Spanish Escape. Maisey Yates

it be such a big deal to let his father think that maybe he was actually serious about someone? Would it hurt just to hint that maybe he was close to settling down? His father was dying, after all.

      ‘Wish me luck.’ Raúl’s voice was wry as, clean-shaven and bit clearer in the head, he walked past Angela to face his father. He glanced over, saw the tension and strain on her features. ‘It will be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Look…’ He knew Angela would never keep news from his father. ‘I am seeing someone, but I don’t want him getting carried away.’

      ‘Who?’ Angela’s eyes were wide.

      ‘Just an old flame. We ran into each other again. She lives in England but I’m seeing her at the wedding tonight…’

      ‘Araminta!’

      ‘Stop there…’ Raúl smiled. That was all that was needed. He knew the seed had been sewn.

      Raúl knocked on his father’s door and stepped in.

      There should have been flames, he thought afterwards. Or the smell of sulphur. Actually, there should have been the smell of car fuel and the sound of thunder followed by silence. There should at least have been some warning, as he was walked through the door, that he was returning to hell.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ESTELLE FELT AS if everyone knew what a fraud she was.

      She closed her heavily made-up eyes and dragged in a deep breath. They were standing in the castle grounds, waiting to be led to their seating, and some pre-wedding drinks and nibbles were being served.

      Why they hell had she agreed to this?

      You know why, Estelle told herself, her resolve hardening.

      ‘Are you okay, darling?’ Gordon asked. ‘The wedding should start soon.’

      He’d been nothing but kind, just as Ginny had promised he would be.

      ‘I’m fine,’ Estelle said, and held a little more tightly onto his arm, just as Gordon had told her to do.

      ‘This is Estelle.’

      Gordon introduced her to a couple and Estelle watched the slight rise of the woman’s eyebrow.

      ‘Estelle, this is Veronica and James.’

      ‘Estelle.’ Veronica gave a curt nod and soon moved James away.

      ‘You’re doing wonderfully,’ Gordon said, squeezing her hand and drawing her away from the mingling wedding guests so that they could speak without being overheard. ‘Maybe you just need to smile a bit more,’ he suggested gently, ‘and, I know it calls for brilliant acting, could you try and look just a little more besotted with me? I’ve got my terrible reputation with women to think of.’

      ‘Of course,’ Estelle said through chattering teeth.

      ‘The gay man and the virgin,’ Gordon whispered in her ear. ‘If only they knew!’

      Estelle’s eyes widened in horror and Gordon quickly apologised. ‘I was just trying to make you smile,’ he said.

      ‘I can’t believe that she told you!’

      Estelle was horrified that Ginny would share something as personal and as sensitive as that. Then again, she could believe it—Ginny found it endlessly amusing that Estelle had never slept with anyone. It wasn’t by deliberate choice; it wasn’t something she’d actively decided. More that she’d been so shell shocked by her parents’ death that homework and books had been her escape. By the time she’d emerged from her grief Estelle had felt two steps behind her peers. Clubs and parties had seemed frivolous. It was ancient ruins and buildings that fascinated her, and when she did meet someone there was always a panic that her virgin status must mean she was looking for a husband. More and more it had become an issue.

      Now it would seem it was a joke!

      She’d be having strong words with Ginny.

      ‘Virginia didn’t say it in a malicious way.’ Gordon seemed devastated to have upset her. ‘We were just talking one night. I really should never have brought it up.’

      ‘It’s okay,’ Estelle conceded. ‘I guess I am a bit of a rarity.’

      ‘We all have our secrets,’ Gordon said. ‘And for tonight we both have to cover them up.’ He smiled at her strained expression. ‘Estelle, I know how hard it was for you to agree to this, but I promise you have nothing to feel nervous about. I’m soon to be a happily married man.’

      ‘I know,’ Estelle said. Gordon had told her on the plane about his long-term boyfriend, Frank, and the plans they had made. ‘I just can’t stand the disapproving looks and that everyone thinks of me as a gold-digger,’ she admitted. ‘Even though that’s the whole point of the night.’

      ‘Stop caring what everyone thinks,’ Gordon said.

      It was the same as she said to Andrew, who was acutely embarrassed to be in a wheelchair. ‘You’re right.’

      Gordon lifted her chin and she smiled into his eyes. ‘That’s better.’ Gordon smiled back. ‘We’ll get through this together.’

      So Estelle held onto his arm and did her best to look suitably besotted, ignoring the occasional disapproving stare from the other guests, and she was just starting to relax and get into things when he arrived.

      Till that moment Estelle had thought it would be the bride who would make an entrance, and it wasn’t the sight of a helicopter landing that had heads turning—helicopters had been landing regularly since Estelle had got there—no, it was the man who stepped out who held everyone’s attention.

      ‘Oh, my, the evening just got interesting,’ Gordon said as the most stunning man ducked under the blades and then walked towards the gathering.

      He was tall, his thick black hair brushed back and gleaming, and his mouth was sulky and unsmiling. His Mediterranean colouring should surely mean that he’d look out of place wearing a kilt, but instead he looked as if he’d been born to wear one. Lean-hipped and long-limbed, but muscular too, he could absolutely carry it off.

      He could carry me off right now, Estelle thought wildly—and wild thoughts were rare for Estelle.

      She watched as he accepted whisky from a waiter and then stood still. He seemed removed and remote from everyone else. Even the women who flocked to him were quickly dismissed, as if at any minute he might simply walk off.

      Then he met her eyes.

      Estelle tried to flick hers away, except she found that she couldn’t.

      His eyes drifted down over the gold dress, but not in the disapproving way that Veronica’s had. Although they weren’t approving either. They were merely assessing.

      She felt herself burn as his eyes moved then to her sixty-four-year-old date, and she wanted to correct him—wanted to tell him that the rotund, red-faced man who was struggling with the heat in his heavy kilt and jacket was not her lover. Though of course she could not.

      She wanted to, though.

      ‘Eyes only for me, darling,’ Gordon reminded her, perhaps picking up on the crackle of energy crossing the lawn. His glance followed Estelle’s gaze. ‘Though frankly no one would blame you a bit for looking. He’s completely divine.’

      ‘Who?’ Estelle tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed the delicious stranger—Gordon was paying her good money to be here, after all—but she wasn’t fooling anyone.

      ‘Raúl Sanchez Fuente,’ Gordon said in a low voice. ‘Our paths cross now and then at various functions. He owns everything but morals. The bastard even looks good in a kilt. He has my heart—not that he wants it…’

      Estelle couldn’t help but