Marriage Made in Revenge
Michelle Smart
Chapter One
BETHGRANGER PULLEDup outside the magnificent villa she hadn’t set foot in since she was nineteen years old. All around her, people dressed in black were getting out of their cars and embracing each other as if they hadn’t already spent the day embracing and pretending to mourn.
Through her rearview mirror, she watched the large black SUV with the tinted windows make its way through the gates, and closed her eyes.
Her heart was thumping hard enough for the ripples to make her motion-sick.
She didn’t know if she could do this. All she wanted was to drive back to the airport and take the first flight home to England.
The day had been a million times harder than she’d anticipated. Beth hadn’t been close to her grandfather, but he was her last biological link to her mother. For that fact alone, he deserved better than to have his only living relative spend his funeral with her mind and emotions concentrated on someone else.
She’d genuinely believed she was over Xavi. She’d seen him a number of times since their break-up at parties that had been held during duty visits to her grandfather. Those occasions had always been emotionally difficult, but sheer bloody-minded pride had forbidden her from letting Xavi see just how difficult it was for her to be under the same roof as him. She’d takenfake it until you make itto professional levels; so much so that the bastard genuinely thought they were on friendly terms.
The last thing she’d wanted or expected was to walk into the chapel of rest eight years after their ending and for her senses to pick him out of the vast crowd like she wasstillsome kind of Xavi-homing pigeon. Luckily, so many people had gathered to pay their respects to Beth’s grandfather that there hadn’t been the time or opportunity for them to do more than nod an acknowledgement of greeting to each other. She’d done herself proud with that smile, making sure it was just the right side of solemn—it was a funeral after all—and friendly. Oh yes, she’d mastered the art of being friendly to the bastard.
She’d done herself even prouder when she’d sensed his stare on her throughout the service. She hadn’t reacted to it at all. Not externally. She was less proud that she’d had to fight herself not to look back at him. She’dachedto look at him. Worse, she’d ached for him to come and sit with her and hold her to him.
She could only assume her grandfather’s death had triggered something in her because it felt like she’d returned to the days when she’d struggled to even get out of bed. The urge to reverse out of the driveway, fly home and bury herself in bed with a large tub of chocolate ice cream was close to irresistible.
Her grandfather, for all his many faults, deserved better, and Xavi de la Rosa was not worth all the calories that came from comfort eating.
It was nearly over. All she had to do was get through the wake. One hour of small talk and thenadios, Spain. Forever.
Pulling her compact out of her bag, she was disconcerted to find her hands trembling. She took a deep breath. The vain, prideful side of her nature would never allow Xavi to see her looking anything other than her best, so she reapplied her lip gloss and touched up her eyeliner as best she could before climbing out of the car. After straightening her dress, she blew her fringe out of her eyes, tucked a lock of hair behind an ear, elongated her neck and then put her best foot forward towards the villa she’d last been in the day Xavi had smashed her heart into pieces.
From his vantage point in the main open-plan living area of his family’s villa, Xavi de la Rosa watched the curvy redhead swish through the reception room, stunningly understated in a calf-length flowing black shirt dress cinched at the waist with a thick black belt, and long, heeled black boots.
As always happened, his heart juddered in an echo of the first time he’d set eyes on her.
Eight years and she’d hardly changed at all. Every time he saw her, he marvelled at how well she’d matured into full-blown womanhood. Her long, thick red hair still shone gold under the sunlight, and she still had the same narrow face, crystal-clear green eyes, apple cheekbones and slightly square chin. Same snub nose and pixie ears, too. Her generous curves were more voluptuous, her hourglass figure one that people always took a second admiring look at.
The Beth Xavi had fallen for all those years ago had been a fun-loving eighteen-year-old who’d mesmerised him from the very first glance. She’d been quick-tempered but also quick to smile and even quicker to laugh, a hugger who was affectionate with everyone. It was a trait she’d never lost, and he watched her embrace everyone who approached her as if they were old friends when she only distantly knew a few of the hundreds of people gathered there. Those who’d never met her were naturally curious about Raul Belmonte’s only living heir. Once the news broke about her inheritance, the whole of Spain would be curious about her, too.
She stepped away from an embrace with the flamboyant artistic director of an Italian fashion house, and for the first time since entering the de la Rosa villa, her stare glanced Xavi’s. She smiled at him, and for a moment, barely the beat of a second, the connection between them was strong enough to touch. The beat broke when his mother pulled Beth into a tight embrace.
It was time to make his move.
The hairs on the nape of Beth’s neck lifted. Her chest tightened.
He was heading towards her. She could feel it as she always did, and tightened her hold on her handbag.
‘It’s so lovely seeing you again,’ she said to Mireia, Xavi’s mother, in her best Spanish. ‘Thank you for—’ she couldn’t think of the words to say, ‘making all the arrangements,’ and so settled for ‘—all this.’ Meaning the funeral.
As her grandfather’s only living relative, Beth should have been the one to arrange the funeral, but living in a different country and not knowing the first thing about Spanish funeral customs, she’d gratefully accepted Mireia’s offer of organising everything, right down to opening her home for the wake. The de la Rosas had known Beth’s grandfather a million times better than she had. Beth hadn’t even known of his existence until her eighteenth birthday.
‘Hello, Beth.’
Even though she’d braced herself for it, hearing that perfect English delivered in that rich, deep voice made her heart flip.
Keeping her features composed took more strength and concentration than all the other times she’d seen him since he broke her heart. Turning to face him, keeping that hard-fought composure drew reserves she hadn’t known existed.
‘Hello, Xavi,’ she replied lightly, meeting the dark chocolate brown stare. ‘You’re looking well.’
The young man who’d swept her off her feet was now thirty-two and much changed. The cropped hair, almost the same dark chocolate colour of his eyes, was longer than he’d worn it when they were together, the gorgeous smooth face covered in a neat, dark beard. The changes suited him, as did the faint lines around his eyes and on his forehead. Even the black suit he wore looked effortlessly elegant on his tall, wiry frame. The bastard.
