by Phoebe Conn
Helen had had a difficult life. “I’d have left my husband long before he died, but I couldn’t disappoint our children or force them to take sides.”
“Life goes by so swiftly,” Vivien observed. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a loving marriage.”
Helen shrugged. “I’m grateful he left me well provided for, and I may be luckier the second time.”
“You’d marry again? Aren’t you afraid you might do worse?” Ingrid asked.
Ana enjoyed a creampuff as the ladies laughed about the possibility of happy second marriages at their age. By the time they were all ready to leave, they’d talked away the afternoon, and Vivien promised to give the next tea soon.
“They were all really fun,” Ana told Fatima. “I don’t think people change much with age, do you?”
“Not from what I’d seen. Sweet people stay sweet, and the nasty ones just keep on getting nastier. Do you want me to fix dinner before I go?”
“Thank you, but I ate one creampuff too many, and I’ll wait until later.” She stretched out on the sofa and read through the latest edition of French Vogue. She’d hoped to hear from Alejandro, but when it grew late and he hadn’t called, she warmed the leftover pisto manchego. It was even better than it had been Sunday night.
The call Alejandro had dreaded came late in the afternoon. His father had suffered a heart attack and died. Carlotta had been with him at the end and had left for home to tell their sons. Alejandro thanked the doctor for all he’d done, and remained at his desk to write a brief announcement for the staff. He gathered the department heads in the conference room and told them himself. Several sobbed into their handkerchiefs, but he felt nothing and remained dry-eyed.
“While not unexpected, this is still a blow,” he said. “My father was not a religious man, and he often told me rather than a traditional funeral, he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered at sea. It’s appropriate for a man who gave his life to the Ortiz Line. I’ll let you know when arrangements have been made. Take off as much time as you need.”
There were questions, and he gave the best answers he could, but what was really needed was the assurance he would continue to head the firm. “Yes, I will,” he promised, his voice firm, but it wasn’t an honor he welcomed or would continue indefinitely.
It was late when Alejandro came to Ana’s door, but the seriousness of his expression made it plain he hadn’t stopped by for sex. “Come in and tell me what’s wrong.”
“My father died this afternoon. I wanted you to know before it’s on the news, but I won’t stay.”
She caught his arm and pulled him through the door. “I’m so sorry. You’ll stay long enough to eat a creampuff, won’t you?”
A skeptical frown crossed his brow. “A creampuff?”
“There were some left from the tea I gave this afternoon, but all the nut bread is gone. Let’s have coffee and sit quietly together if you’d rather not talk.”
“I’d rather not talk, but I’m sorry if I ate the nut bread you’d planned for a party.”
She leaned close to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You’re welcome to whatever is here. From now on I’ll put notes on anything I want to save.” She hopped into the kitchen, and he followed.
“Go sit down, and I’ll make the coffee,” he urged.
“Fine.” It amazed her how easily he glided into her life, and it was more than mere excellent chemistry. Whatever the intangible was, it exerted a constant pull even when she’d been furious with him. She returned to the sofa where she’d been reading. They’d called a truce last night, and she wouldn’t mention a need to extend it when he’d come with such tragic news. He brought the whole plate of creampuffs into the living room, and thinking he might finish them all, she took the first one.
“How is your stepmother?”
He placed her coffee on the end table beside her. “She’s taking it better than expected. She was with my father and swears she felt his spirit drift away. He would have hated being an invalid. It’s a blessing he’s gone. I don’t feel anything, not sorrow, or relief, nothing at all. I called my mother when my father first entered the hospital, so his death didn’t come as a shock. She said she’d pray for his soul.” He took a creampuff. “How was the tea?”
She searched his face for a shadow of emotion, but he looked as cool as he sounded. This was a man who never mentioned love, so maybe today’s lack of reaction was nothing unusual for him. Maybe he simply welcomed a distraction. “It was a lovely afternoon. I didn’t grow up going to tea parties, and my mother never hosted one, but it was fun. I invited the widows in the building I’ve only seen occasionally and wanted to know. It’s one of my efforts to sample the real world. Does that sound strange to you, or simply silly?”
“Neither. We get wedged into our lives, and it’s good to step out on our own whenever we can. I don’t suppose you told them about the baby?”
He was closely studying his creampuff. He never looked at her when there was something he really wanted to know. In gambling, such a giveaway was referred to as a tell. She stopped analyzing him to respond. “It’s too soon, Alejandro, and they aren’t dear friends. None would call the tabloids, but they’d tell someone, who’d tell someone, and soon everyone would know.”
He swallowed a bite of creampuff. “How would that be bad?”
“Let’s not go there.” She licked a drop of custard filling from her finger.
“I should go.”
“Have another creampuff and finish your coffee first.”
He loosened his tie and kicked off his loafers. “I didn’t mean to stay, but clearly you don’t want me to go.”
She laughed. “I don’t?”
“No, or you’d not have offered a creampuff in the first place.”
“Are you doubting my motives?” She still mistrusted his but couldn’t help herself.
“Ask me later.”
His father had died, and while he refused to admit it, it had to affect him. Maybe it had seeped so deep he couldn’t feel it yet, but it would hit him someday. Every death was a loss, and Orlando Ortiz had cut a wide swath through Alejandro’s life. Maybe Alejandro hadn’t come for sex, but clearly he’d wanted a friend, and she didn’t mind at all.
“Fatima could work as a pastry chef,” he said.
“She could, but please don’t encourage her. I love having her work for me and would rather not have to train someone new in the way I want things done.”
He nodded. “I understand. My father set out early to train me. He began taking me to the office when I was five or six. He talked to me as though I were an apprentice he expected to learn quickly. He cautioned me not to praise people for doing the job they were paid to do. He expected excellence and paid good salaries, so he didn’t waste his breath on praise. One of his employees had to do something extraordinary to win an accolade. ‘Keep them hungry,’ he advised. I didn’t know the word manipulation then, but I knew what he did was wrong and people deserved to be recognized for their work beyond a paycheck.”
Now that he’d spoken about his father, she encouraged him to continue. “So his business lessons didn’t take?”
He sipped his coffee and kept the warm mug clasped in his hands. “I learned his rules for success and could repeat them verbatim, but I didn’t believe them. Now I have the choice of following his strict silent way of doing business or turning the Ortiz Line on its head. It’s a tempting thought, but I won’t do anything to harm the people depending on us for work. In the not too distant future, however, I hope to turn the whole operation over to someone who’d be much better qualified than I.”
“Where do his younger sons fit in?”
“One of them may develop a passion for business when he’s grown, and I’ll drop the whole mess in his lap. But they’re still kids and can’t run anything yet. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to burden you with this.”
“I don’t feel burdened at all,” she responded and had to cover a yawn. “I have an early
shoot and should get to bed, but there’s no rush if there’s anything more you’d like to say.”
“I’ve already said too much. I’ll have just one more creampuff and go. I didn’t come by for a sympathy—”
“Don’t you dare say that word,” she cautioned sternly. “That’s never been what happens between us.”
He flashed a killer grin. “You’re finally admitting it’s more than great sex?”
She’d meant to be strict, but he melted her resolve so easily, so continually, she doubted she’d ever be able to say no to him. She’d never let him know, though. “You’re pushing your luck, Mr. Vasquez. Last night’s truce won’t last forever.”
“Why not?” He got up and carried the plate into the kitchen, wrapped the last two creampuffs and put them in the refrigerator. When he returned to the living room, he gave her a hand to rise. “We agreed to fight only on Tuesdays, but I can’t handle discord tonight. Why don’t you keep a list, and we’ll argue about it the next time Tuesday comes around.”
“There’s nothing new,” she replied with a shrug. She rested her hands on his chest to kiss him good-night, and he blurred the first kiss into so many more she lost count. He needed her tonight even if he couldn’t admit it. “Stay,” she breathed softly against his lips.
“What about your early job? Don’t you have to look well rested?” He smoothed her hair back to kiss her ear.
It tickled, and she brushed him away. “It’s a shoe ad. My one foot that can work will look great regardless.” He slipped his arm around her waist to support her as she hopped into her bedroom. “I hope the kittens don’t get too hungry before you come home.”
“You caught me. I fed them before I came here,” he confessed.
He pulled her so close she couldn’t mistake how badly he wanted her. She slid her hand between them to rub him and felt him grow harder. “The ability to plan ahead is a significant plus in an executive, and you have other talents as well.”
“I didn’t sleep my way to the top,” he murmured between kisses.
“No, but you surely could have.”
They’d been together often, but he showered her with a fierce passion tonight. She welcomed his lavish kisses and deep thrusts and clung to his broad shoulders. She rolled her hips to rock against him and cried out as she came. He hovered above her, and she clasped her core to stoke him into bliss and lay pleasantly limp beneath his comforting weight. When he moved, she held him tight. “I like holding you.”
“You don’t feel crushed?”
“No, only warm and safe.”
He kissed her tenderly, nibbled her ears and licked her breasts until his beard tickled. He rolled over to pull her up on top and wound his arms around her to keep her close. “Tomorrow will come too soon, but I’m not tired.”
She kissed his cheek and wiggled against him. “Neither am I. What shall we do, count sheep?”
He smoothed his hand over her bottom. “I can’t remember the numbers above one when you’re so close.”
“I can get closer,” she promised, and he welcomed her delicious kisses and created another night neither would ever forget.
Rafael Mondragon listened to the news on the drive to medical school each morning, and he was shocked to learn of Orlando Ortiz’s death. Maggie would already be at the American high school preparing for her classes. He called her as soon as he parked. “My mother may wait a year before marrying another millionaire, but I doubt it’ll be much longer.”
“Will she expect us to attend the funeral?”
“She might, but I’m not going.”
“I don’t blame you. How old was he?”
“Sixty-two, which doesn’t sound all that old to me anymore. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Maggie didn’t see her sister, Libby, until lunch and drew her out onto the patio where they could eat at a table by themselves. “Orlando Ortiz died. While Rafael refuses to speak to his mother, I have the awful feeling she’ll contact him to demand his support.”
Libby opened her salad container and dribbled on the dressing. “Carlotta can demand whatever she wants, but your husband won’t give in. You have to know that.”
“Of course I do, but he doesn’t need the aggravation and neither do I.”
“Send flowers to the funeral and let it go. Ana Santillan married Orlando’s son. I wonder if she’ll keep modeling or simply run their social life. The family is probably involved in several charities, so she’d have plenty to do. We should call her and offer our sympathies.”
“You’re more curious than sympathetic,” Maggie chided.
Libby’s blue eyes shone with mischief. “True, but what harm could it do to stay in touch?”
Maggie gestured in the air. “Connect the dots. Carlotta is Ana’s mother-in-law, or stepmother-in-law, and that’s coming much too close to trouble.”
“I suppose,” Libby agreed, but she still wondered aloud. “We spoke to Ana after the accident, so we could call and ask how she is.”
“Give it up, Libby.”
Libby dropped the subject, but just because Maggie wouldn’t call Ana didn’t mean she couldn’t do it on her own.
Lamoreaux sent his limousine for Ana. This was the first time she’d gotten a good look at his chauffeur. She’d recalled a larger man from the security videos, but this fellow was short and as lean as a jockey. “Have you been working for Mr. Lamoreaux long?” she asked.
“Awhile,” he answered and remained focused on his driving.
She understood he was paid to drive rather than to keep her company, but something about him struck her as off. She made no further attempts at conversation and gazed out at the city as they drove through Old Town to Lamoreaux’s apartment. It was located on the third floor of a beautifully restored building and had a spectacular view of the colorfully landscaped Parc de la Ciutadella. Ana loved coming to the park, and being so close lifted her spirits more than the prospect of modeling for the shoe designer could. He welcomed her into his home with a glass of champagne, but she took only a pretend sip and set it aside.
“I never drink when I’m working,” she told him, unwilling to reveal her pregnancy. “What a beautiful place this is.”
Lucien gazed up at the high ceiling circled with decorative gold molding. “I love nineteenth-century architecture. This building has been fully remodeled and well-maintained. What do you think of the color scheme?”
The entry and living room’s soft greens and gold lured her in. “It’s lovely.”
The photographer had set up lights in the middle of the living room and came forward to meet her. “Miss Santillan, this is a great pleasure. I’m Pierre Duvernay. I wonder if we could do some shots with you standing partially hidden by a door. It would be a way to show you wearing one shoe.” He pointed to a rack of long and short gowns, all black. “We have clothes for you.”
“Is there someone doing hair and makeup?” she asked.
“Yes,” Pierre assured her. “My wife, Nanette, is setting up her cosmetics in the master bedroom.”
“I’ll show you the way,” Lucien offered. “I hope you’ll not be on crutches too much longer.”
“So do I.” Ana feared he’d lurk while Nanette worked, but he left her at the bedroom door. Decorated in dark blue and tan, the spacious room faced the park, but what immediately caught her eye were three stunning Robert Mapplethorpe floral photos. Her stomach dropped, but she licked her lips and made her way to the chair Nanette had placed in front of a full-length mirror.
“Whether I wear my hair up or down, you can use curls to cover my scar,” Ana suggested. “What are your thoughts?”
“The scar won’t even be noticeable under your makeup, and your long hair is so pretty, let’s try several hairstyles. I’m very quick, so you won’t spend the whole morning seated here.”
“Fine,” Ana agreed with forced calm. The striking photographs were visible in the mirror. She couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling they told more abo
ut Lamoreaux than a decorator’s whim. Her agent knew where she was, but suddenly he wasn’t enough.
She pulled her cell phone from her purse. “I need to make a quick call before we begin. Will you excuse me?”
“Yes, of course.”
When Nanette stepped out of the room, she called Alejandro. “I don’t want to bother you, but I’m working this morning at Lucien Lamoreaux’s apartment overlooking Parc de la Ciutadella.” She supplied the address. “Will you please make a note of it? I’ll talk to you when I’m finished.”
“Is something wrong? Should I call the police?”
“Not yet, but I want you to know where I am should anyone be looking for me.”
“Ana, are you just being mysterious, or are you in real trouble?”
“Too soon to say. I’ll talk with you later.”
Nanette returned, carrying a long black jersey gown. “This has a side slit and would be good to show off your leg and Lucien’s shoes.”
Ana entered the master bath, which was a masterpiece of cream-and-gold marble, to change from her long skirt and top. The gown had a high neck and long sleeves and looked perfect to her.
Nanette proved to have a delicate hand with a cosmetics brush. She added layers to Ana’s mascara, a shocking red lipstick, and fluffed Ana’s curls over her left shoulder.
“You look so elegant,” the makeup artist exclaimed. “Let’s begin with this look.”
Lucien raised his hands in admiration as Ana returned to the living room. “You’re even more striking than I dreamed. The doors are so beautifully carved and painted, it will be easy to hide your cast in the photos. Take your pick of the shoes I’m showing in the fall.”
