‘He was not the most discerning of men where his personal life was concerned,’ the lawyer agreed. ‘May I ask why you will not be marrying Cristina Marques?
‘But I am marrying Cristina,’ Anton confirmed smoothly. ‘On Saint Sebastian’s day at two p.m. in the Blue Room at my hotel. You are welcome to attend, if you wish.’
‘I will certainly consider it,’ the other man said politely. ‘Though I don’t see the point if you are definitely pulling out of this.’
‘I am.’ Anton was adamant.
‘Then you will understand that from that day forth all correspondence to do with Enrique Ramirez’s estate will be forwarded to your wife?’
‘Of course,’ Anton agreed. ‘Prefixed by my name, if you please, Senhor Estes, since I will be taking complete control of Cristina’s business interests from that day forth.’
There was a pause, a long pause, then the merest hint of smile sounded in Senhor Estes’s tone. ‘Machismo still rules on the pampas, heh, Mr Scott-Lee?’
‘Most certainly,’ Anton confirmed.
‘Then all correspondence from this office to your wife will be prefixed by your name,’ the lawyer established.
‘And, as I will be attending all meetings with or on behalf of my wife, may I ask if she will need to attend any meetings at your offices with regard to Enrique’s estate?’
‘That will of course, be up to your wife.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Please don’t mention it,’ the other man said, and there was a definite smile in his voice now. ‘Before you go, Mr Scott-Lee, I am curious—do you know why your father took so personal an interest in Miss Marques?’
Anton tensed. ‘I believe he saved her life once.’
‘And a life once saved becomes the saviour’s responsibility,’ the lawyer confirmed. ‘Enrique lived by that maxim where Cristina was concerned. He even found her a job working in a café-bar on the Copacabana when she ran away from home seven years ago—though I don’t think that she knows this. It was purely coincidental, of course, that the café-bar was the place you used to frequent each evening on your way home from the bank. Fate lending a hand, do you think, Mr Scott-Lee?’
It did not take Anton two seconds to understand what Estes was really saying. Anger erupted, pushing him to his feet. ‘Then where the hell was Ramirez when Cristina needed protecting from her father and that bastard Ordoniz?’ he rasped.
‘Enduring his first heart attack,’ the lawyer came back. ‘Where were you, Senhor Scott-Lee…?’
Anton was pacing. He had never thought he would be a pacer at his own wedding. He’d always teased his friends when they’d done this at their weddings. Now here he was—pacing.
She was late.
He glanced at his watch. Not very late, just a few minutes late—the bride’s prerogative.
‘Anton…’ Gabriel touched him on the shoulder.
He swung round. One glance at the other man’s face and he knew his worst prediction was about to come true.
‘Where is she?’ he demanded.
‘Not far,’ Gabriel quickly assured him. ‘She’s at the restaurant downstairs, by the pool. She wants to talk to you before she—’
The rest was spoken into fresh air.
Anton stepped outside and saw her instantly. She was sitting at a table staring at the ornamental pool—and he had to pause for a moment because she quite simply took his breath away. Her hair was down, rippling in glossy, loose spiral twists down her back, and she was wearing a simple short silk sheath dress in a shade of warm ocean-green that could have been hand-dyed to match the colour of his eyes.
Relief swept through him. A woman who bought a dress to match the colour of her lover’s eyes had not been thinking of jilting him when she chose it. As he approached he even smiled when he caught sight of what she was wearing to tie her hair back from her face.
‘Hi,’ he said as he arrived beside her, touching her warm sun-kissed shoulder with his fingertips and bending to brush a kiss to her cheek.
‘Hi,’ she greeted him huskily.
Swinging out the chair next to hers, he turned it around, then straddled it.
Cristina glanced up and felt not just her heart but everything else take a warm, swooping dive inside her. He looked so very good to her hungry eyes, with his neat dark hair and warm golden skin, and a smile on his lips that made her vulnerable heart ache. He was wearing a pale cream silk-linen suit that did disturbing things for his broad-shouldered figure, and the silk shirt he wore beneath the jacket was an almost exact match to the colour of her dress.
‘Now I know why my mother bought this shirt and insisted I wear it,’ he said. Reaching out then, he flicked a finger at the cream ribbon she was wearing in her hair. ‘And you’ve been filching my bow ties again.’
Cristina flushed and looked away. ‘Don’t tease,’ she shook out.
A waiter appeared beside their table. Without hesitation Luis ordered two glasses of champagne. The waiter moved away—curious, Cristina could tell, because it had to be obvious that they were the bride and groom supposed to be getting married in the Blue Room right now, instead of sitting here. Luis was even wearing a creamy rosebud in his jacket lapel.
‘Luis…’ she whispered anxiously.
‘Mmm?’ he responded, in an intimately seductive way that brought some colour into her pale cheeks.
Leaning forward, he rested his arms across the back of the chair, then placed his chin on his arms. ‘You look amazingly, beddably gorgeous, meu querida,’ he told her softly. ‘Will you come upstairs and marry me?’
Cristina sucked in a breath. ‘Can you be serious for a moment?’
‘Not today, no,’ he refused.
‘But I need to talk to you—’
‘You could try looking at me when you say that, my darling. At the moment you are talking to your poor mangled fingers.’
Her chin shot up; her eyes flashed. ‘Will you please listen to me for one moment without—’
‘Listen to you try to kick me out of your life again? No way.’ Anton shook his head.
‘I don’t want—’
‘Then what do you want?’ he asked, and the humour was starting to leave him, no matter what he’d said about refusing to be serious.
‘I want to talk about what you really want,’ she told him.
‘I want you as my wife.’