A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,18

before turning his head away. He waved, letting him know he’d seen. ‘Felipe needs to get used to seeing us together.’

‘Oh,’ she said, looking suddenly contrite, ‘of course,’ before falling quiet as she got into the car, and warning bells went off in his brain. If she was going to start thinking he was being considerate towards her because he was interested in her …

There was no way he wanted her thinking that. He waited until the car was at the end of the driveway so they were well away from the house and Felipe’s inquisitive gaze.

‘Perhaps I should remind you that we are actors in this masquerade. We are expected to convey an image—first that we are a couple—and second that we are in love.

‘But this is a marriage of convenience and it remains a marriage of convenience. A marriage in name only. That’s what you wanted and that’s what you will get. And if I show you any courtesy, and of course I will because it is all part of the act, it is not because I have suddenly fallen in love with you. It is merely to convince everybody else that I have.’

He looked across at her. ‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes. Of course I do. My mistake. I’m sorry for ever imagining you were simply being nice.’

He managed a brief smile at her response. On the one hand he found her Australian openness appealing, but at the same time he was concerned at her willingness to embrace something as simple as picking her up from her home as being a sign he cared, and he wondered anew about her long-term plans. She’d said she was doing this all for Felipe, but why should she give up her inheritance for a grumpy old man she barely knew and who he’d never seen happy and would probably never would?

Unless she’d had other plans from the start—other plans that involved making a fake marriage real and trading a modest inheritance for a luxury lifestyle. Was her demand that there be no sex just a way to lull him into a false sense of security?

It had better not be.

‘I warn you now, it would be a mistake to ever go thinking I was nice.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said snippily. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again.’

CHAPTER FIVE

THE BOUTIQUE WAS just off La Avenida, the main street of San Sebastian, tucked away in a small calle closed to motor vehicles, and filled with planter boxes dotted down the calle spilling with bushes and greenery while the attractive three- and four-storey buildings that lined the street were home to exclusive boutiques and Michelin-starred restaurants topped by private hotels. The place screamed of money.

Alesander led her towards one of the boutiques now, and she hesitated, thinking of her limited budget. When he’d said he’d take her shopping, she’d imagined he would take her somewhere a little more generic. ‘It looks expensive.’

‘It is. Only the filthy rich can shop here.’

She stopped completely. There was no way she was setting foot in the place, let alone thinking about buying anything. ‘That’s not my kind of store.’

‘Which is why I brought you. Because I know you could not be trusted to buy the kind of gown you will need to pull this off.’

‘But I don’t have to step inside to know I can’t afford anything in that shop!’

He pulled her aside, leaning down close to her face to keep his words and, no doubt, hopefully hers out of the public realm. ‘And we can’t afford to get this wrong. If we’re going to convince people that you are worthy of being an Esquivel bride, we cannot have you looking like you dressed yourself in some discount department store rags. People would not believe it.’ She opened her mouth to protest and he held up one hand, silencing her. ‘Especially not for something as important as Markel’s birthday party. Now, we are wasting time.’

‘You can’t make me go in there—’

‘I do not expect you to pay. Of course I will pay. And it will be worth every euro. And, just for the record,’ he added for good measure, ‘I am not being nice.’

She found the nerve to smile up at him. ‘Now that was the one thing I wasn’t about to accuse you of.’

She had no time to celebrate her oral victory, for instead she found herself herded, rather than led, into the hushed boutique, where garments hung in spartan clusters around the otherwise minimalist walls. Even so, what was