‘You have ambitions … that’s good. So many young women these days are content to squander the money their parents have worked hard to earn, and then they wonder why they aren’t happy.’ Maria looked at Rafael, and Cristina knew that she was thinking about her son’s ex-wife and the lavish lifestyle which had brought her no happiness. This was not the right road. She didn’t want to be considered some kind of paragon of virtue and, before any favourable comparisons could be made, she broke in firmly.
‘The dilemma of where I would want to live, well, that’s a big one … best left for another time, I guess. I’m just hoping that it’s one that can be sorted … but enough of all that.’ She made a show of looking at her watch and then suggested that perhaps it was time to leave.
‘That,’ Rafael said as the house disappeared from view, ‘Was a moderately convincing performance.’
‘Here is the ring back. I can’t bear having it on my finger.’ She wriggled it off and dropped it neatly on the shiny walnut gear-box. The thing had cost an arm and a leg, but instead of taking it Rafael barely gave it a glance. She thought that he had, perhaps, made a crucial mistake in choosing her. He had assumed that her privileged background would work in his favour. Just one more tick in the box. However, had she been from a less advantaged background, then his casual dismissal of that fantastically expensive ring now juddering as the car picked up speed would have impressed her to death. She hoped not sufficiently for her to have ignored her broken heart, but who knew?
With no one around, she felt that surge of hurt and anger rush through her once more.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ Rafael said conversationally, his eyes focused on the strip of road ahead.
Cristina had determined to maintain a dignified silence for the duration of the journey—after all she had already said what she’d needed to—but there was no way that she was going to let that remark go unanswered. She turned to him and valiantly squashed that little flip her stomach did whenever her eyes were confronted with the sheer beauty of his face. The last thing she needed was to be ambushed by her body.
‘I would have been making the biggest mistake of my life if I had married you,’ she said bitterly.
‘How do you figure that?’
‘I …’ She drew in a trembling breath and blinked rapidly to clear the watery film from her eyes. ‘I thought we had something special—’
‘There are tissues in the glove compartment.’
‘How can you be so … so … cold!’ Cristina yelled, shocked by this newly found capacity for rage. Where had that placid person gone—The one who was always upbeat and never, but never, shouted?
‘I am not being cold,’ Rafael said with exaggerated patience. ‘I am simply trying to take the temperature down a notch or two. Getting worked up doesn’t get anyone anywhere.’
‘Oh, sorry, I forgot. You don’t do hysterics.’
‘No. I don’t.’ Without warning, he swerved the car off the main road and down one of the winding country lanes which they had not yet left behind. It would be a while before they hit the motorway system.
Cristina drew back into her chair, alarmed when he killed the engine, unclasped his seat belt and then swung his body around so that he was facing her.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked unsteadily.
‘I’m having a conversation.’
‘We can talk while you drive.’ She looked away and chewed her lower lip until there was the metallic taste of blood on her tongue.
‘We could,’ Rafael agreed smoothly. ‘But I prefer to see your face when you’re calling me a monster.’
‘I wasn’t calling you a monster.’
‘Weren’t you? You accuse me of doing you the disservice of asking you to be my wife because I think you would make a good wife—where is the insult in that?’
‘I can’t marry anyone for those reasons,’ Cristina said, not looking at him. The view of fields and trees was a lot less threatening.
‘You want me to tell you that I love you,’ Rafael ground out, and for a few seconds Cristina just wanted to cover his beautiful mouth with her hand, to stop that flow of words which she knew was coming. ‘I cannot,’ he said flatly. It was his turn now to feel outrage that she could have seen his generous offer as some kind of slap in the face. ‘I’ve been down that road. I’ve told you that. Been down that road and seen for myself what lies at the end of it. So, no, love doesn’t enter the equation.’
‘But …’ Cristina clung to those wonderful, tender memories of their love-making like a drowning person clasping a life belt, even though she could feel her fingers losing their grip as the waves continued to batter her.