The Perfect Cazorla Wife. Michelle Smart
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for everything she could before walking out on him.
‘Yes, you can call your lawyer and, yes, a court will probably compel me to give you some of what you ask for. I’ve always been generous with you—it was your choice not to ask for more than I’d already given.’ He’d been suspicious to find she didn’t want more of his wealth than the ten million euros. Probably she’d seen all the zeros in her account and assumed it would last for ever. He was surprised it lasted as long as it had.
Somehow he found himself right back in front of her with no memory of his legs having moved.
‘Any court case will take months, if not years, to settle so will come too late to save your latest business.’ He allowed himself a smile as he leaned down to place his face inches from hers so she could follow his lips and their meaning more closely. ‘In the meantime, you will have ample time to consider the folly of your extravagant ways and the consequences of your lies.’
This time he walked away without her calling him back.
As he rejoined the party the sight of her hurt, shocked face played heavily on his mind.
His date, Jessica, stared at him coolly, taking a long drag of her cigarette. ‘What was that about?’
He looked at her. They’d been dating for almost a month, his first foray into the dating world since Charley had walked out.
Jessica was tall, lithe and beautiful, regularly featuring at the top of sexiest women polls. She was poised, cool and considered, and looked fantastic on his arm.
Charley was inches shorter and considerably curvier. She was warm and impulsive with a laugh that warmed you to hear it. She smelled of fresh vanilla.
He could still smell her now.
‘Well?’ Jessica demanded, crunching her cigarette out in the ashtray.
Charley had always smelled gorgeous, especially first thing in the morning when the vanilla had turned to musk and mingled with the scent of their night’s lovemaking.
He hated the smell of smoke. Was it any wonder he’d been loath to even kiss Jessica?
A dart of red crossed the periphery of his vision. He turned his head to see Charley hurry back into the hotel. Even from this distance he could see the dejection in her demeanour.
Forcing a smile at Jessica, he ignored her question. ‘One more drink and then we’ll make a move.’
Not giving her the chance to respond, he headed back into the hotel and the heaving function room. As he fought his way to the bar, bypassing the waiting staff and their trays of champagne—he needed something much stiffer than that to drink—he kept an eye out for a vision in red but she was nowhere to be seen.
Charley had gone.
CHARLEY FORCED A polite smile and an even politer adiós, and left the bank manager’s office. Her chest felt so tight she struggled to breathe. Swallowing in a vain attempt to open her airways, she stepped into the lobby of the enormous building that housed her bank and a dozen other institutions, and headed straight to the ladies’ room, locking herself in the nearest cubicle.
It was over.
The manager had been as good as his word. Without Raul to act as guarantor, there would be no loan.
She’d known her chances of getting the manager to change his mind had been slim but had refused to be defeated. Slim was a better chance than zero.
And now it was all over. That last glimmer of hope had died. Zero chance had become reality.
Clamping a hand over her mouth, she stifled a sob.
Despite all her efforts, Poco Rio would lose its home and close.
Those poor children. Whatever she felt was nothing in comparison to how it would affect them and their families. God alone knew they’d already suffered enough in their short lives.
She had to hold her hands up and admit defeat. There were no avenues left to explore. She’d done everything she could, even turning to Raul for help.
Another sob formed in her throat as she recalled how he’d thrown her desperate plea back in her face. She’d never have believed he could be so heartless, had had no idea he was still harbouring the fury that had underpinned the end of their marriage. Then, his fury, his loss of control, would have been frightening if her own anger hadn’t matched his.
How clearly she remembered the reasonable tone he’d always adopted when discussing her failings. ‘Cariño,’ he’d said, ‘it is time for you to accept you are not business-minded. You have tried but now it is time for us to make the family we once talked of having.’
She remembered even more clearly how her blood, her skin, her bones—every part of her—had chilled at his words.
Bring a baby into this marriage?
Up until that point, having children was something she’d looked forward to having but in the future, after she’d found her niche in life.
Her own mother had worked hard to put food in Charley’s belly. The fact she’d thrown away all her mum’s hard work in her teenage years was something she’d become deeply ashamed of and determined to rectify. When she had a child of her own, she wanted her baby to look up to her. She didn’t want her own children comparing their parents and seeing a father who was a roaring success and a mother who was a dismal failure. She wanted her husband and children to be proud of her, to see her as a successful woman in her own right.
It hadn’t been on her mind to leave him but when she’d tried to explain why this still wasn’t the right moment to have a baby, everything had turned on its head and somehow they’d been in each other’s faces, shouting words she no longer remembered in detail but remembered the meaning behind.
Gold-digger and failure were two of his choice accusations that still rang clear and still had the power to make her stomach contract with pain. Those accusations had hurt terribly. She’d tried so hard to make a success of those businesses, had been desperate to impress him with something other than her body. But she had reached too high, she could see that now. Desperation had clouded her judgement; she had reached the stage where she couldn’t see the wood for the trees. The trees had become so thick she couldn’t see a way out either.
And then he’d told her to leave.
It had been like a light bulb going off in her skull. All the things she’d been in denial about had come to the forefront and with them had come the realisation that she couldn’t do it any more. She couldn’t be the woman he’d tried to shape her into being.
By the time she’d finished packing, he’d calmed down enough to tell her, not ask her, that he wanted her to stay. But it had been too late. Raul wanted perfection and she was far from perfect. She’d known as clearly as she knew her own name that their marriage was dead.
So why did she feel so heartsick to think about him? Why did she feel not just upset that he’d thrown her pleas for help back at her but a bone-deep misery that had stopped her eating more than a slice of toast since the party two days ago?
Only when she was certain she could keep the threatening tears at bay long enough to return home did Charley leave the ladies’ room, making sure a smile lay on her lips. That was one of the things the decorum tutor Raul had employed had drilled into her: always show a pleasant demeanour whatever the circumstances. Image was everything to the Cazorlas.
Her head ached, hurting much worse than the time she’d swallowed too large a lump of ice cream and got brain-freeze. The brilliant Valencian sunshine magnified it and she shielded her eyes as she stepped outside.
Her car was parked around the corner but before she could walk to it her vision cleared and she made out