‘I’ll need to get something to wear. I’m sure you don’t want your bride turning up in jeans.’ She tried at humour, but her voice sounded brisk even to her ears.
He looked at his watch. ‘That wouldn’t be the image I was planning—which is why I’ve arranged for outfits to be brought here this afternoon. Select whichever one you want, and also something suitable for this evening.’
The velvet-edged strength of his voice and sexy accent caused her to drag in a ragged breath.
‘What exactly is this evening?’ In a bid to quell the nauseous tremor in her stomach she lifted her chin, dropped her shoulders and met his gaze.
‘Our engagement.’
The words were curt and she watched as he walked back around to his side of the desk. He picked up the pen, pulled the papers towards him and signed next to her signature on the contract before looking back up at her.
‘I fully intend for us to be seen out this evening as if we are a couple madly in love.’
‘It’s only Emma who needs to think we actually want to get married. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks—not now.’ She couldn’t believe he wanted to put on a public engagement.
‘I don’t want doubt in anyone’s mind,’ he said as he sat back and looked up at her. ‘Least of all people I’ve known for many years. I want them to think that we are in love.’
‘There will be people you know there tonight? Not family, surely?’
It was all getting too much. Everything was happening so fast—much faster than she’d ever planned. She was getting deeper and deeper all the time into something she obviously hadn’t given enough thought to.
‘Sí, my cousin.’
Amusement shone from his eyes. Was he enjoying her discomfort?
‘Other than that, just friends—but they will talk. I want the right things said.’
Further conversation was halted as the maid Georgina had seen earlier knocked on the door. Spanish words flowed melodiously between her and Santos, and Georgina felt strangely excluded. Her grasp of the language was basic to say the least.
‘I shall leave you now to select your wedding gown. Señora Santana is well known in Spain for her gowns.’ He turned his attention back to her, the smile that the maid had been treated to still lingering on his lips.
She felt a nervous panic at the thought of being left alone, hardly able to communicate with his staff, let alone whoever was here with wedding outfits. Santos laughed. A soft throaty chuckle that was maddeningly sexy.
‘Don’t panic. I shall be in here. I have plenty of work to do.’
‘I’m not panicking,’ she flung at him, and smiled at the maid, who was waiting to show her where to go. How did he always manage to know what she was thinking?
‘I’ll wait for you on the balcony at seven,’ he said as she left the room.
She stopped on the threshold and turned to look at him. His tall frame dominated the study so that he seemed almost dangerous. And he was, if the way she reacted to him was anything to go by.
Georgina was taken to yet another bedroom, as big and airy as the one she’d been shown to on arrival. The only difference was the rail of white and cream silk almost mockingly awaiting her approval. One glance at the dresses and Georgina knew that most of them weren’t suitable.
‘Buenas tardes, señora.’ An immaculately dressed woman in her forties all but glided across the marble floor. ‘A little too romantic maybe?’ Her accent was heavy and she stroked the dresses lovingly and smiled at Georgina.
‘I have already been married....’ Georgina began, resenting the need to explain anything, but Señora Santana put up her hand as if to tell her to stop.
‘Not a problem. Señor Ramirez has explained,’ she said, and walked behind the rail of dresses to another which Georgina hadn’t noticed.
Just what had Santos explained? Curiosity piqued, she followed and drew in a breath of awe. These dresses were beautiful. Bold colours of red, green and midnight-blue had been added to frills or even completely forming a bodice.
Georgina couldn’t help but smile. These were more like it. A sweet, innocent bride was not the image she was going for. She trailed her fingers over the silk and chiffon. But one dress in particular caught her attention.
She took the dress from the rail and held it against her. It was perfect. It was everything, and more, that she could want this dress to be.
‘Perfecto.’ Señora Santana smiled and urged Georgina to try it on.
Caught up in the moment, she relished the feel of silk and chiffon against her skin and looked at her image in the mirror. The dress fitted perfectly. As if it had been made for her. She slipped her foot into a dainty strappy sandal, feeling more and more like Cinderella every moment.
‘You will need a veil.’
‘No,’ Georgina replied quickly, and glanced in the mirror at the other lady. ‘No veil,’ she said more gently, and smiled. She hadn’t had a veil for her first wedding—hadn’t even had a dress—so she saw no need to go over the top now. Especially as it was, once more, a marriage of convenience.
Señora Santana shrugged. ‘Ah, I have the perfect alternative. You will see. But now we choose a dress for dinner. No?’
No was just what Georgina wanted to say. She’d gone along with the wedding dress, knowing it was part of the whole plan and necessary. Photos would almost certainly end up in the glossy magazines, whether she wanted them there or not. But a dress for this evening wasn’t necessary. At least not one of this quality.
‘No, the wedding dress is enough.’
The woman’s eyes widened. ‘But Señor Ramirez insisted. You must choose one.’
* * *
Finally Señora Santana’s insistence had worn Georgina down and she’d selected a classic black dress, which now lay on her bed. The hours had just disappeared whilst she was trying dresses on, leaving very little time before she was to meet Santos. Now, after a quick shower, she dried her hair and applied make-up.
Why was she feeling nervous about seeing Santos again? She looked at her watch. Five minutes to seven. He would be waiting on the terrace very soon. She looked again at the dress, feeling almost like a sacrificial lamb.
But wasn’t that exactly what she was?
For her sister’s happiness she’d once again taken on a role she didn’t want. Marrying Richard had been to put Emma through school and a roof over their heads. It had been his suggestion, and even to this day she couldn’t believe a man had done that for her. She’d been on tenterhooks during all the three years they were married, just waiting for him to leave her. But she’d never expected him to leave her the way he had. As a widow. She’d known he was ill—but not that ill.
With a heavy heart she picked up the dress, stepped into it. For a moment the zip eluded her and it took several minutes of contortions to pull it up. Flustered by her efforts, she slipped on the new pair of shoes insisted upon by Señora Santana and left the bedroom, her heels sounding loud on the marble.
SANTOS WAS LOOKING out at the sea, dressed in a dark suit, as she approached the balcony. When he turned and his gaze met hers her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t right that a man could be so sexy. The cloth of his suit had been cut with precision, emphasising his broad shoulders and strong thighs to perfection.
She swallowed hard, desperate to calm her racing