CHAPTER ELEVEN
ZARA HADN’T SEEN Andres for at least fifteen minutes. He had slipped out of the ballroom at some point when she wasn’t looking, and she hadn’t seen him anywhere since. She knew he wasn’t in the room, because she felt the change.
Perhaps that sounded ridiculous, but she could feel his presence. Because it carried such weight. That connection they shared. Years of being alone had made it stronger, she was convinced. Or maybe it was so for everyone in love.
Though when you were the only one in love, perhaps it wasn’t.
She had been sitting at the table in utter silence, trying not to look as distressed as she felt, and probably failing miserably. She took a deep breath, standing, deciding that she was going to go find him now. She wasn’t one to wait. She wasn’t one to play games. And just because he seemed to prefer to operate with a thin veil of deceit between his words and his feelings did not mean she had to do it. She was going to force him to confront this. To discuss it. Because he was telling her lies, she was certain.
He felt more for her, for what they shared, than he claimed. She knew he did.
She strode through the ballroom, quite amazed that the crowd of people parted for her as they seemed to do for Andres. She really was a part of this place now. She was one of them.
Her happiness was dented by the situation she was in. It was very difficult to feel happy when your heart was ground to dust. Another new discovery. Though a rather logical one.
She left the ballroom, exiting the main double doors out the back, and finding herself in the corridor where she and Andres had first made love. She didn’t know what had led her here, but now that she was here, she knew it had been for a reason. This would be where he’d go. She was certain of it.
She rounded the corner from the ballroom, headed toward that alcove where they had first found their passion. And then she heard voices, rustling.
She stopped. Listening for a moment.
Her stomach twisted, sank deep down, terror gnawing at her insides, and still, she walked forward. Because she had to. Because he was there. She knew it.
She took one step, then another, headed toward the alcove. And when she rounded the corner, everything stopped.
It was Andres. And a woman. The woman was wearing a bright red dress, a crimson stain against Andres’s black suit. She was crushed hard against his body. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, his lips pressed hard to hers. He shifted, angling his head, and she saw his tongue slide against hers.
A cry escaped Zara’s lips and she clasped her hand over her mouth. The blonde jumped as though she’d been scalded, but Andres moved slowly, fluidly, raising his head in a lazy, laconic fashion, one eyebrow lifted.
“Zara.” He said her name so blandly. As though he wasn’t surprised. As though he wasn’t sorry. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly,” she said, her tone vibrating with rage.
“I was a bit bored of the party.”
“Is that what you do when you’re bored at parties? Come out here and have women up against walls?”
“Don’t be dramatic. Obviously I wasn’t having her. Yet.”
The blonde made a coughing sound, her expression irritated. “I didn’t sign on for drama,” she said. “Just a little bit of fun with the prince.”
“Sorry,” Zara said, not feeling sorry at all. “This prince comes with drama. A rather large amount of it. In the form of me.”
“I shall leave you to it.” The woman moved away from Andres, walking closer to Zara. The light fell across her beautiful face, and Zara could see her red lipstick, smudged over to her cheek. That was how passionately he had been kissing her.
She had been wrong earlier. She thought her heart had been broken already. Damage done. But no, there were apparently some pieces left to shatter. To be ground beneath the stiletto of another woman.
It was his fault. Not hers.
That made it even worse.
She waited until the blonde was out of sight before trying to formulate a sentence. She would not give the other woman the satisfaction of hearing how upset she was.
“You lied to me.” The words were low, shaky. She felt as if they had cost her the very last bit of air in her lungs. As if she would pass out from the force it had taken to speak them.