Having showered on the plane, he headed straight to the dressing room and donned a black tuxedo and black bow tie. Polished shoes on, hair swept back, cologne splashed on his neck and cheeks, and he was good to go.
Beth thought it just as well Gustav’s party was being held at Madrid’s Club Giroud, an uber-exclusive private members’ club a short drive from their apartment. Exhaustion was etched on Xavi’s face, although he’d certainly livened up since arriving home.
She’d been to Club Giroud only once before, when they’d first been together. Xavi had taken her there for her nineteenth birthday, just weeks before he’d ended it. She thought it best not to mention that to him. There would be enough talk about their break-up when they got home and she made her confession and told him about the pregnancy. Both pregnancies.
For now, she would hug her news to herself and let him circulate and network with his mind where it needed to be—on the business. Because there was no doubt that for Xavi, this party was business to him.
The birthday boy’s stare clocked them as soon as they stepped into the club’s vast basement. Embracing them both in that non-embracing way the fashion world did so well, he said to Beth in his thick French accent, ‘You look well—I do believe you have lost weight since the wedding. Are you taking the injection?’
‘I’m afraid an old-fashioned stomach bug is responsible for the weight loss.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Whatever achieves the needed results. You should look at taking it for those last ten or fifteen kilos. How is your grandmother?’
Digging her nails into Xavi’s palm to get him to loosen his angry grip at Gustav’s thoughtless rudeness, she grinned. Compared to most of the stick insects that inhabited the fashion world, Beth was an elephant. It didn’t bother her in the slightest. Xavi loved her curves, and that was good enough for her. ‘She’s doing well, although I think she’s only just recovered from all those shots you and Benoît had her doing.’
His cool face became suddenly animated. ‘That we hadherdoing? She drank us both under the table and then did the same at the wedding!’ Without a flicker, he readopted his usual impervious pose and turned his attention to Xavi. ‘I hear the Grimaldi deal has gone through.’
Xavi’s tone was as cool as Gustav’s, she noted. ‘It has, yes.’
‘As you are here, some quotes for the magazine?’
His fingers squeezed hers tightly again.
Sensing he was too angry at the slight Gustav had made about her weight to bother schmoozing the arsehole, Beth cut in with a bright, ‘Gustav, it’s your birthday party! Surely, you’re not planning to work? Let the quotes wait for a day or two.’
He considered this through narrowed eyes. ‘And you? Will you grant me a short interview?’
‘An interview about what?’ she asked, confused.
‘You are now one-half of the Rosbel Group and one of the richest women in Europe. You are also young and beautiful and married to this beautiful man. My readers—indeed, the world—will be waiting with avid interest to learn about you.’
She dug her nails into Xavi’s skin again. Mercifully, he loosened his hold before the blood supply to her fingers cut off. ‘Gus…may I call you Gus?’
He looked taken aback at the question, but then gave a short nod.
‘Gus,’ she said confidingly, ‘if I was going to grant an interview to anyone, it would be you, but I’m a very private person. I’ve not been raised in the spotlight or ever sought it, so I’d rather keep my privacy and stay behind the scenes, and let our relationship remain one of friends.’
He looked even more startled at the notion of friendship, a startlement that increased when a member of the club’s security team tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a note.
He read it, his eyes narrowing before his stare darted to them both with barely concealed excitement. ‘Excuse me, there’s something I need to attend to. I will find you later. Enjoy the party.’
Once he’d disappeared into the throng, Beth met Xavi’s tight stare. ‘Don’t let him get to you—he’s not worth it.’
Dark fury was alive in his eyes. ‘He’s not, but you are.’
‘If you’re talking about the weight jibe, then don’t worry about it. He probably thought he was being complimentary and doing me a favour.’
‘Bullshit. And his comment was bullshit, too. You don’t need to lose weight.’
‘Look around you. Half—more—of the women here are supermodels. They’re the women he sees and works with every day. In Gustav’s eyes, any woman over eight stone is fat.’
‘Then Gustav’s eyes need testing. Those women are nothing but clothes horses, and you’re not fat.’
‘They’re the clothes horses who sell the clothes your brands produce to the public. Thin sells. Fact.’
The dark fury faded. With the whisper of a smile playing on his lips, he leaned into her to whisper, ‘Thin sells, but curves are priceless, and your curves are the most priceless of all.’
Her smile turned into a beam.
