to collapse. “Indecent,” she whispered, the only word coming to mind. And it was indecent. His thoughts. His actions. His words.
“And maybe it is.” Still smiling faintly, he glanced at his watch, then shook down his sleeve. “It’s nine now. I’ll send my car for you at four. That should give you enough time to pack, say your goodbyes and do whatever it is you need to do.”
She looked away, vision blurred, mind equally fogged. Sam had nothing to pack but it was the goodbyes that tore at her, the goodbyes she feared most. She loved Gabriela as if the child were her own. “You really intend to do this?”
“Baroness, your husband owes me over ten million pounds. What do you expect me to do?”
The faint, hysteria-tinged laughter was back. She felt her eyes burn, her throat seal closed. She turned to Johann who was slumped in his chair, eyes closed, jaw slack, oblivious to the world. “Forgive and forget?” she suggested huskily, hopefully.
Cristiano made a short sound, rough, impatient and yet his half smile hinted at amusement. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I?” Even as she asked the question, she searched her memory, seeking some clue to his identity but his name still meant nothing to her.
Although she’d lived in Monaco for nearly four years, she’d paid scant attention to the principality’s golden crowd. Having nannied in the past ten years for some of the most wealthy and famous people in the world, she was neither impressed nor influenced by those with money and fame. In her experience, the rich were rude, and the famous forgettable.
“No. The only thing you need to know is that I’m not a good loser.” His hazel-green gaze fringed by jet-black lashes met hers and held. His gaze was steady, too steady. “I hate losing. So I don’t.”
He walked out then, heading straight for the front door, and for a moment Sam remained where she was, frozen on the arm of the sofa like one of La Palme d’Or’s ice sculptures.
Then the ice shattered as she thought of leaving Gabby, saying goodbye to Gabby, and grabbing her coat, Sam raced out of the house down to the front where Cristiano was climbing into a low red Italia Motors sports car.
She reached the side of his car, opened the passenger door and leaned in. “You can’t do this. I can’t do this. I’ve Gabby—”
“She’s not your daughter.”
Sam looked at him where he sat in the driver’s seat, dark hair rakish, deep hazel eyes intense and she shook her head, denying his words, denying what they represented, when she knew the truth. Gabby was her daughter, the daughter of her heart anyway. “I won’t leave her.”
“Baroness, I have places to be, a meeting at the Hotel de Paris in ten minutes—”
“Then give me those ten minutes.” Sam pulled on her coat. “Take me with you and talk to me while you drive.”
“I won’t have time to bring you back.”
“Fine.” She climbed into the passenger seat, closed the door. “I’ll walk back. I don’t mind walking. But we must talk about Gabriela. It’s important.”
Cristiano shot her a long, hard look before starting the car and pulling away from the curb. “Talk,” he said as he swiftly merged with traffic. “You’ve ten minutes.”
Sam bunched her hands in her lap, watching Monaco’s picturesque streets flash by. Her heart was pounding and her hands were shaking and she had to draw a deep breath to steady her nerves. Thank God Gabby was still in school for the rest of the morning. Maybe, just maybe, this nightmare could be fixed before Gabby returned at three.
But before she had a chance to talk about Gabby, Cristiano’s phone rang and after checking the number, he took the call. It was a relatively long call and he was still on the phone when he slowed in the driveway approaching the Hotel de Paris. Tourists filled the elegant square, spilling from tour buses and vans onto the different plazas, snapping photos, posing for pictures, clustering outside the historic Café Divan inspecting the menu.
Sam took in and dismissed the throngs. Monaco was always crowded. Daily tourists, from all over the world, overran the tiny principality eager to visit the fabled home of Prince Rainer and his late wife, the former American film star, Grace Kelly.
What she wanted, needed, was Cristiano’s attention. What she wanted, needed, wasn’t going to happen.
As valet attendants came forward to take the car, Sam fought tears. He hadn’t even given her the time of day.
Stepping from the car, Sam smoothed her coat over her dress and waited in front of the Hotel de Paris while Cristiano finished the call.
Anger burned in her, anger and indignation. What kind of man took a woman from her family? What kind of man would accept a wagered wife?
It disgusted her, horrified her, and her hands clenched helplessly inside her coat pockets, her gaze fixed on the hotel’s belle epoch architecture. Be calm, she told herself, be calm. Losing control won’t help anything.
She focused on the hotel’s architecture instead. The Hotel de Paris and Le Casino were both constructed in the middle of the nineteenth century on a square overlooking the sea. She’d read somewhere that the square had once been an untidy wasteland, overgrown with dense vegetation, hiding deep in the cliffs near seawater-filled caves.
Apparently the famous Monte Carlo Le Casino had been built first, and the hotel second, the hotel just steps from the casino. Once the hotel was finished, stables were added to house horses and carriages, then a fountain designed, and finally gardens landscaped with imported palm trees to create an exotic tableau to lure winter weary Parisians.
Sam was no Parisian, but she was weary. Very weary.
He had to let her explain about Gabby, had to listen to Gabriela’s situation. Gabby couldn’t be left with Johann. Johann might be her father but he wasn’t to be trusted, especially not with a vulnerable child.
Abruptly Cristiano finished his call and put away his phone. “I’m sorry—”
“No. No,” she said fiercely, hands bunching into fists inside her coat pockets. “I won’t go.”
“Baroness—”
“You don’t understand. This isn’t about me, it’s about Gabriela.”
His hard expression briefly eased. “I’m not sending you on your way, Baroness.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I was going to say, I’m sorry I had to take the call, but I’ve taken care of my meeting. There’s nowhere I have to be for the next hour. We’re free now to sit down and discuss Gabriela.”
Sam felt relief and embarrassment wash through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I thought…assumed…you were giving me the brush-off.”
His eyes, hazel green and gold, warmed. “Give you the brush-off? Baroness, I’ve just spent ten million pounds to make you mine. The last thing I want to do is give you the brush-off.”
His. There was that possession
