In Christofides' Keeping (11 page)

After what she deemed an appropriate amount of time she excused herself, saying to Rafael, ‘The jet lag is catching up with me. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go to bed.’

Praying that Rico wouldn’t follow her, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Rafael continue the conversation.
She all but ran up the stairs, and practically bumped into Isobel, who was coming back down.

Isobel touched Gypsy’s arm and asked gently, ‘Are you OK?’

Gypsy nodded. She felt like bursting into tears, but held it back.

Isobel bit her lip and said, ‘I didn’t mean to say anything to cause tension between you and Rico. I’m so sorry…I saw the way he was with you, and I guess I just assumed…’

She looked so mournful that Gypsy blocked out her pathetic need to know what Isobel meant by
I saw the way he was with you
and shook her head. ‘No, it’s not you at all. Believe me. It’s just…things aren’t exactly how they seem with me and Rico…we’re not…
together.
’

Isobel groaned. ‘And I put you two in the same room. I am
so
sorry. Look, I’ll move Rico—’

‘No!’ Gypsy said forcibly, anticipating Rico’s retribution, and forced herself to say calmly, ‘Don’t—really. It’s fine, honestly. Our relationship is not to be a cause of concern to you.’

Isobel took Gypsy’s arm and walked her back down the corridor towards the bedrooms. ‘If it’s any consolation, I think I might know a little of what you’re going through…’ she confided.

Gypsy frowned. ‘But you and Rafael seem so…’ She trailed off, remembering intruding on their intimate moment.

Isobel smiled ruefully. ‘Oh, we are
now.
But, believe me, it wasn’t always like that.’ She shook her head, ‘Considering their background, and the damage their father—’ She stopped and clarified. ‘That is the damage Rafael’s father, Rico’s stepfather, did to them both, it’s easy to see where they get their drive and arrogance.
And Rico had it so much worse than Rafael, because he was someone else’s son. Rafael doesn’t even know what happened between Rico and his biological father when he left at sixteen to go and find him in Greece.’

Reeling inwardly at this information, Gypsy repeated, ‘He left at sixteen?’

Isobel nodded. ‘After a beating that nearly put him in a hospital. If he hadn’t turned on his stepfather that day and fought back, who knows what might have happened? As it was, he saved Rafael from years of further abuse…’ Isobel turned to Gypsy at the door of the bedroom. ‘Look, if there’s any way I can make this more comfortable for you, let me know.’

Gypsy forced a smile. ‘I will. And thank you.’

Isobel hugged Gypsy impulsively before walking away.

When Gypsy had let herself into the bedroom she stood with her back to the door for a long moment while silent tears slid down her cheeks. The other woman’s easy affection had pushed her over the edge of her control.

She wiped at the tears that wouldn’t seem to stop and told herself angrily that she
wasn’t
crying at the thought of a proud sixteen-year-old being beaten so badly that he’d left home. She’d already begun to suspect that Rico was a much more complex person than her father. Hearing that intriguing snippet about his and Rafael’s childhood made her want to know more, and that was dangerous. Along with the ever-increasing proof that when it came to
his
daughter he was proving to be nothing like her own father.

He was making Gypsy pay, yes, just as her father had done to her mother—but not because she’d asked him to acknowledge Lola, but because she
hadn’t.

And while his words tonight should have comforted
her, telling her of his intention that they would never formalise their relationship just for the sake of their daughter or because he might gain more control over them, they had done anything but. The words had scored through her like a serrated knife.

Suddenly anticipating Rico striding into the room, Gypsy hurriedly dressed in her nightclothes and got into bed, hugging one side. She put a pillow in the centre as a warning to Rico, but she had no doubt after that comment downstairs that he’d be as likely to try and seduce her as he would be to give Lola up.

Rico came into the room and saw the slight shape under the covers in the bed. A small bedside light threw out a dim glow, and Rico walked over to look down on Gypsy where she lay sleeping. He cursed softly when he saw the unmistakable sign of tear-tracks on her cheeks, feeling his chest tighten. He did not welcome the unbidden emotion where this woman was concerned.

Dammit. He’d just had to endure the worst look of reproach from Isobel, and Rafael’s clear disapproval. He hadn’t told them, however, that he had regretted the words as soon as they’d come out of his mouth. He’d wanted to snatch them back as soon as he’d seen the colour leach from Gypsy’s face and her eyes grow bruised. It had been a cheap shot designed to hurt, and it had.

Rico was disconcerted by this need to hurt Gypsy, because it hinted at a desire to force her to push him away. When really he knew he didn’t have to make much of an effort there. He was surprised she hadn’t hit him the other day, after he’d seduced her in his study and all but exploded like an inexperienced teenager in his pants. What had started out as an exercise in domination over
her had turned rapidly into something completely out of his control.

Gypsy hated him, but perversely that thought didn’t give him the same satisfaction it might have a few days ago. His mouth thinned. He had done something or he represented something that she despised. It was becoming more and more clear that something lay behind her reasoning for not getting in touch with him when she’d found out about her pregnancy.

She kept making comments about
men like you
, or
I know how you operate
, and it was beginning to seriously get on his nerves. And yet she’d had an opportunity earlier to make the most of his discomfiture when he hadn’t known how to deal with Lola’s bad behaviour, but she hadn’t. She’d been generous and had put him at ease, assuring him it wasn’t his fault.

And he’d repaid her by making a snide comment.

He was used to people looking for a weakness and exploiting it, and she hadn’t done that. She was full of shadows and secrets which he was only now beginning to unravel. She didn’t trust him, she didn’t want his money, and she fought her attraction to him as if her life depended on it. And he wanted to know why. Right at that moment, despite the most urgent desire he’d ever felt for a woman burning him up inside, he felt the need to proceed cautiously, suddenly wary of what further vulnerabilities intimacy might bring.

‘I owe you an apology.’

Gypsy’s hand tightened around her coffee cup. It was just her and Rico in the bright and airy breakfast room. When she’d woken this morning she’d been inordinately relieved to find Rico’s side of the bed empty. He’d already taken Lola downstairs to eat with Beatriz, Isobel
and Luis, and Isobel had insisted on taking Lola off to play with Beatriz.

So now it was just the two of them, and she had to have misheard. She looked at him warily. ‘Apology?’

He nodded once, curtly, the lines of his cleanshaven face stark. ‘What I said last night was unforgivably rude. You are the mother of my child and deserve more respect.’

If Gypsy hadn’t already been sitting down she would have fallen. She got the distinct impression that those words had cost him dearly. She might be the mother of his child but he still despised her for what she had done. But then her heart thumped—was he saying that he
would
marry her? She went hot all over, and clammy at the same time.

As if Rico could see the direction of her thoughts he said mockingly, ‘While I don’t envisage such a union between us, I had no right to say it so baldly. Suffice to say, I still don’t relish the thought of marrying a woman who thinks nothing of keeping the father out of his child’s life.’

Gypsy’s chin hitched up. So he was apologising not for what he’d said, but how he’d said it. Fresh hurt lanced her, mocking her attempt to deny it. ‘I didn’t think
nothing
of it. I had my reasons and they were good ones.’

Rico leant forward, suddenly threatening. ‘Yes, about those reasons…You’ve not been entirely forthcoming in that area. You’re determined to believe the worst of me—that’s been clear since the moment we met again—and you’ve obviously thought the worst since you knew who I was. That’s why you never contacted me, isn’t it? While I find it hard to believe, I’m willing to bet that you slept with me that night because you truly
did
think I was just some anonymous person, and not one of the wealthiest
men in the world.’ He said this with no arrogance, just stated the fact.

Gypsy’s skin tightened across her bones and she confirmed his suspicion, saying faintly, ‘I didn’t know anything about you till I saw you on the news that morning…’

Her brain whirred sickeningly. He was issuing a direct challenge and skirting far too close to the truth. He couldn’t know about her father; he couldn’t know the dramatic step she’d taken after he had died. If he shared the antipathy her father had felt for him, he’d use that for sure. And he couldn’t know about her mother’s mental instability. He wouldn’t understand—few people would—and he would use all that information to make her appear an unfit mother.

She was aware on some level that this fear was coming from a visceral place, not necessarily rational, but she couldn’t control it. She didn’t see herself ever being able to trust Rico. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d trusted anyone.

How could she, when her formative experiences had been learnt so painfully at the hands of someone who hadn’t even been as powerful?

She reiterated. ‘As I told you before, I had no desire to be dragged through the courts, and your departure that morning had left me in no doubt as to how reluctant you were to see me again.’

He seemed to consider saying something for a long time, and eventually he said roughly, ‘I told you the day I came to your flat that I regretted leaving you the way I did.’

Gypsy swallowed. She’d dismissed his words as an easy platitude at the time, but now they skated over her skin and made little tremors race up and down.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘I rang the hotel…most likely just after you would have seen me on the news…but you’d already left…’

Gypsy stopped breathing. She had the vaguest recollection of a phone ringing as she’d walked away from the room, but she had assumed it was coming from somewhere else. That had been
him
? To say what? That he wanted to see her again? But even as she thought that, and her heart clenched treacherously, she realised that she’d known who he was by then…so she would still have run, disgusted at having let herself be seduced so easily by someone like him. She’d still been raw after her father’s death—especially as she’d just found out the extent of his cruelty to her mother.

Gypsy tore her eyes from his and looked down, feeling very wobbly inside. ‘You say that you rang. Whether you did or not is a moot point now.’

‘Clearly.’

Rico’s voice was harsh enough to have Gypsy’s eyes meet his, and something in those grey depths made her breath hitch.

And then, moving abruptly, Rico put down his napkin and stood up. ‘I have to go into my office here today. The event we’re going to tonight is black tie—it’s for a charity I’m patron of. Be ready to go out at seven p.m.’

Gypsy watched as Rico strode powerfully from the room, and when he’d gone the absence of his intense energy made her sag like a lead balloon. She’d been to dozens of society charity events, as her father had been patron of many—but only to enhance his ego, avail himself of tax benefits, and occasionally to dip into the funds for himself.

He’d never got caught. He’d been too good at creating smoke and mirrors so people didn’t ask questions
or looked the other way. But Gypsy had known, though she’d always been too terrified of the potential punishment if she did something as audacious as call the police. But nevertheless her father had managed to punish her for her knowledge.

Once again she was being hurtled back in time. With effort she forced her mind away. She’d never wanted to be party to something like this again, and here she was, right in the middle of it. She let familiar cynicism wash over her as she thought of the prospect of the evening to come, but knew it was a weak attempt to avoid the thought of going out on Rico’s arm in public.

She couldn’t even drum up the disgust she’d expected to feel at the thought of seeing Rico posture and preen purely to raise his profile. She had an uncomfortable presentiment that he would confound her expectations again.

That evening Gypsy sat beside Rico at the head table, in a thronged and glittering ballroom in one of Buenos Aires’ best hotels. She was incensed that her distaste for this milieu was being constantly diminished because she was so distracted by how gorgeous Rico looked in a classic black-tie tuxedo.

Isobel was minding Lola, and had kindly helped Gypsy to get ready earlier. She’d endeared herself to Gypsy even more when she’d confided with feeling that she and Rafael had a pact that they’d only go to charity events if and when it was absolutely necessary, and only if Rafael could promise that he would try to extort as much money as possible out of the assembled Buenos Aires elite. After they’d given over their own generous donation, of course.

Gypsy had been happy with her appearance once
Isobel had left. Her hair was straightened and twisted into a classic chignon, and her plain dark green silk dress, sleeveless and with a cowl neckline, fell to the floor. She looked the part—the part she’d been trained well to play by her own father when it had suited him to act out the role of devoted parent, which had only ever lasted as long as they’d been on public display.

When Rico had come into the bedroom earlier and asked, with a horrified glance at her head, ‘What have you done to your hair?’ Gypsy had felt like a gauche teenager again—acutely self-conscious and aware that she just didn’t have the right
look
for this world.

Defensively she’d touched her hair and said, ‘Isobel straightened it for me. It’s tidier like this…I thought for the dinner—’