from the soaked luggage into her handbag and vanity case.
‘My parents were divorced when I was ten years old. I hadn’t seen my father, the famous Mario Collazo—’ she thumped the cape several times as she stuffed it farther down into the bag ‘—for eighteen years, until he turned up out of the blue at the clinic that morning. He’d begged my mother to give him a chance to make amends for his past mistakes and to rebuild some sort of relationship with me. And like a naive fool—’ her voice softened ‘—no, make that a lovely, caring and heartbroken naive fool, she took the time to talk to him and actually believed him.’
Lexi shook her head and sniffed.
‘She spent years sending me birthday and Christmas presents pretending that my dad still loved me. She mailed him photos and school reports every single year. And this year she’d also let him know that I was waiting for hospital treatment and asked him to come and see us when he was in London. And what did he do?’
Lexi threw her bag onto the patio floor in disgust and pressed a balled fist to each hip, well aware that she was being a drama queen but not caring a bit.
‘He abused her confidence. He took advantage of a caring woman who wanted her daughter to have a relationship with her father. And she never even suspected for one moment that he’d set me up in that particular clinic on that particular day because he already knew that Crystal Leighton was going to be there.’
She lifted her chin.
‘And I fell for his story just the same as she did. So if you want someone to blame for being gullible I’m right here, but I am not taking responsibility for what happened.’
Mark glared at her. Lexi glared back.
‘Finished yet?’ His voice was ice, clashing with the intense fire in his eyes. The same fire she had seen once before. It had terrified her then, but she wasn’t finished yet.
‘Nowhere close. My mum is a wonderful dress designer and wardrobe mistress. It took her years to rebuild her career after my dad left us with nothing. Her only crime—her fault—was being too trusting, too eager to believe he’d changed. There was no way she could have predicted he was using her. Oh, and for the record, neither of us got one penny of the money he got from selling those photos. So don’t you dare judge her. Because that is the truth—if you’re ready to accept it.’
‘And what about you?’ he asked, in a voice as cold as ice. ‘What’s your excuse for lying to me from the moment you arrived at the villa? You could have told me who you were right from the start. Why didn’t you? Or are you the one who’s unable to accept the truth?’
‘Why didn’t I? But I did tell you the truth. I stopped being Alexis Collazo when I was sixteen years old. Oh, yes. I changed my name on the first day that I legally could. I hated the fact that my father had left my mother and me for another woman and her daughter. I despised him then and I think even less of him now. As far as I’m concerned that man and his new family have nothing to do with my life, and even less to do with my future.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Mark sniped back at her, quick as a flash. ‘You can’t escape the fact that your family was involved.’
‘You’re right.’ She nodded. ‘I’ve had to live under the shadow of what my father did for the last five months. Even though I had nothing to do with it. That makes me so angry. And most of all I hate the fact that he abused my mother’s generous, trusting spirit and used me as an excuse to get into that hospital. If you want to go after someone, go after him.’
‘So you didn’t benefit at all?’
‘We got nothing—apart from the media circus when your lawyers turned up and hit us with a gagging order. Are you starting to get the picture? Good. So don’t presume to judge me or my family without getting your facts straight. Because we deserve better than that.’
Mark pushed both hands deep into his trouser pockets. ‘That’s for me to judge,’ he replied.
Lexi hoisted the suitcases upright, flung on her shoulder bag and glanced quickly around the patio before shuffling into her sandals.
‘I’m finished here. If you find anything I’ve left behind feel free to throw it into the pool if it makes you feel better. Don’t worry about the cases—I’ll see myself out. Standard social politeness not required.’
‘Anything to get you out of my house,’ Mark replied, grabbing a suitcase in each hand as if they weighed nothing. ‘Rest assured that if we should ever run into each other again, unlikely though that may be, I shall not try my best to be polite.’
‘Then we understand each other perfectly,’ replied Lexi. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the sooner I can be back in London, the better. Best of luck writing the biography—but here’s a tip.’
She hoisted her bag higher onto her shoulder and nudged her sunglasses farther up her nose.
‘Perfectly happy people with perfect families living perfect lives in perfect homes don’t make interesting reading. I had no idea you were my client when I came here today, but I was actually foolish enough to hope you’d be fair and listen to the truth. I even thought we might work together on this project. But it seems I was wrong about that. You won’t listen to the truth if it doesn’t suit you. Apparently you’re just as cold, unreasonable, stubborn and controlling as the tabloids claim. I feel sorry for you.’
And with that she grabbed the vanity bag and tottered across the patio. She was already down the steps before Mark could reply.
Mark stood frozen on the patio and watched the infuriating girl teeter her way across the crazy paving, the flimsy silk dress barely covering her bottom. How dared she accuse him of being cold and stubborn? That was his father’s speciality, not his. It just showed how wrong she was. How could she expect him to believe her story and put aside what he had seen with his own eyes? Mario Collazo being comforted by his daughter on the floor after Mark had knocked him down. Those were the facts.
He had recognised who she was the second she’d taken off her sunglasses. How could he forget the girl with the palest of grey eyes, filled with tears, looking up at him with such terror?
He had frightened her that morning, and in a way he regretted that. He wanted no part of his father’s arrogant, bullying tactics. But at that moment he had allowed anger and rage to overwhelm him. Justifiably. It had still shocked him that he was capable of uncontrolled physical violence. He’d worked long and hard to make himself a different man from his father and his brother.
Edmund wouldn’t have wasted a moment’s thought before knocking any photographer to the floor and boasting about it later.
But he was not his older brother, the golden boy, his parents’ pride and joy, who had died falling from a polo pony when he was twenty-five.
And he didn’t want to be. Never had.
Mark wrapped his fingers around the handles of the wet luggage, his chest heaving, and watched the small figure in the ridiculous outfit struggle with the door handle on the car before lowering herself onto the seat with an audible wince as her bottom connected with the hot plastic. Seconds later her legs swung inside and the door closed.
So what if she was telling the truth? What if she had been used by her father that day, and was just as innocent a victim as his mother had
