Текст книги "The Affair"

Автор книги: Beth Kery

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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 34 страниц)

Chapter 31

A little while later, the restaurant started to clear. Emma was leaving the ladies’ room, when someone caught her hand and halted her. She looked around and saw Mario Acarde standing there.

“I’ve been trying to find you all night,” he told her, the thickness of his speech making her think he’d had a bit too much to drink.

“Really?” Emma asked in a friendly, neutral tone, removing her hand from his. “I’ve been sitting in the same place the whole time.” Another hand enclosed the one she’d just dropped. She looked over her shoulder.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

“Hello. Sorry for leaving you like that. Everyone has something to say about the race,” Vanni replied, his gaze running over her face and then flicking over to Mario. “But I promise I won’t leave your side for the rest of the night. Excuse us, Mario.”

“Are you off to the tables?” Mario called, but Vanni didn’t respond. He just led Emma onto the terrace, which had cleared out. It was a warm, starry night, a full moon in the sky making a swath of the sea gleam and wink. The band had stopped playing and was starting to pack up their instruments. Vanni left her, approached one of the men, and exchanged a handshake with him.

“Encore une chanson, s’il vous plait?” Vanni asked quietly.

The man looked down appreciatively at his palm. “Avec plaisir, monsieur.”

The musicians all took up their instruments again and at a signal from the leader began playing. Vanni came toward her, a small, devastating smile shaping his mouth. A thrill went through her when he took her into his arms and they began to dance. She looked up at him as he pulled her closer, her smile matching his.

“Do you always do things perfectly?” she asked softly.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re playing ‘Moonlight Serenade,’ ” she said with a small laugh, glancing significantly out at the moonlit water.

“It’s not me who is perfect tonight,” he murmured. Her breath caught when his lips closed gently over hers and lingered as they spun to the music. Her flesh tingled next to his solid length. It was pure magic.

“I’m sorry for leaving you. It seems every time I turned around, someone had a question or something to say about the race,” he said a moment later.

“Don’t worry. I understand. This is your work. Niki kept me company.”

“I saw. I asked him to watch out for you.”

“Did you?” she asked, entranced by the image of his angled, bold face etched in shadow and moonlight, and the feeling of his body moving in subtle rhythm next to hers.

He nodded, his expression sober. “And then I got jealous when I saw him doing it,” he growled softly, capturing her lips again for another kiss. She felt his body harden next to hers, and the kiss deepened.

“You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of,” she told him breathlessly a moment later. “All I can see is you, Vanni.” One dark brow rose in a wry expression.

“For these weeks and days and hours?” he asked, a thread of sarcasm in his tone. One of his hands lightly skimmed over her lower back and the top of a buttock. Emma shivered.

“For these weeks and days and hours.”

“You’re mine.”

She smiled and pressed closer to him. “You know it’s true,” she chided.

“I still like to hear you say it.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered. His head lowered, and their mouths fused again.

“Almost everyone will have gone into the casino,” Vanni said as he led her through the mostly deserted restaurant after the memorable dance was over. “Would you like to stroll through before we leave, or would you rather not?”

“I’d like to at least have a look,” she said as they entered the palatial grand lobby of the hotel, and Emma glanced around eagerly. Vanni’s stare stuck on her face.

“Of course. I keep forgetting you haven’t been here before,” he said.

“I’ve never even been to Europe,” she said.

“What?” he asked, his stride breaking slightly.

“It’s my first time. I have a passport because I was supposed to go to London for a trip arranged through my college after graduation. But then my mother died, so I never got to go. She had a small life-insurance policy, but funerals are a lot more expensive than I’d realized.”

He didn’t say anything as he led her to the entrance. There was a line to enter the casino, but Vanni surpassed it. The burly man wearing a tuxedo guarding the entrance nodded once at them and murmured, “Mr. Montand,” before releasing a velvet rope for them to enter.

When they entered the bustling casino, Vanni squeezed her hand.

“I’m sorry about how busy I am. I’ll be a better tour guide, I promise,” he said quietly. “As soon as the race is over. And tomorrow, we’ve been invited onto Niki’s yacht. You’ll get a nice view of the local country from the sea.”

“We have been?” she asked excitedly. She noticed how sober he looked and squeezed his hand back. “Don’t worry, Vanni. You’re treating me to the experience of a lifetime. Don’t you know that?”

He gave her a small smile and they proceeded into the casino. The atmosphere was electrical and chic. She recognized many of the faces she’d seen at the dinner, people looking around and greeting Vanni as he passed. It wasn’t just a casino, Emma realized. In the distance, she could see a crowded club where people were dancing and lounging in deep, cushioned booths and drinking exotic-looking beverages. If a patron chose, they could escape the sounds of music and slot machines and music by walking out onto a wide veranda that faced the Mediterranean. Unlike other closed-off, stuffy casinos she’d been in in the States, the opened patio doors made the atmosphere open and sea-air fresh.

“Do you gamble?” she asked Vanni, watching gamers as they passed a row of roulette tables.

“Not much anymore. Would you like to play?” he asked her politely, noticing her curiosity.

“Can we just watch?”

“Of course.”

They paused behind a table that was a little less crowded than the others. Vanni ordered them drinks from a passing waiter as Emma observed. She wasn’t familiar with the chip denominations, but she had a feeling from the extremely well-heeled and bejeweled players around the table that this was a high-limit table. She’d been to Las Vegas once, but had never played roulette. The game hadn’t been all that popular in the States, but roulette appeared to rule here in the Cannes casino. Vanni patiently answered some of her questions about how it was played, before three men appeared—two of which Emma recognized as American drivers she’d been introduced to at dinner—and drew him into conversation about the race.

“He’s a fool to keep ignoring you,” a man said near her ear in an Italian-accented voice. She glanced aside reluctantly and saw Mario standing very close. Emma stepped back to a more appropriate distance.

“The race is a pretty big deal,” she said lightly, turning her attention back to the table and the spinning wheel. “He’s just doing his job.”

“If you were mine, I’d make you my job,” he said quietly. He leaned closer yet again and whispered in her ear. “Do you know what I think? I think you’re lucky. I can sense luck from a mile away and I saw it in you the second you walked in to that restaurant tonight. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I have been utterly captivated by you since that moment.”

Emma’s eyes widened in amazement. Mario must play the part of a Lothario frequently, because he managed to make the corny statement sound completely genuine.

“Do you even remember my name?” she asked him with hushed incredulity.

He looked offended, but she had the distinct impression he was in fact fumbling for her name mentally. She resisted an urge to laugh, glancing anxiously to her left, where Vanni stood. His back was partially turned to her as he spoke with the three other men. Mario seemed to notice his preoccupation and moved in for the kill, sliding his hand suggestively against her forearm. She thought for a disbelieving second he was reaching to hold her hand. Instead, he pushed something against her palm. Emma’s hand instinctively cupped the objects.

“Take a chance with me,” Mario whispered hotly. “Luck should be with a winner.”

She held up her hand and stared blankly at what she held.

“Close your hand, you little fool,” Mario hissed, covering her hand with his, but not before Emma noticed what he’d given her . . .

A casino chip and a hotel room key. She stared from the items to Mario in stark disbelief. Had he really just propositioned her with Vanni standing right next to her? Narcissistic swine. Mario had frozen and was looking over her shoulder, his eyes glassy from too much drink, his expression stiffening with anxiety. Emma glanced around, and did a double take. Vanni stood next to her and was facing them both. She started when he shoved Mario’s arm and Mario’s hand fell away from Emma’s. Holding Mario’s panicked gaze with a glacial stare, Vanni lifted her hand. He looked down at what she held, his jaw going rigid. Emma glanced up and saw a startled expression on Mario’s face as he looked at her hand as well. He recovered quickly.

“I was just inviting her to play roulette, giving her a little gambling money. She looks as if she wanted to play, and I was trying to be a good host, since you were so busy,” Mario said, his anxious expression belying his cocky tone.

“Funny, I hadn’t realized the Hôtel Le Maj had roulette tables in their hotel rooms these days,” Vanni bit out.

Sensing his cold, sharp fury at Mario and not wanting there to be a scene, Emma tried to intervene. “It was just a misunderstanding,” Emma assured, putting her hand out to give the chip and the hotel keycard back to Mario. The men who had been talking to Vanni were starting to look over at them, obviously sensing the rising tension between Mario and Vanni. Mario put out his hand to take back the key and chip, a relieved expression on his face.

“Damn straight, it was,” Vanni said, halting her action with a hand on her arm. He stepped past her toward Mario aggressively.

“No, please,” Emma said. She put her hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just go, Vanni.” Vanni looked down at her touch, his icy, focused anger fracturing slightly. His face settled into a determined mask. He put his hand on her upper arms and turned her in front of him. The next thing she knew, he was urging her up to the table. People were laying down their chips.

“Vanni . . . what—”

“Bet it,” he said quietly from behind her. She looked over at her shoulder, shocked. Was he so furious at Mario, he’d gone crazy? His face was still stiff from anger, but when she met his stare, he gave her a small, imperceptible smile. “Bet it,” he repeated, placing his hands on her waist.

“What do I do?” she asked, turning back to the table.

“Pick a number on the inside and put the chip directly on it,” Vanni instructed. She thought she understood what he meant by emphasizing directly. Some people were setting their chips between and at the corner of numbers. He wanted her to bet it all on one roll of the wheel.

She bit her lip uncertainly. A thought struck her. “What’s the Montand racecar number?” she asked impulsively.

“Fourteen,” Vanni said from behind her.

She placed the chip on the velvet-covered table directly on fourteen. She heard someone curse bitterly and glanced around to see Mario standing there, his handsome face pale.

“You said you were playing host, Mario,” Vanni said with false calmness. “You certainly were being a generous one.”

Mario bared his teeth, and the wheel was spinning. Emma looked on, her heart beating fast with rising excitement. Somehow, she knew what was going to happen before it did. The ball rattled to a stop as if in slow motion. The croupier called out something, but Emma couldn’t discern what for the roaring in her ears.

The ball had landed on fourteen.

She spun around in Vanni’s arms.

“I won?” she asked with excited disbelief.

“You won,” Vanni said, a smile breaking free. He caught her against him when she jumped, his deep laughter adding to her sense of euphoria. Over Vanni’s shoulder she saw the men Vanni had been talking to laughing and congratulating her.

“I’ve never won anything in my life!” She told them ecstatically. Then she caught sight of Mario’s desperate, angry expression and immediately sobered. “Oh . . . but it was Mario’s chip, of course . . .”

“Nonsense,” Vanni said briskly, setting her back down. “Take your winnings. It’s time to go.” He shot Mario a dark glance. “Mario knows the rules of the house. Maybe he won’t be quite so hospitable next time.”

Mario opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it under the influence of Vanni’s glare. He turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“Take your winnings,” Vanni directed again gently. “We’re leaving.”

Emma scooped up her chips and followed Vanni through the crowded casino. This time, when people tried to stop him to talk, he politely put them off.

“Do you want me to cash them for you?” Vanni asked her a moment later when they approached a desk that looked like it might be casino services.

“Are you sure we should?” she asked doubtfully, handing him the chips. “Mario seems pretty drunk. It doesn’t seem fair.”

“He didn’t realize he’d given you such a big chip,” Vanni said succinctly. Emma blinked in surprise. “He gets sloppy when he drinks. Trust me, I’ve seen it before. And if you think I’m going to feel sorry for that idiot for propositioning you right in front of my face, you’re sorely mistaken. You do realize he was trying to buy you for the night—or an hour or two—with that chip?”

“Yes,” Emma admitted.

“And you’re still defending him?”

She sighed. “No. I guess he got what he deserved. I just feel bad that I’m the one to benefit from his stupidity.”

“Who else should? You were the one he insulted. I’ll be right back,” he told her, turning to the desk. A minute later, he returned and handed her a receipt.

“I had them convert it into American dollars. They’ll be sending the check to your address at home,” he said, grabbing her hand. Completely undone by the strange turn of events, Emma just followed him out of the casino and hotel lobby. As the doorman opened the gilded doors for them, however, she glanced down at the receipt. Stunned, she stopped dead in her tracks at the top of the marble stairs. Vanni looked back at her when she broke his hold, his brow furrowed.

“Vanni . . . this says that they’ll be sending a check for one hundred forty-one thousand seven hundred and fifty-one dollars to my apartment in Evanston,” Emma said, shock making her voice sound hollow.

Vanni gave her a bland glance and took her hand again.

“Mario has never been one to bet small. I’m sure he’s bet a king’s ransom in the casinos that he’ll win the Montand cup on Sunday, for instance. Maybe this will teach that stupid sod not to bet on what isn’t his.”

Week

SEVEN

Chapter 32

Adrenaline, happiness, and Vanni’s seemingly unquenchable sexual appetite assured that Emma only got three or four hours of sleep that night. Nevertheless, when he awakened her by nuzzling her cheek and ear the next morning, Emma immediately buzzed with alert sensual excitement. She opened her eyes to a room infused with pale gold morning light and fresh, sea-infused air.

Who had time for sleeping when being awake was so sweet? Who had time for sleeping when they were falling in love?

Don’t think about that, a voice in her head warned. Don’t be stupid.

“Would you like to start our day with a swim?” Vanni asked her, his voice a sexy, sleep-roughened rumble near her ear, and she promptly forgot her dire mental warnings.

“Yes,” she replied, turning her head to find his lips with her own. “I still can’t believe I won all that money,” she sighed a moment later when he lifted his head and she stared up at him, muzzy and warm from his kiss. “Did it really happen?”

“I’m sure Mario is wishing it didn’t, but it most definitely did,” Vanni said, smirking slightly. “You couldn’t have shoved his idiocy in his face any more forcefully. What are you going to do with your winnings?”

“I don’t know,” she said blankly. “I suppose Amanda could use some of it. Medical school isn’t cheap.”

His brows slanted. “You are not giving found money to your sister,” he said darkly.

“Why not?” she said, although she thought she already knew the answer. “Vanni, I don’t have a vendetta against Amanda. We’re working on things in our way. I wish you’d stop imagining me victimized. I love my sister. My mother would have wanted—”

“What do you want, Emma?” he interrupted as he coiled a tendril of her hair around his finger. She looked up at his face as her heart throbbed an answer. He looked beyond beautiful to her in the morning light, his thick hair tousled and bracketing his sea-colored eyes, whiskers sexily darkening his lean jaw. She touched his shoulder, wondrous yet again at the delicious denseness of muscle covered so tautly in smooth skin.

“I want to be happy,” she whispered.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” she said without reservation. His small smile made her happiness swell.

Yes, for these diminishing weeks and days and hours, she was nothing short of ecstatic.

Instead of swimming in the terraced pool area to the right of the villa, Vanni led her to the cliffside, where they descended the long, meandering white staircase, the bright sun shining off the Mediterranean blinding her. There was a small beach when they reached the bottom and a floating dock forty feet out from the shore.

“Heaven,” she whispered several minutes later when they’d crawled onto the suspended dock and they lay side by side, panting slightly from their swim, the hot sun quickly drying their wet skin. The sea surrounded them like a rippling, sparkling blue-green gem. “Were the beach and the dock here when you were a child?” Emma asked, turning on her hip to face Vanni.

“Yeah,” he said. He turned toward her as well, bending his arm and using his hand to prop up his head. She stretched her right arm above her and laid her cheek on top of it, letting his solid body block the sun for her. It was heaven in and of itself, to gaze up at him against a backdrop of a clear, robin’s-egg blue sky, the waves rocking the dock gently. His small nipples were tight from the cool water, his ridged abdomen moving in and out slowly above his low-riding swim trunks. She wanted to touch him everywhere, but couldn’t decide on what delectable spot, so she just ate him up with her gaze. Vanni, on the other hand, was more decisive. He put his hand on her naked hip and moved it back and forth ever so slightly, gliding it against her damp skin. “It used to be Adrian’s and my favorite spot,” he said. “We had an au pair from Switzerland who came down here with us every day during our summer vacations. She was very dedicated and patient with us,” he mused. “I didn’t realize until years later she was one of my father’s lovers.”

She didn’t respond for a moment.

“When he died, were you still angry at him?” she finally asked. He blinked and cupped her hip tighter in his palm. “Do you mean did I forgive my father for all of his infidelities? For his constant disapproval of me? For bringing Cristina into our life?”

“For being who he was,” she replied. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

He inhaled slowly. “No. I don’t suppose I have.” He stared into the distance behind her, his eyes seeming to glow between the narrowed slits of his eyelids in his shadowed face. “Maybe it’s time I did. Maybe.” She gave in to her urge and touched a hard pectoral muscle. Something about his quiet thoughtfulness in regard to his father caused her conscience to prod and poke at her.

“Vanni?”

“Hmmm?” he asked, rubbing her hip lazily.

“There’s something I know you don’t want to talk about, but I feel obligated to bring it up,” she said reluctantly.

She felt him stiffen slightly beneath her stroking fingertips. He looked down at her.

She inhaled for courage. “When Cristina was dying, she made me promise that I’d tell you something. The problem is, I wasn’t sure how long you were standing there behind me. I wasn’t sure how much you heard.”

His rubbing hand stilled. His mouth pressed into a hard line. For a few awful seconds, she thought he was going to turn away from her, shut her down like the last time she’d tried to broach the topic with him.

“Please,” she whispered. “Try to understand. It was her dying wish, and I promised. If you don’t let me tell you, I’ll feel the weight of that promise forever.”

He bowed his head slightly. “When I walked in, she was saying something about how a child shouldn’t have been left to feel so much . . .”

“ ‘No man forced to feel so little,’ ” Emma finished when he faded off. “She meant you, Vanni. She knew that . . .” Emma swallowed thickly, trying to gather herself. “She knew that you blamed her for Adrian’s death, but she also knew you blamed yourself. She begged me to ask you to forgive yourself.”

He just stared down at her. Emma’s throat ached with emotion.

“She was highly aware of her shortcomings,” Emma continued, knowing it was too late to turn back now. “She understood that she was petty when it came to your father, that she couldn’t stand sharing the spotlight with you and Adrian. She felt she was meant to be a mistress, that she wasn’t good enough to be a wife or mother. I think she was sadly realistic about the fact that her personality was cast in stone. I think she grieved over the fact that she wasn’t made of better stuff. She couldn’t change, she couldn’t make herself less selfish, but she regretted that truth. Deeply, I believe.”

“That makes no sense,” he stated with quiet forcefulness, his hand dropping from her hip. “If she truly regretted her actions, she would have chosen to take responsibility for them.”

“I don’t think she thought she was strong enough. She thought very little of herself.”

“There are very few women on this planet who think as well of themselves as Cristina did,” he stated bitterly.

“Maybe it looked that way. On the surface,” Emma agreed. “A woman like Cristina wasn’t the type to ever show her vulnerabilities. She hid behind her looks and glamorous life and beautiful clothes. She didn’t trust enough to let anyone see the truth. But I think she regretted not only Adrian’s death more than either of us can ever begin to understand, she hated her inability to help you deal with your guilt and grief after Adrian died. She was incapable. She knew it, and that absence in her character haunted her. She knew that because she didn’t claim blame for what happened to Adrian—because she couldn’t take responsibility—that you shouldered a heavy portion of that guilt. Illogically and unfairly, true, but that didn’t stop you from carrying that burden. That’s why she begged for your forgiveness at the end above all others.”

“She begged for my forgiveness because I was the only one left standing!”

“No,” Emma said firmly. “She understood that because of the circumstances, you were the one whose forgiveness meant the most. Not just to her. To you. And not just for her. For you.”

He jerkily started to sit up, and then stopped himself just as abruptly. Emma’s heartbeat started to pound in her ears. He reminded her very much of a trapped animal in those seconds.

Yet he didn’t move. He didn’t flee.

“I told Cristina once I wasn’t her judge,” Emma said softly, reaching to caress his whiskered jaw. He flinched slightly at her touch, but then he stilled. He clenched his eyelids shut. “I’m not your judge, either, Vanni. What’s between you and Cristina is your business. But I promised her I would tell you. And for my sake, I hope you do forgive that little boy you once were. You were a child. It wasn’t your fault. And . . .” She hesitated. “Adrian may have died, but part of him is in you. It always has been, Vanni.”

“Enough,” he bit out quietly through a tense jaw. He slowly opened his eyes and she saw the fierce maelstrom of emotion frothing inside him. She held his stare, difficult as it was.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I felt obligated to say it. I have, ever since she passed.”

“Then you’ve met your obligation,” he said.

She nodded, her concern for him and her love and so many other unspoken things shining in her eyes. She couldn’t stop it.

“Dammit, Emma,” he grated out, and then suddenly his mouth seized hers and he was pulling her against him. She gasped at the impact of him, all of his chaotic emotions finding an outlet in physical need. She’d never felt his desire to be so sharp, so focused. His hunger was furious . . . single-minded. She moaned into his mouth as he rolled onto his back on the dock, bringing her on top of him, their fused mouths never breaking. His hands were everywhere, kneading her back muscles, squeezing her ass, pushing her tighter against him. She moaned, her desire sparking to full flame at the sensation of his cock swelling against her belly. He pulled her higher against him, rubbing her pussy against the long column of his cock, using his hold on her bottom. She held on to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the sudden storm of him, tangling her tongue with his, knowing she was drowning in her need and unable . . . unwilling, to save herself.

His hands moved at her back and he was drawing off her bikini top. He slid her farther up his body until she planted her hands above his head on the dock, bracing herself. Then his mouth was on her nipple, his stiff, wet tongue laving furiously, his mouth applying a sinful suck that made her whimper and flex her pussy against his hard midriff for relief. She stared out at the glittering blue sea, too overcome with pleasure and emotion and need to actually absorb what she was seeing.

His head fell back as he cupped both of her breasts in his hands. She saw the snarl that shaped his mouth as he watched himself touch her, his fingers plucking at the sensitive flesh, urging it to grow harder and stiffer until she wiggled her hips against him to get relief on her sex and called his name.

He glanced up at her briefly, the hard glitter in his eyes stealing her breath, and then he was sucking her other breast, drawing on her until she cried out sharply as desire stabbed at her from clit to her deepest core.

He rolled her onto her back and came on top of her.

“I’m going to fuck you,” he grated out ominously. “I’m going to fuck you hard for making me feel so much.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open but she couldn’t inhale. Her lungs had stopped working. It was like being pressed against the outer limits of an inferno that stole all the oxygen in the vicinity.

“Vanni! Van!” someone yelled.

He started to reach for her bikini bottoms as if the voice hadn’t penetrated his furious lust.

“Vanni,” she said shakily, her eyes burning with emotion. “Someone is calling you. I think it’s Mrs. Denis.”

“Vanni,” Mrs. Denis called again from on top of the cliff, her voice drifting and eddying in the sea breeze. A muscle jumped in Vanni’s clenched jaw as he scored Emma with his stare. He turned slightly, still shielding her naked breasts, and waved. Emma strained to see over his shoulder. At the top of the cliff, she saw Mrs. Denis standing there, her white apron showing up starkly against a dark blue dress.

“I’m coming,” Vanni bellowed.

Mrs. Denis waved back and turned toward La Mer.

“We’d better go,” he said after a tense moment. “She wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.”

Emma nodded, still finding it difficult to catch her breath.

He reached for her discarded top and handed it to her. He waited until she’d replaced it and then jogged and leapt, making a perfect dive off the dock, knifing through the sea. Emma followed him. Despite his obvious disquietude, he waited for her to surface before they swam back together toward shore. The cold water was a slap to her hypersensitive nerves and dazed arousal, forcing her into alertness . . . forcing her to consider what had just happened.

When they climbed onto the shore together, however, and Vanni made a point of avoiding her gaze, her uncertainty mounted.

She knew deep down she was right to have spoken about Cristina’s dying words, but that didn’t make her regret Vanni’s emotional turmoil in regard to them any less. Not that he was behaving tumultuously at the moment, she acknowledged later as she watched him in the distance, talking to a racing official as he paced on the terrace. During the walk back up to La Mer, his typical controlled façade had seemingly rebuilt itself. He’d calmly listened to Mrs. Denis’s news that a driver had crashed during the early morning practice session, and then immediately dived into action making phone calls.

“Don’t look so worried,” Mrs. Denis said soothingly as she opened a covered dish, revealing eggs and bacon. The housekeeper had had breakfast ready for them on the terrace when they returned, but Vanni had told Emma to go ahead and eat while he attended to some phone calls. “The race official who called said that the driver wasn’t hurt. His car was all right, too, but the course was damaged.”

“Will it be ready for tomorrow?”

“If Vanni has his say about it,” Mrs. Denis said with a smile before she poured some tea for Emma. “And he does, so that means the race will go on.”

When she’d finished a light breakfast, Vanni was still on the phone, so she went upstairs to shower. She was sitting on a stool and applying some lotion to her legs, when a brisk rap sounded on the door. Vanni stepped into the room, looking both casual and chic in a pair of dark blue shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt with a single dark blue stripe across his powerful chest. His somber expression made her freeze.

“Is the damage to the course bad?” she asked.

“It isn’t good,” he admitted. “But it’ll be fixed in time. There are crews there now working on it. We’ll stop by and inspect it on the way back from Niki’s. Are you almost ready to go?” he asked, checking his sports watch.

“Yes. I just need to dress.” His gaze flicked down over her when she stood. She wasn’t wearing anything but a towel. His mouth hardened slightly and he started to leave the bathroom. “Vanni?” she called out abruptly. “Is everything . . . okay? Are you all right?”

He nodded once, unsmilingly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then she was staring at the back of the door.