was by the whole thing. She looked up at him now, in the gilded ballroom of the grand nineteenth-century hotel. How could anyone betray Rodrigo?
He looked impossibly attractive, dressed in a sleek tuxedo that accentuated the hard, powerful shape of his muscular body. Even now, while he was surrounded by people congratulating him on getting his award, his dark eyes lingered on Lola in the slinky, low-cut red dress she’d chosen from the boutique.
He’d helped her put it on tonight in their bedroom. Then, after taking one look at her, he’d helped her swiftly take it off again. Which is why they’d arrived twenty minutes late. Her cheeks went hot, remembering.
It wasn’t like her to blush. But her husband did that to her. He peeled away her defenses, leaving her trembling and gasping and hot. Just as he’d peeled away her lingerie in that shop.
As they walked through the crowded ballroom, as they ate dinner at the head table, as she saw her husband honored by his peers, Lola basked in the glory of being his wife. Especially since he made it clear to everyone that it wasn’t just his glory, but hers. Whenever anyone congratulated Rodrigo, he said: “It was entirely my wife’s idea. She should be getting this award with me.” His dark, sensual gaze simmered through hers. “I’ll thank you later, believe me.”
She shivered. She didn’t think she’d ever get enough of him thanking her.
Her heart was bursting with pride as she watched him go up to the podium, to thunderous applause. But as he started his speech on stage, someone plopped beside her at the table in the darkened audience, into his empty chair.
Looking in surprise, she saw Ulrika Lund, the well-known director, whom Rodrigo had briefly been engaged to after Pia Ramirez, some eight years before.
“So you’re the wife,” Ulrika said without preamble. She was very thin, with muscular arms, and dressed in severe black.
“Do you mind?” Lola said, annoyed. “I’m trying to hear his speech.”
“I’m sure you are, because he’s praising you. He praised me once, too. For about a day.” Her jaw tightened. “But as soon as I agreed to marry him, he was suddenly too busy to see me.”
“Is that your excuse for cheating on him?” Lola said coldly, looking up at her handsome husband on the stage, wishing the woman would go away.
Ulrika leaned forward, drumming her fingers impatiently. “I met another man while Rodrigo was gone. A man who hung on my every word. Eventually I gave in. Then someone sent Rodrigo photographs of our night together. That gave him a convenient excuse to end our engagement.” She paused. “I never saw the other man again. Even when I tried to find him. I discovered he’d given me a fictitious name.”
A warning buzz went off in the back of Lola’s mind. It sounded almost exactly like the story that Pia Ramirez had told. Coincidence, she told herself firmly. Pushing the disquieting thought aside, she said, “And this affects me how?”
“I think Rodrigo was behind it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lola bit out. As her husband continued to speak on stage, other people at the table looked in irritation at their whispers.
“It took me a while to figure it out,” Ulrika said with a hard stare. “But every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it. I used to blame myself, but not anymore. Not after it happened in all three of his engagements.” She looked at Lola. “He actually married you. So the devastation will be twice as crushing when it comes.”
“It won’t—because I’d never cheat on him!”
“Don’t get comfortable. That’s what I came to tell you. Because you won’t be with him for long.” The woman glanced up at the stage, her lips twisting bitterly. “He’ll see to that.”
And she left.
Lola felt dizzy as she tried to focus back on stage. Her husband was smiling, gripping the edges of the podium, looking out of his spotlight toward the thousand film industry people sitting at tables in the ballroom.
“And most of all, I’d like to thank my former assistant, now my wife, for being the reason I’m here tonight, accepting this award. And more importantly, for giving me the greatest gift of all—our baby son.”
There was a low awwww from the crowd, and then applause, scattered at first, then building to a roar, as he smiled for the crowd and, gripping his gold statuette high, left the stage.
But Lola only dimly heard his words or the crowd’s adoring response. All she could suddenly think about was the stranger who’d shown up in California, when Rodrigo was in South America. The stranger who’d come out of nowhere to chat with her on the beach.
Are you all alone? You’re too beautiful to be lonely. Would you like some company? You and your charming baby?
He’d made her nervous, but she’d told herself it was just typical California friendliness. And as for the man’s uncanny good looks, well, half of Los Angeles were out-of-work actors. Good-looking people were the norm, not the exception.
But now the whole thing had a surreal, almost sinister aspect.
Every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it. I used to blame myself, but not anymore. Not after it happened in all three of his engagements.
No. Lola took a deep breath. It couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t sabotage his own engagements. Why would he?
She had the sudden memory of his face when they’d returned to the apartment in Madrid. He’d looked almost—haunted.
And yet she knew he’d grown up surrounded by wealth, with both parents. She’d always assumed he’d had a happy childhood, growing up in privilege. But now, not for the first time, she wondered about the dark shadows she’d seen in his eyes. Not just in Madrid, but from the day they’d met. That edge of cold ruthlessness in him, beneath his civilized veneer.
Together, you and I can give him a better childhood than we had. Either of us.
She’d never seen a picture of his parents or even of Rodrigo as a child, she suddenly realized. No family pictures, not in his beach house or anywhere else. And the story he’d told of his parents abandoning him on Thanksgiving, leaving him with the cook. Who did that?
What didn’t she know about his past?
A trickle of ice went down her spine. Could Ulrika Lund’s suspicions have a shred of truth?
I still wonder sometimes who sent those photos. Pia Ramirez had sounded bewildered. And who that man was. I never saw him again. But he destroyed everything.
Was it remotely possible that Rodrigo could have hired those men himself to try to seduce them, as a test of his fiancées’ loyalty?
Or, worse, as Ulrika had suggested, because Rodrigo just wanted a good excuse to end those engagements?
No, Lola thought desperately. Rodrigo’s not like that. He wouldn’t do that.
But she knew he had a cold, ruthless streak. She thought of the way he’d cut her so abruptly out of his life because he’d
