felt a stab of pain.
He could not have said it more plainly. He no longer saw her as anything but a servant.
And the truth was that even in Greece, when she’d imagined herself his cosseted mistress, she’d still been his servant. Serving his needs in bed, rather than in the household. And now that he was done with her, he expected her to simply return to being invisible, to being the plain gray ghost that vanished into the hundred-year-old woodwork of the mansion.
So he cared nothing for her but as his invisible servant? She gritted her teeth.
So be it.
She had no intention of going to Buenos Aires. She wouldn’t go meekly off to serve him forever in exile, while he enjoyed a succession of other women!
Having him love her—what a ridiculous fantasy that had been!
Her head pounded. She felt almost physically sick. But she pushed the pain aside. She would deal with that later. Tonight, she had a job to do.
She’d make his dinner party perfect. He would never have reason to complain she’d been anything less than an exemplary housekeeper.
Then, afterward, she would tell him she was accidentally pregnant. Not because she still hoped he might care. But because her baby deserved a father, and Rafael deserved the truth. He deserved that much, and no more.
The doorbell rang, and she lifted her chin.
“I’m sorry, your guests are already arriving,” she said sweetly. “I have no time to change my clothes. Excuse me.”
Pushing past him, she opened the door.
That night, as the guests arrived, Louisa personally stood near the door to take their coats. The house was all in readiness; she’d supervised everything. As she took each coat, she saw that each guest was more powerful, wealthy and beautiful than the last. She watched Rafael greet each of them, some with handshakes, some with slaps on the back.
But not the women—no. He greeted each of them with a kiss on both cheeks. The five women were all so beautiful, and every single one of them looked up at Rafael with longing. No wonder. Impeccably dressed in a tuxedo with a black tie, he was beyond handsome. He was the spectacular angel of his namesake.
He didn’t look at Louisa. He seemed not to notice she was there, any more than he noticed the grandfather clock or the antique hat rack that she’d lovingly chosen for this mansion. All his possessions, including her, were to be used and then discarded at will when he no longer found them useful.
She clenched her hands, trying to ignore the pain.
“Dominique,” he purred, pushing past Louisa to help the beautiful blond starlet remove her white fur coat. He pulled it off her shoulders himself, smiling down at her seductively. “I am glad to see you.”
“Rafael.” The infamous French beauty reminded Louisa of a pampered white Persian cat, with her tiny button nose, big blue eyes and fluffy bleached-blond hair. Her sparkly gold minidress barely covered her nipples on the top and upper thighs on the hemline. She smiled up at him with her curved red lips. “I wouldn’t miss your birthday, chéri.”
Looking at them together, Louisa suddenly felt how plain she was, how tall and ungainly and skinny in her five-year-old black dress. A sharp pain rose in her throat. Twenty minutes earlier, she’d thought she looked rather pretty in the mirror but now she felt as drab as a sparrow. Why hadn’t she just stayed in her gray smock and glasses? At least then no one would have snickered at the plain girl who was actually trying to look pretty, who was apparently under the delusion she could compete with someone like Dominique Lepetit!
Rafael and Dominique were suited for each other in every way, both physically and by reputation. The French starlet was as well-known for discarding love-tortured suitors as Rafael was known for crushing women’s hearts. Louisa swallowed, looking down at the floor.
Suddenly a fur coat was thrust into her arms. She nearly coughed at the weight and sensation of something so huge and fluffy—like a dead animal beneath her nose.
“Take care of that, won’t you?” Rafael murmured to Louisa, not looking away from Dominique.
“Of course, Mr. Cruz,” she replied miserably.
The dinner party was sparkling. The company was served mezes, starters like stuffed vine leaves and dip, cooked artichokes and hummus with pide bread, along with cocktails and Argentinian wine. Louisa supervised the entire night, calming down the chef who though recovered from his earlier illness, seemed dangerously unhinged emotionally as he rushed around the kitchen. Realizing how many famous people were sitting in the dining room for Rafael’s birthday, the man seemed to abruptly disintegrate under pressure and, while shouting at one of his poor assistants, he nearly cut the end of his thumb off with a sharp knife.
She’d prepared for this. She’d gone to the famous butler school in Miami when she’d realized she had no skills except taking care of people. And organizing homes. And, she thought dully, falling in love with her boss.
Louisa managed the cook, calmed down the kitchen and then organized the waiters who brought out each course of the meal. Each time she went into the dining room she was involuntarily dazzled by the beautiful guests, by their sparkling conversations and witty repartee. She tried not to listen, but she could not help it. Just as she could not help noticing how Rafael looked into Dominique Lepetit’s lovely, wicked eyes with such apparent fascination as they leaned their heads together and she whispered something in his ear.
She’d known Rafael would move on—but she’d never thought it would be at such lightning speed!
She swallowed, feeling increasingly hot as she returned to the kitchen. How could she tell him she was pregnant?
Should she even tell him?
What if he rejected their baby? What if he not only blamed Louisa for the pregnancy, but he was never able to love the child they’d created, the child he’d never wanted?
As the interminable dinner was finally drawing to an end, she went into the dining room and announced heavily that dessert and coffee would be awaiting them on the terrace. When one of the toothpick-skinny actresses asked her to list the desserts Louisa couldn’t stop herself from looking at Rafael when she mentioned the caramel macadamia brownies. Across the room, from where he sat beside Dominique Lepetit, Rafael’s slate-gray eyes suddenly locked with hers.
The pouting French beauty abruptly knocked over her wineglass. “Oh! Mon dieu, but how clumsy of me!”
With an intake of breath, Louisa hurried forward with a hand towel to clean up the mess. She saw Dominique’s feline smile as the beautiful girl leaned forward on the table, blocking Rafael’s gaze from her.
One of the other guests, a very handsome dark-eyed man sitting across the table, watched the scene with interest. As Louisa straightened from the table with hot, flushed cheeks and the wine-soaked towel, her eyes met the stranger’s. His lips curved, as if he knew everything. Her cheeks, already red with humiliation, became hotter still.
“Novros,” Rafael said, rising from the table with sudden sharpness. “We have business to discuss. It is time.”
“Yes,”
