‘Why?’ She couldn’t help herself asking, as if in just a few seconds he would have changed his mind about her.
‘You are my wife, and as such I will drive you to the airport.’
He left her in no doubt that there wouldn’t be any further discussion on the subject and she dropped down into the low sports car, nerves taking flight in her stomach as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
She glanced across at him as the air inside the car filled with his raw masculine scent—one that would haunt her for ever—only to find he was looking at her. Furiously she glared at him, then looked away. She wasn’t going to be a victim of his charm this time. The sooner she got to the airport the better.
The drive along the busy roads was fast and painfully silent. Each time she looked at him his stern profile hinted at the anger he held in check. Each passing second became tenser than the last, the air more laden and heavy, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the airport came into view.
He passed the entrance and she panicked. ‘Where are we going?’
‘My plane is waiting on the Tarmac.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I’ll book on the next flight.’ She tried hard to keep her desperation from him, but it wasn’t just him she was annoyed with. She’d almost hoped he was coming to London too and that he did want her.
‘We shall be in London by midnight.’
‘We?’ She silently cursed that last thought—that last futile wish.
‘Did you really think you could walk out so easily?’ He turned to look at her briefly as he manoeuvred the car into the airport and headed for the plane. Within seconds of them stopping he was out of the car and at her door, and once their passports were checked he took her hand and led her up the steps of the plane.
The door closed and a strange stillness settled inside the cabin. Santos sat in one of the white leather chairs, his long legs stretched out before him, looking relaxed, but she knew from the tension in his face he was anything but.
Georgina resigned herself to the situation and sat down, fixing her attention on the darkening skyline rather than look at the man who’d turned everything in her life upside down, including her heart. She consoled herself with the fact that at least she was going back to London. Once there she could so much more easily walk away from Santos. But that thought didn’t make her feel as she’d wanted it to. It made her heart ache. Pain lanced through it, shattering it into pieces. But she couldn’t let him know.
* * *
If Santos had thought the flight to London was tense, then the drive through London’s streets was worse. Georgina sat at his side, irresistibly close, yet undeniably far from him. He knew she was trapped in her deceit. The evidence was stacked against her. She’d deceived him, tricked him into marrying her so her sister and his brother could take all he’d worked so hard for over recent years. This time Georgina’s gamble wasn’t going to pay off.
‘I can’t stay here.’
Georgina’s words drew him up sharp. She’d realised where they were. The storm, it seemed, raged on.
‘Take me back to my own apartment, please.’
He didn’t say anything, just shook his head once as she looked across at him, her face partially lit by street lamps.
‘Santos, please, don’t prolong the agony.’
The anguish in her voice was so acute it was almost physical. But what did she mean, agony? Had their time together been so awful?
‘Agony? What agony?’ he snapped at her recklessly, instantly furious with himself for allowing her to see even a moment’s loss of control.
She looked taken aback, as if she hadn’t meant to say those words. ‘Just admit it’s time we went our separate ways, Santos. Things haven’t worked out.’ She hesitated for a moment as the car pulled up outside his apartment. ‘We’ve both been deceived—let’s leave it at that.’ She sounded tired, as if struggling with defeat.
‘You are my wife, Georgina, and as such I want you with me when Carlo and Emma return. I want us to present a united front.’ He couldn’t admit it yet—not even to himself—but he seemed to be clutching at every possible reason for her to stay, as if he didn’t want her to go.
The chauffeur opened the car door and he stepped out into the cold autumn night. Light rain had fallen and the small amount of traffic that passed swished by on the wet road. He walked round to the other side of the car and opened Georgina’s door, marvelling at how suddenly she seemed at ease. Was he even now falling into line with one of her devious plans?
She stepped out onto the pavement and looked at him. ‘I don’t see why we should keep up the pretence any longer.’