The competitor in him loved the challenge this narrow back represented. As she had held him off after their meeting, disparaging what was a typical effortlessness when it came to seducing a woman, the idea of showing her he was perfectly capable of romance had seemed inordinately pleasing.
Then, everything had turned inside out.
This wasn't a game. He had endangered her with this engagement and they couldn't call it off because he wasn't going back to racing. For the next few months at the very least, she needed his protection.
All they could do was play the part and hope that the impression of true love turned the tide.
"Let's get this over with," he murmured, reaching for the velvet box.
Isidora made a choked sound, too disheartened to be a laugh.
For some reason, the sound hit like a missile, landing in a place he hadn't known was unguarded, making him uncharacteristically unsure as he revealed the oval-cut diamond. It reflected the peacock-blue topaz stones that flanked it. On first glance it was beautiful in its simplicity, but on closer inspection, the complexity of the cut and setting became a reward for a lengthier study. It was quietly radiant, much like its new owner.
Ramon said what had been in his mind when he chose it. "It's not on loan. I want you to keep it. As a thank-you for doing this."
Isidora's expression revealed nothing. Her hand held a fine tremor as she allowed him to work the ring onto her finger, but that was her only reaction. Her face looked like it was made of porcelain.
He was unaccountably disappointed. He'd chosen this piece because he had genuinely thought she would like it. Most women grew quite exuberant when offered jewelry.
"You don't care for it?"
"It's beautiful." Her voice sounded constricted. To anyone overhearing them, she would have sounded as overcome as a newly engaged woman ought to. Her lashes flickered as she took in the extravagant display once more.
Finally, she looked at him. Her eyes were bruised mauve in the candlelight, filled with the disillusionment he'd seen the morning at her mother's.
"It's the proposal of my dreams."
Ah, hell.
He took in the image he'd projected with this setup, seeing how thoroughly he had played to every woman's fantasy, not thinking that this particular woman would have imagined this moment, with him, over and over, once upon a time.
"No other man could ever top it." Her smile was harder than the diamond she now wore. "Thank you."
It was supposed to be a joke.
His ribs felt like they'd curled to bite into his lungs.
She barely spoke through their entire dinner.
"Are you high? I am not moving in with you." Seriously, could this day get any worse? Ramon's driver had just missed the turn to her flat and Ramon had thought that was the right time to mention he wanted her to live with him for the duration of their engagement.
Like. Hell.
Dinner had devolved into a series of selfies with restaurant patrons unable to resist a snap with the infamous Sauveterre. Neither of them had protested the rudeness. It had saved them from speaking to each other.
In the privacy of his car, however, she had plenty to say. Pointing at the ring on her finger, she said, "Exactly how much cooperation do you think this buys?"
"As much as I require."
His face was impossible to read in the uneven flicker of light beyond the car, but the air seemed to crackle. Her ears pulsed with the suddenly hard beat of her heart. It seemed to fill the canned space they occupied, the back seat suddenly far too small for the two of them.
As the silence played out, a weird fear accosted her.
Let him say he thought he owned her. Let him reach across and act like he would prove it.
She wanted to believe this sting in her veins was readiness to scratch his eyes out if he tried, but deep down she knew what really scared her. That she might let him touch her. She might even like it.
"The fact my team was able to empty your flat, robbing you blind without one person trying to stop them, tells me how effective your security is." He was contemptuous, not contrite, and returned his attention to his phone.
Or maybe her deepest fear was that he would never touch her again.
A huge lump lodged in her throat. She fought back the sense of rawness, of fresh rejection, clinging instead to anger at his high-handedness.
"So I don't have anything to go home to? I have half a mind to report you to the police." The zip of motor scooters flying up beside them, trying to get a snapshot of them through the darkened windows, dissuaded her.
But did he have any idea how badly he'd hurt her today? Mocking her most cherished dream, saying things like "let's get this over with"?
"Can't I go stay with your sisters at Maison-"
"It's a big space," he interrupted, biting off each word. "You won't see me if you don't want to."
It was. The six-bedroom penthouse belonged to his family and she took a room at the far end from his.
For the next week she passive-aggressively texted him, rather than walk down the hall to speak to him. She didn't eat breakfast with him, taking care to eat while he worked out.
She had to join him in the car to go to work, but she did her best to keep to her own office through the day. He was busy with the restructuring and she was busy planning their fake engagement junket. They worked late every night, which allowed him to cry off his many social invitations, thank goodness. They ate whatever dinner his housekeeper left for them, but she avoided him then, too. She worked out while he ate, then ate alone in the kitchen while he watched the news in the lounge.
She knew she was being childish, but every single minute in his presence was excruciating. When she had to act the part and set her hand on his arm or go up on tiptoe to peck his cheek, she felt worse than an open book. She was a story being read aloud, one that was gauche and predictable.
His scent would intrigue her nostrils, the feel of his stubbled cheek would brand her lips and she would have to fight the urge to draw out the contact. Her physical infatuation was as strong as ever and she was terrified he knew it.
Being alone with him was a million times worse. She was sensitive to his disapproval, and his ignoring her stung. She felt utterly defenseless. It was exhausting.
Now they had arrived in Monaco. Instead of being hands-off, ostensibly out of respect for office sensibilities, more overt displays of affection would be expected. They faced a string of parties and public appearances.
She didn't know how she would keep herself together, especially when she saw what close quarters they'd be in.
His pied-à-terre in the Carré d'Or of Monte Carlo was at the top of a former hotel. Its quirks of low ceilings and small rooms had been overcome with a clever layout and the opening of walls into grand archways, giving the space a wonderfully bright and airy feel. Its terraces overlooked the beach and sea, as well as the race circuit.
Under other circumstances, she would have been charmed beyond words, but it had only one bedroom. One bed.
"I'm not staying here," she stated when they were alone, the chauffeur having exited after dropping their luggage.
Ramon lowered the phone he was reading, the distracted lift of his head arrogant in the extreme. While she drowned in awareness every minute of every day, he barely noticed she was alive.
"Why do you say that?" he asked absently.
His power-soaked good looks were on full display in a collared shirt that clung to his shoulders and tailored pants that hung with sharp creases to his polished Italian shoes. He'd always been clean-shaven, but hadn't shaved today. The light stubble accentuated his masculinity. One glance from his gray-green eyes used to destroy her, and in one glance, she nearly succumbed all over again.
"Because there's only one bed." She hid her blush by glancing at the sofa, not keen on sleeping there, either. She had a good idea what had gone on here over the years. "This is where you bring your groupies after races, I presume?"
With one dismissive blink, he said, "I deliver."
Gross.
"Well, I don't," she stated firmly, and started to retrieve her luggage.
"It's one night." His tone hardened. "It's the most secure building in the city and my team knows the neighborhood. This is where we're staying. Use the sofa if you don't want to share the bed."
He went back to his phone like he didn't care if she camped in the bathtub.
He had a point about security. How did he live like this? She didn't want to soften toward him at all, but she was being handled by the kind of detail that followed him and his siblings and it was claustrophobic. She couldn't help feeling sorry for the bunch of them because she felt plenty sorry for herself.
She would prefer to be under protection than without it, though. The threats against her hadn't grown worse, but they were still awful. She knew the safest place she could be was at his side. In his secure flat.