This was real and special and he had no right to bring it down to the common denominator of those women who had failed him so fundamentally.
She wouldn’t fail him.
Which was when Lulu realised she was in a lot deeper with him than she’d understood going into this conversation.
He carried the steaks over to the table. It all looked beautiful. There was even candlelight. But Lulu had never felt less like sitting down with him.
Alejandro might not have phobias to hide from, but he was carrying some serious damage from his parents. Yet he’d managed to get on in life and achieve so much in such a short amount of time. How? Where did he put the anger? The answer was in front of her. Into his work. Into the hours she’d seen him put in today. This was what he did. He worked.
She hid. He worked. What a pair they were.
A pregnant pair?
All of a sudden Lulu needed to sit down.
‘What is it?’
Alejandro was at her side, all his masculine bravado in the face of his disturbing childhood recollections gone as he hunkered down beside her. He took the glass from her hand.
‘I’m only twenty-three. You’re a workaholic. This could be disastrous.’
Alejandro frowned. ‘I shouldn’t have told you all that. Lulu, it’s in the past.’ He cupped her face. ‘That ship sank years ago—it’s just wreckage floating past us.’
Us.
That was when it occurred to Lulu that this conversation had started off lightly enough, with her teasing him about a proposal he hadn’t even made, and now somehow they’d both come round to the idea that it could be real.
She looked into Alejandro’s eyes and saw her own amazement reflected back at her. Something inside her had soared over the last weeks, because he’d seen the worst of her and he hadn’t run.
She thought of all the things he’d told her. She wouldn’t run either.
*
Lulu came downstairs the next afternoon feeling confident that she looked her best in a backless raspberry silk dress worn over flowing white silk pants and a pair of thirties cream-and-black heels with perfect bows.
She knew from all Alejandro had told her that the match today, at the Campo de Buenos Aires, was one of the most important in the polo calendar. The dress code was ‘cocktail’, but there would be countless beautiful women and press photographers and she was nervous. She didn’t want to be feeling like the odd one out. So she’d gone for glamour—a red lip and a light hand on the mascara—and teased her hair so that her curls were crisp but not overdone. She’d attached a matching silk rose to her hair with a clip instead of wearing a hat.
All in all she felt ready to face the international jet set and not disgrace herself.
Alejandro was in shirtsleeves and jeans. She knew he’d be changing into his gear at the Campo and afterwards into more formal wear for the reception.
Her breath, however, did catch as he came towards her, caught anew by his rugged looks.
‘You’ll be travelling separately from me, Lulu. I’ve got a car waiting for you now.’
‘Separately? Why?’
‘The press—paparazzi. With the guest list, two royal princes in attendance and a couple of half-dressed rock stars it will be wall-to-wall.’
‘But they won’t be interested in me.’
‘Trust me on this, Lulu, you need to go in privately.’
‘Très bien,’ she said at last, moistening her lips and reaching up to brush the hair off his forehead. ‘Well, when will I see you?’
‘I’ll find you. Don’t worry—I’m sending Xavier with you. He won’t leave your side.’
‘Okay.’ She wasn’t sure if she was happy he was giving her a bodyguard, but she guessed she’d rather have someone to help her navigate the ground than go alone.