The Perfect Cazorla Wife

by Michelle Smart

  It felt like a slap to know she’d waited until she was out of his life before trying for her licence.

  ‘You’re always right,’ Charley said shortly, thinking of all the times she’d heard the words ‘I told you’ from his lips, before quickly adding, ‘I needed to be able to drive for the job. We take it in turns to collect the kids and drop them back, at least for the ones whose parents don’t drive.’

  Looking back, she couldn’t believe it had taken her so long to take her test. She’d been even more surprised when she’d passed first time. She’d been convinced she was going to fail.

  When the examiner had told her she’d passed, her first impulse had been to call Raul and share the news with him. Finally she’d passed something—it had been a heady moment.

  ‘I assume you charge extra for the taxiing service?’ he said.

  She shot him a look. ‘Of course we don’t.’

  ‘That’s something that will have to change. You’re throwing money away.’

  Charley breathed deeply, biting back every nasty name she wanted to throw at him.

  She’d always known her husband was materialistic but this was something else. How could he have such an attitude towards those poor children?

  ‘Do you know where I live?’ she asked, deliberately changing the subject before she gave in to the urge to punch him.

  ‘Your address was on the divorce papers.’

  They lapsed into silence for the rest of the short journey to her home.

  ‘This is your house?’ Raul asked when he pulled into her driveway.

  ‘Not what you were expecting?’

  ‘I was expecting something more lavish.’ His lips formed a mocking smile. ‘What happened? Did you have to sell up when the money started to run out?’

  She kept her gaze on him even. ‘I bought this house six months after I left you. Lavish is your style, not mine.’ Her two-bedroom villa was modest but more than adequate for her needs. It might not have its own swimming pool or a beach at the bottom of the garden but nor did it have so many rooms she needed a map to find her way around.

  ‘That’s not how I remember things.’

  Oh, yes. That was right. He thought she was a gold-digger. ‘I don’t control your memories.’

  ‘And neither do you control your finances.’

  Fighting the rising anger, Charley tugged at her bag and rummaged through for her keys. ‘Let’s get this done.’

  Inside, she headed straight to her bedroom and began to pack, carefully placing her clothes into the same Louis Vuitton suitcases she’d used when she’d left him. She could hear Raul giving himself a tour of her home. It was a very short tour. Minutes later he was in her room watching her put the last of her stuff into the cases.

  ‘Are you nearly done?’

  ‘Yes. Whatever we can’t fit in the car today I’ll collect on Friday.’ On Friday they would be coming back to Valencia. She would work at the centre while Raul finalised the purchase of the new building. As far as Raul was concerned, her shift at the centre would be her last. She wasn’t prepared to argue about it until the deeds were signed and in her hands.

  Raul heaved her cases off the bed and carried them to the car. Charley slipped into the spare room she used as an office and gathered all her plans together.

  ‘What’s that?’ he asked, entering the tiny space a short while later, standing behind her and immediately making it feel even more cramped than usual.

  ‘The plans for the redevelopment of the new centre.’

  ‘Don’t bother with them,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’ll get my own architect onto it.’

  She placed everything into the briefcase she’d taken to the bank manager only the day before, sliding it on top of the financial aspects of the loan she had pored over for hours. Do not bite, she warned herself. Raul still has a number of days to change his mind. Do not bite. ‘Your architect can use these plans to guide him.’

  ‘You think you know better than an architect with twenty years’ experience?’

  ‘I think this is something to be discussed when the deeds have been signed.’ Until then, do not bite.

  ‘Cariño, do not forget, this project is now under my control.’ He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could feel his heat warm her back. His voice dropped to a murmur. She could feel his breath in her hair. ‘As are you.’

  Charley froze, keeping herself ramrod straight, and swallowed the moisture that filled her mouth.

  How did he do this? How did he make her want him so much while simultaneously making her want to scratch her nails down his face?

  ‘I’m not yours until Friday,’ she reminded him in a strangled voice. ‘No touching until then.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ll make me wait that long.’

  ‘I hate you.’

  ‘I know.’ His breath whispered through the strands of her hair, heating her scalp. ‘It must be awful for you, hating me so much but wanting me even more.’

  ‘I don’t want you.’

  ‘I never realised when we married what a liar you are.’ The tip of his nose nestled into her hair. ‘If I hadn’t been so blinded by lust I would have known your words of love and your promise of a child were nothing but lies to access my fortune.’

  His tone was playful but when Charley spun round to face him she saw the darkness in his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t lie to you and I didn’t marry you for your money.’ She hated that he thought of her as a gold-digger, making out that the times when they’d been happy together—and there had been times when she’d been delirious with happiness—were nothing but a lie.

  ‘Then what did you marry me for? My wit and personality?’ he taunted in that same playful way, as the darkness in his eyes turned cold.

  ‘You.’ She felt heat creep up her neck. ‘I married you for you. I thought you were wonderful.’

  He feigned injury. ‘You don’t think I’m wonderful any more?’

  ‘I think you’re cruel. You’re using those poor children as pawns to get me back into your bed and all because of some ridiculous notion of revenge because I wouldn’t have your baby.’

  Where her words came from she didn’t know and she would gladly have swallowed them back if she could, but they spurted out as if they had a force of their own.

  His eyes had gone cold enough to make her shiver. But the smile hadn’t dropped. He leaned forward and brushed his cheek to hers. ‘It’s not revenge, cariño. I’m giving you what you want. In return you’re giving me what I want.’

  ‘My body.’

  ‘Exactly that.’ He nuzzled against her cheek. ‘But if it was revenge I sought, then having you back in my bed would be the sweetest-tasting revenge there is.’

  * * *

  ‘I think you’re cruel.’

  That was what Charley had said.

  Was he being cruel?

  Raul didn’t like to think of himself as cruel. His own father, when he’d been in good health, had had a great capacity for cruelty and it was a trait Raul had sworn he would never adopt. He was prepared to accept that he was forceful and direct, arrogant even, but never cruel. Not until the woman he’d lavished everything on thought she could come to him for help as if nothing had passed between them.

  He forced his mind back to their marriage. He’d been happy to indulge her when she’d announced she wanted to run a luxury chauffeur hire for travelling business people. He’d had his doubts from the off—for a start, Charley couldn’t drive, but, as she’d pointed out, she would employ drivers. Despite his misgivings, he’d given her the money to buy a handful of limousines and premises from which to run the business. With his extensive contacts book at her disposal, he’d seen no reason why her fledgling business should be anything other than a success.

  A ye
ar later, the company had folded. Contracts had dried up and instead of coming to him for help she had thrown in the towel.

  He’d tried to be understanding. It was a big thing she’d undertaken, starting a business of her own, especially coming into it with no qualifications or business experience.

  The next venture she’d embarked on, he’d supplied her with both his financial backing and a team of his personal staff to help her with it all. It had gone bust within four months. The third—which he couldn’t even remember—had lasted only a month longer.

  It was after that third and final venture that he’d sat her down and insisted it was time for her to stop playing at business and time for them to start the family she’d promised him.

  His stomach soured as he recalled her reaction. It was as if he’d thrown a pot of boiling water over her.

  He took a breath and pushed her bedroom door open.

  She was in the adjoining room, sitting at the large desk below the window, papers spread out before her.

  ‘We need to leave in an hour.’ He’d informed her over breakfast that morning that they would be dining out with friends that evening.

  She didn’t look at him. ‘I’ll be ready.’

  ‘Charlotte, it takes you at least two hours to get ready for a night out.’ And that was if he was lucky. She had a tendency to try on her entire wardrobe before deciding on an outfit, then she would tease her hair into a dozen different styles before deciding which was the ‘right’ one. It didn’t matter how many times he told her, she never seemed to believe him when he said she was beautiful in whatever she wore.

  A sudden memory brushed through him, of their honeymoon, where he’d flown her to a private island in the Caribbean. It had been the last time he’d truly seen her full of spirit and abandon. One night, when he’d been gently chivvying her to get ready for dinner, she’d stripped her clothes off with glee and charged off to the private cove the island’s staff were banned from, splashing naked in the water with such joy it had compelled him to strip off his own clothes and join her, and make love to her.

  His chest filled as he recalled how special that moment had been, the freedom he’d felt with the sun bathing down on his naked form and his wife’s supple limbs wrapped around him.

  Of all the good moments within their marriage, this was the memory that stood out for him, the vivid remembrance of the belief that they were the happiest, most perfect couple in the world.

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she repeated.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Going over the plans for the development.’

  ‘What for? I told you, I’ll be using my own team.’

  Her shoulders raised stubbornly. ‘I’ve put hundreds of hours into this. It’s stupid not to at least take it into account.’

  ‘I’m sure my architect will be delighted to have your input,’ he drawled.

  Shoving her chair back, she got to her feet. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said, her voice tight.

  ‘One hour.’

  ‘So you keep telling me.’ She closed the adjoining door firmly behind her. He heard the lock slide into place.

  Raul flexed his fingers and took a deep breath.

  The past four days had been like living with a sullen teenager. He’d given her a little leeway, which had been decent of him under the circumstances, but from now on he would not put up with it.

  Tomorrow, the deeds would be signed and she would be indebted to him.

  Curiosity made him look at the papers sprawled over her desk.

  A few moments later he sat on the chair still warm from her body heat with a frown on his face.

  Peering more closely through the stack before him, he saw she’d taken each room of the new building and committed to paper her ideas for the renovations. Each drawing was done to scale.

  Charley had said she’d done these plans.

  Had she been lying in an attempt to impress him?

  But no—the notes in the margins, the numbers indicating the measurements, these were all in her girlish writing.

  He rubbed at his temples, his chest tightening as he imagined her sitting in that tiny study in the tiny home she’d been living in, working diligently on these plans. Alone.

  * * *

  After a quick shower and shave, Raul found Charley in the living room.

  ‘You’re ready?’ he asked, astonished to find her waiting for him. He was equally astounded at what she was wearing: a pair of cropped grey figure-hugging patchwork trousers and a sheer black blouse. On her feet were a pair of flat black strappy sandals.

  ‘Yes.’ Rising from the sofa, she passed the window, the low early evening sun shining through to allow him to see perfectly the lacy black bra she wore beneath the seemingly modest blouse.

  ‘What?’ she asked, a scowl forming.

  ‘Are you really intending to go out for a meal with friends wearing that?’

  ‘Yes, Raul, I am. Why? Is there something wrong with it?’

  ‘I’m surprised, that’s all.’ She looked good—she looked beautiful—there was no denying that but he could not recall a single time after they’d married when she’d worn trousers or jeans. Now, other than the party she’d gatecrashed and the morning of her meeting with the bank manager, he’d not seen a single sign of her legs. The Charley he’d been married to wouldn’t have dreamed of going out for dinner in anything less than a designer dress and five-inch heels. She would hardly breakfast in anything less.

  ‘This is what I have in my wardrobe.’

  ‘What happened to the rest of your clothes?’ Charley had had a wall at the back of her walk-in wardrobe filled with shoes alone. Thinking about it, he couldn’t see how her tiny Valencian bedroom would fit even a fraction of her clothes in it.

  ‘I gave most of them to charity shops.’

  ‘What did you do that for?’

  She shrugged. ‘There’s not much call for Dolce & Gabbana at Poco Rio.’

  ‘I’ll give my sister a ring and see if she’s free to go on a shopping trip with you over the next few days.’ He reached into his pocket for his phone.

  Charley folded her arms and shook her head, but the scowl disappeared, replaced by a look that was almost...sad. ‘I don’t want to go on a shopping trip. I like my wardrobe just fine as it is.’

  ‘Charlotte,’ he said, striving for patience, ‘over the next four months we will be dining out and socialising as we always used to do. The clothes you have are fine for what you’ve been doing at the centre but those days are currently over. You’re my wife and you know what that means.’

  ‘That I have to dress up like a doll?’

  ‘No.’ She was being deliberately obtuse. ‘But being a Cazorla does mean projecting a certain image—’

  ‘Why?’

  He rubbed the nape of his neck and whistled air through his teeth. ‘We discussed this when we first became engaged. My family is highly respected here, our hotels some of the finest in the world. People look up to us.’

  It had been for her sake that he’d wanted her to fit in. He knew what it was like to be judged as not good enough and had never wanted that for her. He hadn’t wanted the woman he loved to enter a social situation and feel insecure about anything. He’d done his best to give her all the tools she’d needed to assimilate into high society as if she’d been born into it.

  ‘I still don’t understand why that means I have to dress like a doll.’

  ‘You don’t have to “dress like a doll”,’ he said, his jaws clamping together. ‘I really don’t understand what the problem is. You loved dressing up when we lived together before.’

  He remembered the light in her eyes after that first shopping trip with Marta and their personal shopper and Charley’s bursts of laughter as she’d carefully take
n each item out of its box for him to look at and comment on. Her happiness hadn’t been fake, of that he was certain.

  The corners of her lips curved into a whimsical smile, the closest thing to a real smile he’d seen all week, although there was nothing happy about it.

  ‘I did at first, yes. But what twenty-year-old wouldn’t love being let loose in one of the most exclusive shopping arcades in Europe with an unlimited credit card?’

  ‘So you admit, you did marry me for my money?’

  She shook her head, her blonde hair brushing over her shoulders. ‘I won’t lie; your wealth turned my head. Your whole lifestyle did. But I would have married you if you’d lived in a shack.’

  He laughed humourlessly. ‘It is lucky your nose is not like Pinocchio’s or it would be sprouting leaves as we speak.’

  Her eyes held his. ‘If I’m such a gold-digger, why did I walk away and leave it all behind?’

  ‘You left with ten million euros.’

  ‘Money I never asked for,’ she pointed out. ‘And you know as well as I do I could have asked for a whole lot more.’

  ‘And you know as well as I do that until our divorce is final, you still can.’ He reached out a hand and traced a finger down her cheek, not liking the disquiet prodding at him.

  She was right. She hadn’t asked for his money. He’d given it freely.

  Nor had she asked for the credit cards and everything else he’d given her when he’d wanted nothing more than to see that smile from her first shopping trip replicated.

  None of that mattered any more. The only smile he wanted to see on her face now was the smile of pleasure.

  One more night of sleeping on his own and she would be his again.

  ‘It is hardly coincidence that you returned to my life when the money had almost run out,’ he pointed out.

  She made to speak but he cut her off by rubbing his thumb over her lips. ‘If you play your cards right over the next four months, you will find my generosity knows no limits. Play your cards right and I will give you so much money it would take you a lifetime to spend it.’

  She slapped his hand away, angry colour heightening her cheeks. ‘Once the centre has been redeveloped, the only thing I will want from you is my freedom.’