LITMIR.BIZ

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de Cordova was known to scope out a room, hone in on her quarry, then patiently wait for the opportune moment to strike.

      Somehow Shannay doubted anything had changed.

      Impossible the news of Marcello’s reconciliation with his Australian wife hadn’t reached Estella’s notice. Or the knowledge Shannay’s attendance tonight at his side wouldn’t garner speculation.

      It wasn’t so much a matter of if Estella would make her move, only when.

      Not, she perceived, before the guests were all seated.

      Those who had been aware of the purported affair between Estella de Cordova and Marcello Martinez would be subtly watching for the slightest sign to fuel the social gossip mill.

      Shannay could almost sense it, and hated being the focus of speculative interest.

      Sandro and Luisa moved into sight, and their exchanged greeting held politeness, faint smiles and a reassuring touch to Shannay’s arm together with a whispered “brava” from Luisa a few seconds before they were shown to another table.

      How … nice, Shannay conceded silently. A friendly ally.

      The thought of calmly forking morsels of food into her mouth, sipping wine, and participating in meaningless conversation while waiting for Marcello’s former mistress to strike was enough to ruin her appetite.

      Maintaining a façade didn’t help, for she was supremely conscious of her husband’s presence, the faint, exclusive tones of his cologne and the essence of the man himself.

      Worse, the tantalisation of having an intimate knowledge of his touch, the caress of his hands, his lips, the way he could make her body sigh, then heat with passion. The heights he helped her reach, and how he held her when she fell.

      ‘It is good you have returned to Madrid.’

      Shannay heard the heavily accented feminine voice, attached it to a woman seated directly opposite and offered a polite smile in acknowledgement.

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘A man in your husband’s position needs a wife by his side.’

      But not a wife and a mistress.

      And the mistress had won out.

      Words she didn’t care to voice. Didn’t need to, surely? Estella’s contretemps at the time had caused sufficient speculation.

      ‘I’m sure Marcello didn’t lack for a suitable companion.’

      An understatement, if ever there was one. The women would have been lining up … keen, willing and able to serve in every way possible!

      ‘Why—no. Marcello usually chose to accompany his aunt, or appear alone.’

      He did? How … surprising, was the only word that came to mind.

      Shannay took a sip of wine, then followed it with a measure of water, and became aware of Marcello’s interested gaze.

      ‘The food isn’t to your liking?’

      ‘It’s fine,’ she hastened quickly. ‘I’m not that hungry.’

      His eyes held hers, and saw more than she wanted him to see. Without a word he speared a morsel of food from his plate and offered it to her. ‘Try this. You’ll enjoy it.’

      Don’t, she silently pleaded, and veiled her eyes against the deliberate sensuality evident.

      It’s a game, she reminded. We’re like players on a stage, acting out an anticipated part.

      With care, she cupped his hand, drew the proffered fork to her lips and eased the morsel into her mouth.

      Her lashes swept up to reveal a provocative gleam as she edged the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth, let it slide fractionally over her lower lip, then carefully bit the morsel of food without taking her eyes from his own.

      And watched his eyes darken.

      Mission accomplished.

      Shannay offered a faint smile in silent compliment to his acting ability, then momentarily froze as he slid a hand to her nape and gently massaged the knot of tension there.

      To anyone viewing the subtle actions they would appear as two lovers who could barely wait to get a room.

      Was that what he wanted to convey?

      To many … or just Estella?

      Shannay waited a few minutes, then she leaned towards him. ‘You’re verging on overkill, querido,’ she warned in a softly taunting voice.

      Marcello lowered his head to hers. ‘There’s the need to set a precedent.’

      She took the opportunity to surreptitiously check her cellphone, saw an SMS message alerting Nicki had gone to sleep at eight-thirty, and felt a sense of relief.

      There were speeches in between numerous courses, some discourses brief and amusing … others long as the charity was lauded, together with the efforts of the tireless volunteers without whose help the fundraiser would not have been as successful.

      Or at least that was the overall drift, and she joined in the applause, aware Marcello had placed his arm across the back of her chair.

      An action which brought him close, and heightened her level of awareness.

      As he meant it to do?

      Did he know the effect he had on her?

      She assured herself she didn’t like or condone what he was doing. Or his manipulation. For at almost every turn she was caught in a trap, bound by love for her daughter, her affection for an elderly ill man, and now the subterfuge of deception.

      Only for a certain length of time, she reminded, for her sojourn in Madrid would reach an end and she’d return with Nicki to resume their life in Perth.

      Custody arrangements involving travel would be minimal for the next two years, and Marcello’s visits brief, if relatively frequent.

      She could cope. So too would Nicki.

      So what if she played the game according to Marcello’s dictum in the presence of others?

      It was only temporary.

      At that moment there was an entertainment announcement, and a female singer offered a rousing rendition in Spanish while colourfully attired back-up dancers performed an energetic routine.

      Coffee was served, and Shannay declined the strong espresso in favour of tea.

      It was the time of evening when guests were no longer restricted to their seats, and several rose to seek out friends, to linger, share coffee and conversation.

      Would Estella make her move now? Or engineer a staged encounter as Marcello rose to leave?

      She told herself she didn’t care. But she did, and a tension headache took hold behind her eyes.

      Presenting a sparkling façade had taken its toll. So too had attempting to correlate much of a language she hadn’t practised in a few years.

      Consequently it was a relief when Marcello withdrew his cellphone and summoned their driver to wait out front.

      There was the opportunity for a few brief words with Sandro and Luisa before their attention was diverted.

      They were about to exit the ballroom minutes later when a familiar sultry feminine voice purred a greeting, and a sinking feeling manifested itself in the pit of her stomach.

      ‘Estella.’ She could do polite. It really was the only way to go.

      Was it chance or design the man at Estella’s side drew Marcello into conversation, conveniently allowing Estella an opportunity to deliver a verbal barb or three?

      ‘I see Marcello was able to persuade you to return.’ There was a very subtle pause.

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