifted her into his arms, and instantly Isobel’s giggles stopped and turned into hiccups. Her head spun ominously, but then cleared again.
His body felt taut and hard and his face was grim. Her hands went around his neck and the surprisingly silky strands of his hair brushed against her fingers. Instinctively, she moved them to feel more. She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth.
Everything coherent disappeared from Isobel’s head. All she knew was that she was in Rafael’s arms, and any concerns and inhibitions were dissolving like snow on hot coals at the feel of his body so close to hers. It was amazingly unclear to her now why she’d insisted on resisting him.
The front door was open and he shouldered his way through. She could feel his chest muscles contract and move against her. Isobel brought her hand round and pressed a finger against his mouth, a cord tightening in her belly. ‘You’ve got the most beautiful mouth—do you know that?’
She was aware on some level that the words in her head weren’t coming out as clearly as they should. They were flowing together in an incoherent slurred rush of words all joined up together.
Rafael twisted his head away and Isobel’s hand fell to his neck. She started to pull at his bow tie to get to the buttons of his shirt. Frowning in concentration, she was barely aware of Rafael climbing the main stairs she was so intent on her task.
When the bow tie proved impenetrable to her clumsy ministrations she gave up with a huff and started to undo the other buttons of his shirt, sighing happily when she could slide a hand in and touch the warm skin of his chest. His heart was beating heavily against her hand and she felt unbearably hot all over. Waves of heat were coming and going, gathering intensity.
Swaying dangerously, she was hardly aware of Rafael standing her on her feet, or his curse. She looked up and his head was too far away. She wanted him to kiss her, right now, but wasn’t even aware she’d articulated it with any success until he said caustically, ‘Isobel, I am not taking my drunk wife to bed. When we make love you’re going to be stone-cold sober and aware of every moment.’
She swayed again unsteadily, and then everything became a blur. All she knew was that she was lying down and Rafael’s arms were around her. But then he was pulling back, taking them away.
‘No!’ she said impulsively, and caught him back. She ran her hands through his hair and pulled his head down, sighing voluptuously. ‘Your hair feels like silk…kiss me, Rafael.’
She closed her eyes and pursed her lips, and heard Rafael say, ‘I swear you’ll be the death of me.’
She opened her eyes and tried to focus, but there were two Rafaels. ‘So die a little…please…just kiss me.’
But Rafael was gone, and Isobel suddenly felt very strange as the whole room started to spin alarmingly.
When Isobel woke the next morning everything hurt. Especially her head and her stomach. She groaned and put a hand to her head, massaging it delicately. And with slow and devastating thoroughness everything trickled back. The dinner, Rita and Bob, the wine…Rafael carrying her up the stairs. Her begging him to kiss her…and then, worst of all, her hunched over the toilet as the entire contents of her wine-laden belly came up. It was still blurry, but she definitely remembered a presence with her, holding her and handing her a wet cloth, making her brush her teeth. Rafael.
She groaned even louder and buried her face in her pillow. How could she ever hope to beg for more space after her wanton theatrics last night? After a long moment she sat up carefully, only noticing then that she was in her bra and pants. With another groan she threw back the cover and went to stand up, but just then her door opened and Rafael stood on the threshold, tall and glorious and stern. Isobel scrambled for the sheet to cover herself.
‘Do you mind?’ Her voice felt unbearably rusty.
He arched an incredulous brow. ‘Believe me, querida, you really don’t have the right to act outraged when you tried to strip me last night. I barely got out of here with my dignity intact.’
Isobel tucked the sheet around her, face flaming. ‘So I got a little merry…’
He came closer, and Isobel had to look up and her head hurt.
‘A little merry? You were drunk, and after only two glasses of wine. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘I told you I don’t have a head for alcohol.’
‘And yet you ignored me when I told you to go easy. You can get as drunk as you like at home, Isobel, but not out in public as my wife. I had to practically carry you out of that restaurant in front of an important business associate and his wife.’
She winced again, but not even hearing him mention his business contact could eclipse the nausea she already felt.
‘And, much as I appreciate your crude effort at seduction, like I said last night, when we make love you’re going to be stone-cold sober and you will remember every moment.’ He started to back away and then stopped. ‘I’m going to be working late tonight, but we’ve been invited to a polo tournament tomorrow. I hope that you’ll be more in control of yourself by then.’
Isobel nodded curtly as waves of mortification threatened to drown her. Rafael just shook his head and gave her a look that said he was satisfied he’d brought his wife back into line, then strode out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Isobel collapsed back on the bed and looked at the ceiling.
An unsavoury thought occurred to her: had she subconsciously sabotaged last night not just out of disgust for his business ethics, or fear of her uncontrollable resp
onse to her husband, but because of the inevitable comparison Rafael would make between her, Isobel, and the sultry Ana Perez?
Isobel sat up. A novice like her could never match up to a practised seductress like Ana. Once Rafael had slept with her and found her wanting he’d realise what a mistake he’d made. There was no way a man as virile as him would want to tie himself to a wife he didn’t want to sleep with…especially not after running into the love of his life.
With an awful sense of inevitability washing over her, and feeling somehow rudderless, Isobel got up wearily and had a hot shower. The truth was that thought didn’t comfort her, and thinking about Rafael finding out what a let-down in bed she was was making her feel hollow inside.
Last night had given her a taste of the corporate life Rafael lived, and Isobel felt a surge of determination to take control of things herself. She wanted to prove that, whatever else happened, she was not going to be like her husband in business matters. She was in this situation and she had to make the best of things. What had Rafael said the other day? Something about the world being her oyster, and that she could do what she wanted…? Even as she thought of that, a kernel of an idea sprang to life in her head and, feeling enthusiastic for the first time in a long time, Isobel dried herself off and got dressed.
That evening, feeling tired but happy, Isobel waited in the lounge for Rafael to come home for dinner. Lots of property brochures were spread out before her. She heard a familiar heavy footfall and looked up to see Rafael filling the door frame. A shiver of foreboding slithered down her spine. He looked furious.
He strode into the room and threw down a paper onto the table in front of her. ‘Want to tell me what the hell you’ve been up to?’
Isobel’s mouth dropped open. She genuinely had no idea what Rafael was talking about. She looked down to see that the paper was an evening edition, and there on the front page was a grainy picture of her shaking a man’s hand outside a decrepit building in La Boca, one of Buenos Aires’s oldest districts. It must have been taken that morning.
