Never Gamble with a Caffarelli(21)

In fact, he couldn’t think of the last one that had...

‘I have a shoot in Barbados.’ Her shoulders went down dejectedly. ‘I have to lose at least three pounds before then.’

‘You’re joking, surely?’

She gave him a resigned look. ‘No one wants to see a bloated belly in a bikini they’re going to pay a hundred and fifty pounds for, are they?’

‘But you’ve got an amazing belly.’ He’d been having shower fantasies about it for years. He compared other women to her. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help it. She was his benchmark. That billboard in New York all those years ago had nailed it for him. No one even came close.

He suddenly found himself imagining her belly swelling...growing larger with the bloom of a child...his child...

Whoa! What are you thinking?

She pressed her lips together. ‘I’ve got a belly like every other woman. It has its good days and its bad days.’

Remy studied her for a moment. ‘Is that why you don’t eat?’

She visibly bristled. ‘I do eat.’

He gave a disparaging grunt. ‘Not enough to keep a gnat alive.’

She sent him a flinty glare. ‘So you keep a catalogue of all your lovers’ food intakes, do you?’

‘You’re not my lover.’ A fact his body was reminding him of virtually non-stop. Why wasn’t it letting up?

‘No.’ Her chin hitched up until she was eyeball to eyeball with him. ‘I’m just your wife.’

Remy felt his back come up at the way she said the word. It was like she was spitting out a nasty object, something foul and distasteful. ‘Why are you so against being a wife? Your parents were happily married, weren’t they? Everyone said how devastated your father was when your mother died. He was inconsolable.’

‘Yes, he was...’ Her expression clouded and her teeth nipped into her bottom lip.

He wondered if he should have mentioned her mother’s death. Suicide was a touchy subject. Kate Marchand had taken an overdose after a bout of depression, which had supposedly been accidental, and rumour had it Angelique had found her body.

She had been ten years old.

The same age his brother Rafe had been when their parents had been killed.

Remy had seen first-hand what a child with an overblown sense of responsibility went through. It had only been since Rafe had met Poppy that he had let that sense of responsibility ease. Rafe had taken stock of his life and was a better and happier man for it.

Raoul had done much the same, recognising his life would not be complete without Lily Archer, the woman who had shown him that physical wholeness was not as important as emotional wholeness.

But what could Angelique teach Remy other than patience and self-control?

Remy wondered if finding her mother like that was why she was such a tearaway. Losing her mother in such a way must have hit her hard. Had she blamed herself?

He looked at her sitting with her arms folded across her middle, her gaze focused on the tote bag on her lap. A frown was pulling on her forehead and her teeth were savaging her lower lip. She looked far younger than her years. Vulnerable.

‘Did you blame yourself for your mother’s death?’

‘A bit, I suppose. What child wouldn’t?’ She started plucking at the stitches in the leather of her bag strap, tugging at the tiny threads as if to unpick them one by one. ‘If I’d got home earlier I might’ve been able to save her. But I’d stopped at a friend’s house on the way home from school. I’d never done that before.’ She stopped picking to look at him. ‘Needless to say, I never did it again.’

There was a lot of pain in her eyes. She covered it well but it was there lurking in the depths. Remy saw it in the way she held herself, a braced posture, guarded, prepared. Vigilant. There was so much about her that annoyed him, yet how much of that was a ruse to cover her true nature? Her brash wilfulness, her impulsiveness, her refusal to obey instructions could well be a shield to hide how vulnerable and alone she felt.

‘Monsieur Caffarelli?’

Remy had almost forgotten they were still in the car until it came to a halt and the driver opened the partition that separated the driver from the passengers.

‘There are paparazzi outside,’ his driver said. ‘Do you want me to drive another block or two?’

‘Yes, do that.’ Remy took out his phone. ‘I’ll give my lawyer a call to see if he can meet us somewhere else.’

‘How did they know we were going to your lawyer’s office?’ Angelique asked.

‘God knows.’ He put his phone to his ear. ‘Brad. You looked out of your window lately?’

‘I was just about to call you,’ Brad said. ‘I’ve just had Robert Mappleton on the line. He heard a rumour you’re married to Henri Marchand’s daughter and—’