Sweet Revenge. Эбби Грин
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had been only one awkward moment when Nicki had asked Marcello in childish innocence, ‘Are you my uncle?’
‘I’m related to the Spanish side of your family,’ he’d responded gently, and solemn young eyes viewed him with unblinking regard.
‘Do you know my daddy?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Will I meet him?’
Oh, dear heaven, don’t. Not now, not yet, Shannay silently beseeched.
‘I can promise you will.’
The undisguised rapport they shared had to be a good thing, Shannay constantly reminded herself as she bit down her reaction to the gentle patience he displayed with their daughter.
It made her think of other times when she had delighted in the touch of his hand, his warm smile … and his love.
For it had been love in all its various facets, when she’d believed nothing could rend it asunder.
Yet it had, and being in his company, returning to Madrid, brought everything back into vivid focus.
She could deal with it. She had to, for Nicki’s sake.
Her daughter’s happiness, contentment and security were paramount.
So … get over it.
The jet touched down smoothly, completed the allotted runway, then slid into a designated bay where they disembarked, Marcello dealt with their baggage and formalities before directing them to a waiting limousine bearing the discreet but influential Martinez emblem.
Madrid temperatures in October were not too dissimilar to the early-summer temperatures in Perth. A pleasant time of year in both cities, neither too hot nor too cold.
Shannay saw Nicki seated in the centre of the rear seat, then slid in beside her, aware Marcello gained access on Nicki’s right.
He’d showered, shaved and changed clothes during the flight, so too had she, and, while she’d lain down with Nicki in the bedroom compartment, sleep had come only in brief snatches.
The drive into the city’s heart would take slightly less than half an hour. She had little concern about Marcello’s choice of hotel accommodation … only an impending sense of relief that their arrival would provide escape from his company at least until the next day.
He might be accustomed to changing time zones on a regular basis, but both she and Nicki were not.
Madrid, a city of splendid architecture, combining a fascinating mix of the old and modern, the cacophony of sounds, traffic, voices in a language she hadn’t heard spoken in almost four years.
Shannay felt the light press of Nicki’s fingers curled within her own, and examined her daughter’s features as she took intent interest in the passing scene beyond the lightly tinted windows.
‘It’s different,’ Nicki said tentatively.
‘The traffic travels in the opposite way from where you live. Soon it will become familiar,’ he assured, and met Shannay’s faintly lifted eyebrow.
In a three-week time-frame? I don’t think so.
A faint smile tugged the edges of his mouth as he transferred his attention to Nicki. ‘Not much longer, pequena, and we will be there.’
Nicki regarded him solemnly. ‘What did you call me?’
‘Pequena,’ he said gently. ‘It’s an affectionate name for a little girl.’
She tried it out, copying his intonation, and his smile broadened with gentle warmth as he complimented her, resulting in a beam of childish delight.
They were bonding well … and that had to be a good thing, Shannay accepted. So why did it hurt so much?
She met his gaze, attempted to read his expression, failed miserably, and transferred her attention to the scene beyond the limousine window.
Marcello did enigmatic very well.
What did she expect? For his expressed warmth towards her in Nicki’s presence to contain a grain of genuine emotion?
Please.
She didn’t feel a thing for him. Did she?
Whatever was causing her heart to quicken its beat, or the butterflies having a ball in her stomach, was merely tension. The stress of ensuring Nicki’s emotional welfare remained on an even keel.
Nearly four years’ absence had wrought few changes, and a slight frown creased her forehead when the limousine branched off the main arterial route leading into the city.
It took a few kilometres for her tension to escalate as suspicion finally dawned.
No. Please, please let me be wrong.
Shannay kept her voice light, when inwardly she was beginning to silently seethe. ‘Where are you taking us, Marcello?’
‘My home in La Moraleja.’
She shot him a look that inaudibly expressed you have to be joking. ‘A hotel suite would be more convenient.’
‘Ensuring difficulty in enforcing necessary security measures.’
His voice held a degree of steely purpose she couldn’t fail to recognise … as he had meant her to.
Her eyes sparked anger as they clashed with his, and if she could have hit him, she’d have lashed out and to hell with the consequences.
Except Nicki was closeted between them, blissfully unaware of her mother’s rapidly mounting anger.
But wait, just wait, her scathing look silently promised, until I get you alone, behind closed doors and well out of Nicki’s hearing.
It was difficult to maintain a sense of calm during the time it took to reach La Moraleja, one of Madrid’s exclusive and luxurious suburbs.
Marcello’s home was a testament to his wealth and position. Set in beautiful grounds, behind high walls and guarded by electronic gates, the mansion stood as a craftsmen’s masterpiece of rambling structural design combining two levels in cream stucco, a cream and terracotta-tiled roof and large curved windows with folding doors, most of which opened out onto a wide terracotta-tiled forecourt.
The entrance was amazing with huge double wood-panelled doors studded in polished brass, reached from a porte cochère whose floor featured an exquisite detailed design in marble, accented in polished brass.
She told herself she didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to be reminded of the painful memories … or the good ones.
It was too personal, too painful, and too much.
Marcello had to know how being here would impact on her.
A house with rooms where they’d argued, fought, made love …
Yet it would become Nicki’s temporary home for designated periods of time throughout the year.
Years, she corrected mentally. A place her daughter needed to familiarise herself with, feel welcome in, comfortable.
Being here now made sense … for Nicki.
For Shannay, it represented a torture that would stretch her nerves to breaking point over the next three weeks.
He knew it, had planned it, and had deliberately kept her in the dark.
For that he would pay … big time, she vowed as she stepped from the limousine and accompanied Nicki into the large formal foyer where they were greeted by Maria and Emilio, trusted staff of Marcello’s who lived in and took care of the house and grounds.
Marble floors, a sweeping staircase, which curved elegantly to the upper floor, a glittering crystal chandelier against