Fourteen days…most of which would pass without her seeing him at all.
So what is the problem? Begin as you mean to go on, she cautioned herself staunchly as he crossed to her side.
‘Good morning.’ Her voice sounded matter-of-fact, and for a second she thought she caught a glimpse of wry humour in his dark eyes before he returned the greeting.
‘Ready?’
As she’d ever be, she assured herself silently as she deliberately summoned a slight smile. ‘Yes.’
Except she wasn’t quick enough to release her bag as Raúl reached for it, and something deep inside her quivered as his fingers came into brief contact with her own before she snatched her hand away.
So much for remaining cool, calm and collected. They hadn’t even reached the airport, let alone left Australia, and already she was twitchy.
Oh, great. She had to get through a long flight before she’d be free of him. Hours…. Too many of them, she perceived as she preceded him out to the car.
Was he aware how unsettled he made her feel?
For sure, Gianna conceded wryly as she slid into the passenger seat while he stowed her bag in the boot.
What did one discover as a suitable topic of conversation with an ex-lover who also happened to be her husband? Soon to be ex, she amended, for the path to divorce was merely a formality.
The weather? The state of world affairs? She pondered as Raúl took the ocean-front route to the airport.
What would his reaction be if she aimed straight for the jugular and queried him sweetly about his ex-lover, the self-possessed Sierra Montefiore, who’d sensed a slender crack in Gianna’s marriage and closed in for the kill?
Not a good way to begin the day, the flight, or a two-week sojourn in Mallorca. So sticking to the prosaic seemed safe, not to mention wise.
Pretend, Gianna bade silently. And she did…with polite charm and considerable poise. She even played Gold Coast host by pointing out new high-rise apartment buildings, and proposed ventures in the pipeline for the rapidly growing tourist city.
Conversation carried them the thirty-minute drive to the airport, where, given Raúl’s private Lear jet, passage through Customs proved a mere formality before they were cleared to board.
There were introductions to the pilot and flight staff, whereupon Raúl discarded his jacket, turned back his sleeve-cuffs, they took their seats and all too quickly were in the air.
Gianna reached down into her carry-on bag and extracted a thick new release by a favourite author, and spared Raúl a glance.
‘Please don’t feel you need to entertain me.’ She even managed a faint smile. ‘I’ll be perfectly happy reading.’
‘Breakfast will be served in about an hour.’ Was that her imagination, or did the edge of his mouth twitch in amusement? ‘You have no objection if I work?’
She met his dark eyes with equanimity. ‘Not at all.’
Raúl inclined his head, extracted a laptop, and set to work, wrapping up configurations on screen, then transferring data from various files to update various graphs.
The ability to achieve total focus had been something he’d acquired during university studies. That and a photographic mind had ensured a smooth passage as he earned one degree after another, choosing employment for three years in New York before returning to Madrid to join his father in the Velez-Saldaña conglomerate.
On his father’s demise Raúl had assumed the position of CEO and developed the firm into a worldwide conglomerate, accumulating a personal fortune which included prime real estate in several cities around the world, industrial holdings—you name it.
He had it all…amend that to nearly all. One thing was missing. Perhaps the most important, he mused. The love of a good woman…family.
Not any woman. Gianna…who had been his, until life had thrown a curve ball and she had walked.
Divorce hadn’t been on his agenda. Nor hers, apparently. Yet.
Circumstance had presented him with a two-week window in which to ensure she would never consider it an option.
Flight staff served a full breakfast an hour later, from which Gianna selected muesli, fruit and coffee.
Given the time zone, she calculated they were due to arrive in Madrid late Tuesday, thereby gaining almost a full day.
‘Won’t it be an imposition to arrive at Teresa’s villa at such a late hour?’ The query held no validity, for, although the villa was fully staffed, Raúl would naturally possess the relevant keys to gain access.
He regarded her thoughtfully as he reached for his coffee. He drained his cup and refilled it from the carafe. ‘We’ll stay overnight at my apartment, then fly to Mallorca