Kept at the Argentine's Command

No, not pathetic. Stop beating up on yourself. You’ve done really well this weekend. You’ve flown in on your own, you’ve been an indispensable bridesmaid, and come Monday you’ll be back in Paris to start your new course at college and life will open up for you.

Only life was currently staring her in the face in the person of his date—one of those blindingly white-toothed, shiny-haired American girls—a girl who clearly hadn’t worked out how two-faced her boyfriend was.

It was a relief when the speeches started. As much as she tried to drown him out, Alejandro acquitted himself spectacularly. He had the one hundred and fifty guests in the palm of his hand. His legendary charm was on display. Gigi was laughing so much she had tears running down her cheeks, and despite everything going on in her own life Lulu felt glad it was all working out so beautifully for her best friend.

Not so much for her, though. Because as Alejandro took his seat, with a significant glance her way she chose to ignore, she remembered what she had forgotten in all the inner turmoil. The wedding waltz.

As Khaled and Gigi took to the floor horror settled like stone in her belly.

Was Alejandro going to dance with that other woman?

Who would she dance with?

Lulu bent her head. The only wallflower maid of honour in the history of wedding receptions.

She’d possibly hit a new nadir.

But perhaps it was for the best. Lulu wasn’t even sure she was going to be able to stand up.

‘Lulu.’

Alejandro was beside her, extending his hand. The same hand he’d slipped between her inner thighs.

She wanted to slap it. She also wanted to grab hold of it like a lifeline.

She gripped him. Dug her nails in a little.

The moment his arm came around her his hand settled at her waist. With his other hand in hers she felt all the fury and hurt and confusion rise up inside her, making it impossible for her to speak.

Alejandro had none of those problems. ‘I know you’re angry with me, Lulu, but we need to talk in private. In the library.’

Oh, yes, she could just imagine. He’d probably try to ruck her skirts up again… No—nothing doing!

She suddenly wanted to cry. Very much.

‘Anything you have to say to me you can say here.’ Thank God her voice only shook slightly. ‘We won’t be in private together ever again.’

His hand tightened at her waist and Lulu wondered, crazily, if he might pick her up and throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of there. But why would he do that? She wasn’t Gigi. She wasn’t intrinsically loveable. Her limitations meant she wasn’t going to have a normal life.

‘The condom broke.’

For a moment Lulu was too busy swimming in her self-pity to pay much attention, and when she did she didn’t have a clue why he was saying this to her. Why had he said ‘condom’ in the middle of the wedding waltz?

The. Condom. Broke.

The words shot across her mind as if they’d been lit up in fireworks against a night sky.

Understanding scalded her and she stared up into his beautiful, still face. His jaw was like granite.

Now she knew why his expression had been like the Pyrenees all morning.

‘How?’ she breathed.

‘The usual reasons…latex isn’t foolproof. There’s only a ninety-eight per cent success rate. We’re the two per cent.’

Lulu didn’t know when she’d stopped dancing. Only knew that they were standing together in the middle of the dance floor while the other couples glided around them and everything she’d taken to be fixed in her life was falling down around her.

The floor seemed to come rushing up to meet her.