Bound by the Millionaire's Ring(24)

Dios, he genuinely had to fight the urge to keep his hands to himself.

She forgot about him completely, enraptured by his infant nieces. As she  gathered Rosalina against her chest and buried her nose in the baby's  neck, eyes closed blissfully, he caught a glimpse of what her future  husband would see. His heart took a sharp corner, veering toward a  cliff's edge. He had to look away.         

     



 

And found Angelique watching him.

She was the intuitive one among them. A pulse of guilt went through him, like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

He turned away from her and looked for Henri. He was speaking to  Melodie, the family's official photographer, who was beginning to  arrange everyone in front of the painting of their father.

Since the whole family happened to be here today, and Angelique was now  married, their mother wanted a family portrait. It was a perfectly  reasonable request, since Melodie had already been commissioned to snap  Henri's new family.

Isidora came up to them and handed off Rosalina to Henri. "I want to  check in with my mother," she said to Ramon. "She and Papa should be  back in Madrid by now."

She slipped outside, but her weak excuse and even weaker smile stuck like a burr in Ramon's chest.

"Where did your fiancée go?" Melodie asked, stalling in surprise as she positioned Ramon.

"She's making some calls. Don't wait." He sounded peeved to his own  ears, but this felt...inconsiderate. Isidora didn't belong in the  portrait. She was never going to be part of this family in such an  official way.

But he didn't have to rub her face in it.

Melodie blinked, astonished. "I see. Um, Trella, you stand here, then." She positioned Trella in front of him.

"He's engaged in image management, not marriage," Trella explained.  "He's helping me." Glancing over her shoulder, she added, "Don't glare.  You'll break the camera."

"If you're happy to tell the world that much, why not the rest?" He nodded at her prominent bump.

"Oh, please. Melodie isn't going to say anything to anyone."

"It doesn't change the fact you're being a hypocrite. Quit telling her  my business and tell the father of your child he has one. Or let him off  the hook if he's not. He's leaving messages with all of us, you know.  Return his calls."

"Did you just air my business in front of company? Now who's the hypocrite?"

"Faire taire," Henri growled. He was the last to move into position,  along with Cinnia, and they each held an infant. "Do you know how hard  it is to get two babies clean, fed and happy? Smile."

"Why do I even have to stand by him?" Trella growled, throwing an elbow into Ramon's diaphragm.

This was why he had always paired up with Gili. He glanced over at her,  serene beside Kasim, glowing with joy. No doubt she would produce a new  Sauveterre herself very soon.

He hadn't figured out how to handle this domesticity his siblings were  embracing. It was far beyond what he imagined for himself. It wasn't a  traumatic change, but it was still an enormous shift in his most  comfortable dynamic. The foundation he depended on was rearranging  itself.

Gili caught his eye and canted her head, expression concerned. Questioning.

He dropped his gaze. Trella's loosely curled hair cascaded down her  back, too tempting to ignore. He reverted to when their lives had been  simplest and gave one tendril a tug.

"He just pulled my hair!"

"Tattletale."

Everyone laughed. Melodie blinded them with a flash and said, "Perfect!"

A few more snaps-and snipes from his sister-and Ramon stepped away to nod at Henri. "Así. We need to talk."

Henri grimaced. "Rio. Oui."

It was their typical shorthand. They both knew that politically and  financially, one of them should go to Rio for the commissioning of a  port project Ramon had been overseeing for the last two years. The  enterprise was Sauveterre's foundation in South America, establishing  their expertise and credibility there.

"What are you talking about? Rio? You have to go." Sometimes they joked  that if Trella had been old enough when their father had died, she would  have pushed the two of them aside and taken over Sauveterre  International herself. Maison des Jumeaux was the world's leading design  house because she has a business degree in artist's clothing.

Certain things had held her back from reaching her potential, however,  and Henri was as aware of them as Ramon. The trip had been planned  before Cinnia delivered early and Gili had married and left Paris.

"You're not canceling. Not for me." Trella's jaw set.

Ramon ignored her, just held his brother's gaze. Their mother could step  in if necessary, but she was better at helping Trella stay grounded.  She wasn't as good with actual attacks, found them distressing and often  fell apart herself.

"It's not that far if I have to fly back to Paris," Gili said, setting her hand on her husband's arm. "Kasim understands."         

     



 

"I'm right here," Trella interjected. "Telling you all that I don't want  to be that person who needs hand-holding. How do I learn to cope on my  own if you all keep rushing in? I want Ramon to go."

Ramon shook his head. He'd been down this road. "Bella-"

She spun to confront him. "If I want a man to be the boss of me, I will call the father of my child. You need to butt out."

"Ça va," Henri said, holding up a hand. "Do not start World War Three.  If something comes up, Gili and I will handle it. Go. Or you'll wake  Colette and this will fall apart before Mama gets the rest of the  pictures she wants."



Whatever Isidora had conjured in her innocent dreams as the perfect  romantic honeymoon didn't come close to the reality of a week with Ramon  in Rio de Janeiro. It was so much better and she knew that all future  vacations with a man had been spoiled for her, along with all the rest  of the things he'd ruined. Nothing would ever live up to this  perfection.

The temperatures in South America were balmy, not hot, but the weather  was glorious all the same. Not that the weather mattered. It could have  been cyclone season and Isidora still would have been floating on a  cloud of joy.

It didn't even bother her that they were working. They went into the  company offices most days, at least for a few hours, then she ran to the  site with him, smiled for photo ops, or stood by while he courted local  officials at cocktail parties.

Ramon was as popular as ever with the paparazzi, having raced in São  Paulo, but the animosity toward her was dying down so the attention felt  quite friendly. She supposed people were beginning to believe it really  was true love that had motivated him to quit racing. He certainly gave  that impression, acting attentive, playing the part of enamored fiancé  very convincingly when they were in public.

Heck, she was falling for it. She told herself it was nothing more than a  revival of her old crush, this time more of a sexual infatuation, but  she couldn't help feeling connected to him and he made it seem like it  was reciprocated.

Because he wasn't putting on a show. At least, she didn't think he was.  He was every bit as thoughtful and charming in private as he was for an  audience. They retreated to his penthouse as often as they could, where  he lavished her with attention. Whether they drank coffee in robes as  they overlooked the ocean, or drank wine under the stars in his jet tub,  his bare foot might seek hers, or he might pull her to sit with her  back against his front. It was seduction, but at a slow pace. They made  love constantly, but he was just as prone to maintaining physical  contact afterward as before and during. He said sweet and sexy things,  but they talked about other things, too. They debated world events and  types of music and theater versus film. They bantered and rolled their  eyes at each other and sent each other cheeky texts.

And then, when they had been scheduled to leave two days ago, he had  said, "Why don't we stay and do the final coffee reception with the  team. The view is something everyone should see if they've come all the  way to Rio."

It had meant another night of lovemaking, another day of feeling like a  spoiled bride on her honeymoon because he wanted her to experience  something he knew she would like.

Now she stood at the rail of Páo de Açúcar, Sugarloaf Mountain, and the  view was amazing. She looked back on the cable car that had brought  their team up. Wispy clouds decorated an intense blue sky, and far into  the distance Rio de Janeiro sprawled in a river of concrete gray through  the valleys between high, green-coated peaks. A lazy line of sandy  beach drew a border between the land and the green-blue water that  stretched endlessly into the horizon.

She felt as though she stood on the top of the world.

She loved him for extending their stay and bringing her up here. For  wanting to spend more time with her. For making her feel like she was  loved back.