A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,12
with nothing but a few trinkets, it would have been all that she owned. And now, if she agreed to Alesander’s terms, she’d be left with nothing again.
But what good were the vines to her anyway when her plan had always been to return to her studies in Melbourne? What point was there in her keeping them, other than as a link to a past and a life she’d been denied most of her life? She didn’t belong here. Not really. She was no vigneron, whatever her heritage. She couldn’t even speak the language. Not properly. ‘All right,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper, knowing that ultimately she had no choice. ‘You have a deal.’
‘Good, I’ll get my lawyers to draft up the agreement.’
‘This can’t get out! Felipe must not suspect.’
‘You think I want it to become public knowledge? No, my legal people will not breathe a word of this. Nobody will know our marriage is not real.’
She nodded, feeling her shoulders sag and her very bones droop, suddenly bone-weary. She’d come here and achieved what she’d never thought she’d achieve—the impossible had happened and Alesander Esquivel had agreed to her crazy plan. Soon the vineyard would be reunited and Felipe would have a reason to smile again. She should be over the moon ecstatic right now. And yet instead she felt wrung out, both emotionally and physically. ‘I must go,’ she said, shocked when she glanced out of the window and realised how the light was fading from the day. ‘Felipe will be wondering where I am.’ She looked back at him. ‘I imagine you’ll be in touch when the papers are ready to sign.’
‘I’ll get my jacket. I’ll drive you home.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said, even as he was disappearing into his room. She would be fine on the local bus. She would be even later home but she could do with the time to think. And right now she could do with the space to breathe air not spiced with this man’s scent, a blend of citrus, musk and one hundred per cent testosterone.
‘There’s every need,’ he said, returning with a jacket he shrugged over his shoulders, a set of keys in his hand. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like how we met, for a start. We need to get our stories straight and I’m assuming you’d prefer I didn’t go around telling people you knocked on my door and asked me to marry you. Plus we need to work out how quickly to progress this arrangement. Given the state of Felipe’s health, I’m guessing you’re not after a long engagement?’
‘Well, no …’ She hadn’t really thought about it. He was right, of course, it was just that she hadn’t given herself the luxury of thinking that far ahead. Not when she’d never actually been confident of pulling this plan off and securing his agreement.
‘Then let’s make it next month—it’ll take that long for the legalities, and meanwhile we need to be seen together and in the right places. We can work that out on the way.’ He snatched up car keys from a drawer. ‘Besides, I think it’s about time I reacquainted myself with my prospective grandfather-in-law.’
His car was low and lean and looked more as if it belonged on a racetrack than on any road. It didn’t help that it was black. She regarded it suspiciously. ‘Are you sure this is street legal?’
He laughed, a low rumbling laugh that she felt uncomfortably low in her belly, as he ushered her into the low-slung GTA Spano that seemed filled with leather and aluminium and cool LCD lighting.
Safe in her leather seat, the car wrapped around her like an embrace, the panoramic glass roof bringing the outside inside.
He didn’t so much drive through the busy streets of San Sebastian as prowled, driver and machine like a predator, waiting for just the right moment to switch lanes or to overtake, using the vehicle’s cat-like manoeuvrability and power to masterfully take control of the streets, until they hit the highway and the car changed gears and ate up the few miles before the turn-off to the coast and small fishing village of Getaria.
Along the way they sorted the story of how they’d met by chance in San Sebastian when she’d stopped him on the street to ask directions. Or rather, Alesander sorted their story, while she tried hard to ignore the blood-dizzying effect of sharing the same confined space with him. She didn’t have