Public Marriage, Private Secrets - By Helen Bianchin Page 0,2
from each customer.
Gianna derived immense pleasure in providing warm and friendly service. Something which had earned her a loyal and select client base.
She’d made the boutique her life, constantly searching for unusual items to attract her customers. She also provided a comprehensive catalogue, and maintained a constantly updated Web page to showcase upcoming imports and deliveries.
The fact she’d achieved it on her own, with loan funds from the bank, was a source of pride. Monthly amounts paid by Raúl directly into a separate bank account remained untouched.
Work had become all-involving, filling her waking hours. Her focus was now, and the immediate future.
There were a few good friends, but, while she occasionally socialised, she didn’t date. Dinner and pleasant conversation didn’t include an automatic agreement for consensual sex at evening’s end. At least not in her book.
She tried…she really did. Her friends meant well. They wanted to see her happy, content, with a regular man in her life who cared.
‘He’s wonderful—a real gentleman’ didn’t hold true, she had discovered to her cost.
‘You’ll adore him, he’s so charming…’ Uh-huh—if you enjoyed the obsequious type.
No matter how well-intentioned, their efforts failed. Or perhaps she failed…for moving on from Raúl wasn’t happening. He was there, his physical image so easily summoned to mind she almost expected to see him, and occasionally felt the breath catch in her throat whenever she sighted a tall, broad-shouldered male whose stance at first glance seemed achingly familiar. Followed by a heart-lurching few seconds when everything within her peripheral vision froze into a fixed tableau…until she glimpsed his profile and saw the face of a stranger, and her personal world returned to its normal kilter.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chastised in self-castigation. There was work to do. Stock to arrange. Deliveries to check. And her clientele. A business to run.
Busy was good. A steady flow of people wanting assistance ensured there was little time in which to think or reflect, and Gianna welcomed Annaliese, the part-time assistant who helped out in the boutique from ten-thirty to four, seven days a week.
It was an employment arrangement that worked well, and had done so for the past two years.
Attractive, intelligent, sunny-tempered, with a droll sense of humour, Annaliese was a superb salesperson and, importantly, dedicated.
‘Hi. One double-shot skim latte for madame.’
Delivering coffee, hot and strong, had become a welcome habit Annaliese had initiated during the first week of her employment.
‘Thanks.’ Gianna’s gratitude was genuine, and Annaliese offered a warm smile as she took the capped takeaway cup to the small back room. ‘Busy morning?’
The day brought several customers into the boutique. There were the serious buyers, and those who merely browsed, as well as a few regulars.
It was almost five when Gianna checked the sales register. The recorded total revealed a satisfactorily high figure…sufficient to warrant ordering replacement stock. Something she’d tend to prior to closing time.
A faint prickle began at her nape and slipped down her spine as she cut the phone connection to her supplier with bare minutes to spare before she was due to walk out through the door.
The electronic door buzzed, and she summoned a pleasant smile…only to have it freeze with shock at the sight of the man entering the boutique.
His powerful frame appeared no less imposing than she remembered, and his dark hair gleamed beneath the artificial lighting, emphasising broad-boned facial features, a strong jaw, wide cheekbones, the Mediterranean skin tone…and eyes so dark they appeared almost black. Raúl.
Ex-lover, estranged husband…and a man she had fervently hoped never to see again. Dear heaven. What was he doing here?
For a startling moment she was flung back to a time when her life had been everything she could want it to be.
Until it had all fallen apart in those wretched few months following her miscarriage, when the pain of grief had wrought such havoc.
He’d phoned, and when she had refused to take his calls he’d arrived on her doorstep, demanding she return with him to Madrid.
Except she’d stood her ground, wanting time and space alone…and he’d left, assuring her the next move had to be hers.
‘Nothing to say, Gianna?’
The slightly accented drawl curled round her nerve-ends and brought her crashing back to reality as she took in his etched features.
Eyes as dark as sin, with tiny lines fanning out from the edges. Vertical grooves bracketing each cheek, which seemed slightly deeper and more clearly defined.
She lingered a little too long on his mouth… The sensual curve revived a host of memories she fought hard to control. Vivid,