chairs, his long legs stretched out before him, looking relaxed, but she knew from the tension in his face he was anything but.
Georgina resigned herself to the situation and sat down, fixing her attention on the darkening skyline rather than look at the man who’d turned everything in her life upside down, including her heart. She consoled herself with the fact that at least she was going back to London. Once there she could so much more easily walk away from Santos. But that thought didn’t make her feel as she’d wanted it to. It made her heart ache. Pain lanced through it, shattering it into pieces. But she couldn’t let him know.
* * *
If Santos had thought the flight to London was tense, then the drive through London’s streets was worse. Georgina sat at his side, irresistibly close, yet undeniably far from him. He knew she was trapped in her deceit. The evidence was stacked against her. She’d deceived him, tricked him into marrying her so her sister and his brother could take all he’d worked so hard for over recent years. This time Georgina’s gamble wasn’t going to pay off.
‘I can’t stay here.’
Georgina’s words drew him up sharp. She’d realised where they were. The storm, it seemed, raged on.
‘Take me back to my own apartment, please.’
He didn’t say anything, just shook his head once as she looked across at him, her face partially lit by street lamps.
‘Santos, please, don’t prolong the agony.’
The anguish in her voice was so acute it was almost physical. But what did she mean, agony? Had their time together been so awful?
‘Agony? What agony?’ he snapped at her recklessly, instantly furious with himself for allowing her to see even a moment’s loss of control.
She looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. ‘Just admit it’s time we went our separate ways, Santos. Things haven’t worked out.’ She hesitated for a moment as the car pulled up outside his apartment. ‘We’ve both been deceived—let’s leave it at that.’ She sounded tired, as if struggling with defeat.
‘You are my wife, Georgina, and as such I want you with me when Carlo and Emma return. I want us to present a united front.’ He couldn’t admit it yet—not even to himself—but he seemed to be clutching at every possible reason for her to stay, as if he didn’t want her to go.
The chauffeur opened the car door and he stepped out into the cold autumn night. Light rain had fallen and the small amount of traffic that passed swished by on the wet road. He walked round to the other side of the car and opened Georgina’s door, marvelling at how suddenly she seemed at ease. Was he even now falling into line with one of her devious plans?
She stepped out onto the pavement and looked at him. ‘I don’t see why we should keep up the pretence any longer.’
‘No?’ He walked towards the entrance doors, glancing back and hoping she would follow. He wasn’t in the mood for any more in-depth discussions. ‘Do you not want to continue until Emma comes back? It would be better if she thought you were happy, would it not?’
He watched as her expression changed from defiance to realisation that he spoke the truth. He certainly didn’t want Carlo to think he’d married Georgina in a bid to secure the business; it was an ongoing issue between them. One that now threatened everything he’d ever cared about.
‘You’re right.’ She sighed and smiled sweetly at him—a little too sweetly, convincing him that even now she played the game, using him as she had from the very beginning. ‘It wouldn’t do if they found out what we’d done—for reasons other than love, of course.’
Opening the door, he walked towards the lift, pressed the button and turned to her. Did she have to keep brandishing that word about? As if it was the very centre of everything that had happened?
Irritated, he looked above the lift doors, anxious to see if it was coming. ‘It will be for the best,’ he said tersely.
‘That’s debatable,’ she tossed at him as the lift doors opened and she walked in. ‘I’ve yet to decide just who it will be best for, but tonight, at least, I’m prepared to stay here.’
He didn’t know what to say to that—his usual quick thinking had totally deserted him—so he remained silent as the lift took them up to his apartment, acutely aware of her so very close to him. He could smell her sweet floral scent and clenched his hands into fists in a bid to stamp out the threatening fire.
* * *
Santos unlocked the door and Georgina couldn’t believe she was back at his apartment. Everything she’d planned had gone wrong and, worse, had been for nothing. She’d told Santos she could have just encouraged Emma and Carlo to run off and get married and now she wished she had. At least then she wouldn’t have tasted something she could never have. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man who openly admitted he wasn’t capable of love in any form.
She sighed wearily. The last few days had been emotionally challenging for all the wrong reasons and she just wanted to be on her own.
‘It’s late,’ she said softly as he flicked on the lights in the kitchen. ‘I’m going straight to bed.’
She looked across at him, wanting to add that she was going alone, that she would spend the night in the same room she’d occupied before, but something in his expression held her back. Her heart began to race as the intensity of his gaze rested on her, as if he too couldn’t bring himself to suggest she sleep alone.
He walked towards her, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor, and like an animal caught in car headlights she just stood there and watched, mesmerised by him. Nerves made her bite gently on her bottom lip as he stopped in front of her, so close and yet so far.
‘Where are you going to sleep, mi esposa? With your husband or alone?’
His accent had become more defined, sending shivers of awareness all over her. When his gaze rested on her lips she stopped biting them and smiled, almost tasting the saccharine of it.
‘Alone.’
With you, her mind screamed as that one word left her lips. She wanted to sleep beside the man she loved, feel the warmth of his body next to her. But she reminded herself the man she loved didn’t really exist. That man had been pretence and nothing more. This was the real Santos.
‘Then I shall say buenas noches, mi esposa.’
He moved closer. Instinct told her he was going to kiss her, and heaven help her she wanted him to, but if he did...
She stepped back. ‘Goodnight, Santos,’ she said as firmly as possible, before retreating to the safety of the room she’d previously occupied.
* * *
Santos watched her go, confusion racing through him. Why was he trying to prevent her from leaving? Just what kind of power did she have over him? Perhaps it was better if they slept alone—although his body protested at the idea. He knew he needed time to think. He had to be sure of what to do next and at the moment he hadn’t a clue.
With an exasperated sigh he tousled his hair and turned on his heel. Strong coffee was what he needed. And work. Going to an empty bed
