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pin into Estelle’s hair. Raúl’s expression was tense as he picked up his ringing phone.

      ‘I will tell the chef you will be up soon,’ Rita said, and Estelle thanked her and started to put on her dress.

      She didn’t understand what was being said on the phone, but given the terse words, she guessed it wasn’t pleasant.

      ‘They are getting married.’ Raúl hung up and was silent.

      By the time he told her what the call had been about he was doing up his tie, but kept getting the knot wrong.

      ‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what else to say, just went on struggling with her zip.

      ‘Come here.’ He found the side zipper. ‘It’s stuck.’

      She stood still as he tried to undo it.

      ‘My father says he wants to do the right thing by Angela—wants to give her the dignity of being his wife and his widow. He wants her to have a say in decisions by the medical staff.’

      ‘What did you say?’

      ‘That it was the first decent thing I had heard on the subject.’

      ‘Are you going to attend?’

      He didn’t answer her question; instead he hurried her along. ‘Come on. They will be serving up soon. It is not fair to keep the chef waiting.’

      Since when was Raúl thoughtful about his staff? Estelle thought, but said nothing.

      It was an amazing dinner. The chef had made his own paella, and even Raúl agreed, it was the best he had tasted.

      Yet he barely touched it.

      He looked at Estelle; she looked exquisite. Her hair was up, as it had been on their wedding day, her black dress looked stunning, and he told himself he could do it—that it wasn’t a problem after all.

      ‘What would you think if we did not turn around for Marbella?’

      Estelle swallowed the food she was relishing and took a drink of water, nervous for the same reasons as Raúl.

      ‘We could head to the islands, extend our trip…’

      ‘So that you miss your father’s wedding?’

      ‘He has chosen to marry when I am on my honeymoon. He doesn’t know we were to be on our way back.’

      ‘You’ll have to face him at some point.’

      ‘You don’t tell me what I have to do!’ he snapped, and then righted himself, trying to explain things a little better. ‘He wants a wedding—one happy memory with his wife. I doubt that will be manageable with me there. Especially if Luka attends.’ He took a breath. ‘So how about a few more days?’ He made it sound so simple. ‘I have not had a proper holiday in years…’

      ‘I thought your life was one big holiday?’

      ‘No,’ Raúl said. ‘My life is one big party. We will return to that in a few days.’ He issued it as a warning, telling her without saying as much that what happened at sea stayed at sea.

      He was waiting for her decision. But then Raúl remembered the decision was entirely his. He was paying for her company—not her say in their location.

      ‘I will let the staff know.’

      ‘Now?’

      ‘They have to plot the route, inform…’

      He didn’t finish, just headed off to let the crew know, and Estelle sat there, suddenly nervous.

      She wanted to be back on safe water—because living with Raúl like this, seeing this side of him, she was struggling to remember the rules.

      * * *

      Their ‘couple of days’ turned into two weeks.

      They sailed around Menorca and took their time exploring its many bays. Estelle’s skin turned from pale to pink, from freckles to brown. He watched her get bolder, loved seeing her stretch out on a lounger wearing only bikini bottoms, not even a little embarrassed now. Her sexuality was blossoming to his touch, before his eyes.

      Finally they sailed back into Marbella. Normally the sight of it was the one he loved best in the world, yet there was a moment when he wanted to tell the skipper to keep sailing, to bypass Marbella and head to Gibraltar, take the yacht to Morocco, just to prolong their time. Except he was growing far too fond of her.

      She put a hand on his shoulder, joined him to watch the splendid sight, but she felt his shoulder tense beneath her touch.

      Raúl turned. She was wearing espadrilles and bikini bottoms, his own wedding shirt knotted beneath her now rosy bust, her cheeks flushed and her lips still swollen from their recent lovemaking.

      ‘You’d better get dressed.’

      Usually Raúl was telling her she was overdressed.

      ‘The press may be there. The cream dress,’ he told her. ‘And have Rita do your make-up.’

      As easily at that he demoted her, reminded her of her place.

      Back on dry land he took her hand. But it was just for the cameras that he put his shoulders around his new wife.

      It was in case of a long lens that he picked up her and carried her into his apartment, back to the reality of his life.

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

      IT WAS A life she could never have imagined.

      Raúl worked harder than anyone she knew.

      His punishing day started at six, but rather than coming in drained at the end of it he would have a quick swim in the pool, or they’d make love—or rather they’d have sex. Because the Raúl from the yacht was gone now. A quick shower after that and then they’d get changed for dinner. Meals were always eaten out, and then they would hit the pulsing nightlife, dancing and partying into the early hours.

      Estelle couldn’t believe this was the toned-down version of Raúl.

      ‘I can cook,’ Estelle said, and smiled one night as they sat at Sol’s and waited for their dishes to be served. ‘It might be a novelty…’

      ‘Why would you cook when a few steps away you can have whatever you choose?’

      It was how he lived: life was a smorgasbord of pleasure. But six weeks married to Raúl, even with a week off to visit her family, was proving exhausting for Estelle—and she wasn’t the one working. Or rather, she corrected herself as the waiter brought her a drink, she was working, twenty-four-seven, because no way would she be dining out every night, no way would she be wandering along streets that still pumped with music well after midnight on a Tuesday.

      It had been Cecelia’s cardiology appointment today, and Estelle was worried sick and doing her best not to show it. But she kept glancing at her phone, willing it to ring, wondering when she’d hear.

      ‘How’s your new PA?’ Estelle asked as she bit into the most gorgeous braised beef, which had been cooked over an open fire.

      ‘Okay.’ Raúl shrugged. ‘Angela trained her well…’

      He looked down at her plate, stabbed a piece of beef with a fork and helped himself. Estelle was getting used to the way they shared their meals; it was the norm here.

      ‘It is much more difficult without Angela,’ Raúl admitted. ‘Only now she is gone are we seeing how much she did around the place.’

      ‘When will she be back?’

      ‘She won’t,’ Raúl said. ‘She is taking long service leave to nurse my father. Once he dies and it gets out about her she won’t be welcome there.’

      ‘Oh, well,

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