escaping in a hoarse, thin stream, like air seeping from a punctured tyre. It reminded him that he was old.
Supper tonight had exhausted him. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it–loving Elisabeth entirely and yet knowing she belonged to another man.
He scanned the picture one more time, before slipping it back and closing the cabinet. The sound reverberated through the rooms of his expansive Italian-castle-themed mansion.
Linda Sabell.
She was gone. She had never been his in the first place. He had to forget her.
Yet how could he, when every time he clapped eyes on Elisabeth it was like walking straight back into the past? Frank Bernstein would murder him if he ever found out. Or get someone else to do it for him. Though Bernstein never admitted as much, it was clear to all of them that precious Elisabeth was his favourite daughter. If only he, Alberto, could have shared a child with Linda.
Alberto grimaced. He poured himself a brandy and chucked it back. He was getting tired of this game, he wanted out. Too many years he’d spent drinking and gambling, chasing women in an attempt to forget the only one he had ever loved …
Linda.
She was dead, and yet he saw her every day, every time he watched the show at the Desert Jewel, every time he caught her mirror image laughing with Robert St Louis.
Linda had loved him, he knew that much, and he had made her happy where Frank Bernstein could not. Elisabeth was the gift she had left behind.
Alberto had wanted Linda’s daughter for years, way before Robert St Louis had come on the scene. Only now, with her wedding fast approaching, the time had come to take action.
Elisabeth belonged to him.
As far as he was concerned, resistance was futile.
12
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Elisabeth, peering over the top of her D&G shades. ‘I’ll sing at the premiere.’
At the opposite end of their Olympic-sized pool, Robert shook out his muscles. She watched as he plunged into the crystal water, his impressive body gliding down its length, a bronzed Adonis shimmering in the blue.
He emerged, shook his dark hair and used two strong arms to pull himself out. Droplets of water glistened on his skin.
‘Whatever you like,’ he said, taking a seat on the lounger next to hers.
It was the following morning and the couple were relaxing on their poolside patio. The terrace was just one feature of their immense Vegas home, a near-two-acre estate modelled on a European palace Robert had spoken at several years ago.
‘I think it’ll send a very clear message,’ she said, adjusting her gold bikini.
Robert raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on, you’re above all that.’
‘Am I?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve got to stand up for myself, Robert. Show my father I’m serious about this.’
‘He knows you are,’ said Robert, flipping open a copy of the Vegas Business Reporter. ‘He just doesn’t want to admit it.’
‘Why the hell not?’
Robert laid the paper across his chest. The edges turned grey as they absorbed the water from his body. ‘Do you want to know what I really think?’
‘Of course.’
‘I think Bernstein’s scared you’ll go the same way as your mother.’
Elisabeth chewed her lip. ‘What, he thinks he’s going to lose me in some freak plane crash? Don’t make me laugh.’
Robert shrugged. ‘You know what I mean. Lose you some other way, perhaps.’
Elisabeth was quiet a moment. ‘Are you happy about hosting this premiere?’
‘Of course.’ He resumed reading. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You just seem a bit … on edge about it.’
‘I’m never on edge.’
Elisabeth smiled, entwining her fingers with his. She adored Robert’s hands–they were strong and capable, the hands of an artist. ‘I know. That’s why I love you.’
He didn’t say it back. She pretended not to notice.
Picking up her celebrity magazine, Elisabeth flipped past a piece on Kate diLaurentis and her goofy–though strangely attractive–comedian husband. Kate had been pulled over for speeding in a white sports car and she had been photographed in conversation with a policeman, a borderline manic look on her face. Two miserable kids stared out from the back of the vehicle.
‘Ugh, welcome to Hollywood,’ she muttered. ‘Vegas is in for a treat.’
Over the page she caught sight of A-list movie star Lana Falcon and her husband Cole Steel. Cole was remarkably handsome but Elisabeth thought Lana had a slightly weak look about her. These days they called it the ‘girl-next-door’ appeal, but surely that was just a euphemism for ‘rather plain’.
‘Ah, the main attraction,’ she said, waving the magazine in front of Robert’s face. She read out the article headline: ‘CoLa–I can’t bear it when they do that–more in love now than ever?‘ She chuckled. ‘Not sure I believe it.’
Robert glanced up, caught sight of the page and instantly averted his gaze.
She’s a different woman, he told himself. Not the girl you knew.
‘Lana Falcon,’ he said flatly. Her alias died on his tongue. ‘I guess so.’
Elisabeth squinted. ‘Do you think they’re happy?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Who?’
‘These two. Lana and Cole.’
‘God knows. Who cares.’
She looked at him sideways. ‘You obviously do.’
Robert’s head snapped up. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? ‘
Elisabeth laughed. ‘Do you know her?’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘It’s only a question.’
‘It’s a stupid one.’ He resumed looking at the page, though the words were little more than a blur. ‘I’ve never met Lana Falcon before in my life.’
It wasn’t a complete lie.
Elisabeth stared at him. She’d never seen Robert lose his cool over anything, not even her father’s constant interfering. ‘There’s no need to get aggressive,’ she told him.
A muscle went in Robert’s jaw.
She
