Robyn Grady - Australia - Sinful Secrets - Public Marriage, Private Secrets / Every Girl's Secret Fantasy / The Heart Surgeon's Secret Child

‘But?’

‘It is also opportune with time and distance to review the circumstances which prompted you to leave.’

There didn’t seem any point in avoiding the issue. ‘It won’t change anything,’ she stated, only to have Cristina’s eyes sharpen.

‘You do know Raúl filed stalking charges against Sierra?’ One look seemed to convince her otherwise. ‘No, I guess not.’ She pursed her lips. ‘He adores you. Always has.’ She paused as she appeared to come to a decision. ‘What the two of you share is special.’

Was , Gianna amended, only to have Cristina shake her head.

‘Do yourself a favour and go seek the real truth.’

As if she could do that. The question was did she want to?

‘OK, I’m done,’ Cristina said smoothly. ‘We have some serious shopping to do.’ She offered a faintly wicked smile. ‘Let’s go flash some plastic.’

They did. The gown Cristina recommended was sheer perfection, in lilac chiffon, with tiny crystals beading a fitted bodice, thin spaghetti straps, and a softly flowing full-length skirt that showcased Gianna’s slender form to attractive advantage. A matching wrap added a finishing touch.

‘Now, was I right?’ Cristina queried as they exited the boutique. ‘Or was I right ?’

Gianna laughed and lifted a hand to share a high-five gesture. ‘I concede. Now it’s your turn.’

Red —a powerful colour for a powerful young woman.

‘Fantastic,’ Gianna declared a short while later as Cristina checked her mirrored image. ‘You have to have it.’

‘You’re wicked.’

Gianna merely smiled. ‘If the glove fits…’

The vendeuse smiled at the thought of her commission on two expensive gowns, and carefully packaged each purchase in tissue before consigning them to a glossy signature carry-bag.

‘Coffee—hot, sweet and strong,’ Gianna directed as they emerged from the boutique. ‘While you get to tell me about the Real Madrid soccer player.’

‘Nothing to tell.’

‘You don’t see it going anywhere?’

‘How can it? His face is constantly in the media. He doesn’t make a move without some photographer trailing along in the hope of a photo opportunity.’ Cristina gave a careless shrug. ‘Who wants that?’

‘You like him.’ It was a statement, not a query.

‘I’m merely one in a cast of thousands…millions,’ she amended.

‘You might see it that way,’ Gianna offered sagely. ‘The question is…does he?’

‘Who would know?’

‘Maybe he’s tired of women playing the sycophant and he values your honesty.’

‘And maybe the moon is just a round yellow cheeseball.’

At that moment Gianna’s cellphone beeped, and she took the message, keyed in an answer, then returned the phone to her bag.

‘We have ten minutes before Miguel collects me.’

Except it was Raúl at the wheel when the large car slid to a halt outside the hotel entrance. Cristina declined his offer to drop her back to Aunt Rosita’s apartment.

‘Shopping,’ she explained eloquently, then waved as Raúl eased the Mercedes into the flow of traffic.

‘If Miguel was unavailable, I could easily have taken a taxi. There was no need for you to stop work.’

He cast her a brief musing glance. ‘Perhaps I chose to take a break.’

‘How kind.’

He bit down the desire to laugh. ‘You managed to fit in some shopping?’

‘Cristina can be very persuasive.’

‘Girl-time?’

‘Something a man will never understand.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Men tend to bond with each other from time to time.’

‘Business. The stock market. Shares. Property. Women talk clothes, shoes, bags, cosmetics, perfume.’

He negotiated an intersection, then drawled, ‘You want to talk clothes?’

She turned and subjected him to an analytical appraisal. ‘Love the shirt. That deep blue enhances the darkly brooding Mediterranean look.’ She wasn’t done. ‘And the cologne…what is that? A special lux blend, or off the shelf?’

‘Darkly brooding ?’

‘Oh, definitely. White also does it,’ she offered sweetly. ‘Perhaps you could try pale blue, or…’ she paused fractionally ‘…pale pink? Just for a change, of course. Although I doubt your contemporaries would take you seriously in pink. Now, you can’t beat a black tee to project masculinity. A thin cotton blend that hugs the shoulders, emphasises the biceps and hints at tight abs. Now, there’s a look . Worn with black jeans, naturally.’

‘Naturally.’

‘Of course, if you want to go all out , you could let your hair grow a little, just so the ends curl at your nape, but kept well groomed—although wild and unruly is also a captivating look. Women love to have something to grab on to in the throes of passion. I could consider a moustache, well trimmed, although I think kissing a man with one could be rather hard on the lips.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Don’t wear a gold neck chain. They’re so yesterday . A Rolex is a must. And I do like a ring that makes a statement. Platinum set with two rows of diamonds. Hand-crafted leather shoes. Preferably Italian.’

‘What’s wrong with Spanish?’

‘Absolutely nothing. I’m merely offering my personal preferences here.’

‘I would never have guessed.’

‘You did suggest we talk clothes ,’ she reminded him with a sweet smile. ‘I could , if asked nicely, assess your wardrobe.’

‘There is nothing wrong with my wardrobe.’

‘Of course not. If I recall correctly, everything is colour-coded—suits, shirts, ties, trousers, even shoes.’

‘And that’s a fashion crime?’

‘Not at all. It merely accentuates your need for order. I, on the other hand, rather enjoy the seek and find method… I’m invariably surprised.’ Not quite true, for she did keep everything together in neat groups. Besides, she could always put her hand on what she needed at any given time.

The Mercedes began to lose speed, and within seconds Raúl used a remote to open the gates to Teresa’s villa.

‘There, you see,’ Gianna offered in a deceptively mild voice. ‘We managed to survive the drive without once lapsing into an argument.’

His eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘The day isn’t over, minx.’

‘If that’s an endearment, it sucks.’

‘What would you have me call you? Querida? Amante?’

‘Please don’t. They no longer apply.’

He drew the car to a halt beneath the porte-cochère , and she collected her package and slid from the passenger seat, supremely conscious of him as they passed through the massive double doors into the lobby.

‘Thanks for the ride,’ she said quickly as she made for the staircase.

‘Think nothing of it.’

There were several hours until dinner, hours which she needed to fill productively, and somehow subsiding into a chair with a book held little appeal. The time difference meant it was too early to call Annaliese at Bellissima, and her brother, Ben, would be out taking his early-morning run.

She needed action of the physical kind—exercise that would use up her excess energy. A hard workout would do it, but she’d need to drive to the nearest gym…which was where ?

Elena would know. She quickly changed into cotton trousers, pulled on a tee, then stowed shorts, a tank top, sneakers and her wallet into a backpack and made her way down to the kitchen.

‘Of course, señora . I shall tell Miguel.’

Except instead of handing her a set of keys Miguel insisted on acting as chauffeur, in spite of her assurance all she needed were specific directions.