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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: House of Dreams
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I can't take this
, she thought desperately.
Alyssa loved her aunt more than she did her own mother.
Antonio was in the next room, and he was guessing the truth. She had seen it there in his eyes.
Tracey wanted to cry, but now was not the time. She faced her flawless reflection in the mirror and reminded herself that most women would die to be in her shoes—to be model-gorgeous, to have a perfect body, to be a celebrity of sorts, to be wealthy, to have Antonio. But did she have him? And if so, for how long?
Sick with fear, Tracey stared at herself. Last weekend he had been distracted, absorbed. As if he was losing interest in her …
She reminded herself that they had had great sex.
On the other hand, she knew the signs. And although she didn't know him that well—he wasn't like any of the others—she knew him well enough. He'd been hard to seduce in the first place, harder still to nab as a steady, and now he was regretting everything.
Just one more. Why not? Otherwise I just can't handle any of this.
Abruptly she poured another glass of champagne, her hands shaking wildly. Men did not leave her. She always left them … first. Before they could fully understand the truth. That her beauty was only that, beauty. And that inside, there was nothing but gaping black holes of misery and loneliness.
She sipped the champagne, eyes closed. Ignoring another inner voice that told her not to.
Bloody hell.
She would screw the hell out of Antonio—he would never leave her. When she was ready, she would be the one to walk away. She was always the one to walk away. Always.
No one ever left her. She left them.
She had somehow finished the glass of champagne. Tracey stared at the flute in her hand, her vision blurring with tears. Panicked, she worried about running her mascara. The panic escalated. The problem was, she couldn't imagine not having Antonio in her life. She was seriously smitten—she hadn't felt this way about anyone other than her ex-husband.
She heard him moving about in the other room as he finished dressing. The guests would be arriving at any moment. There were only minutes to spare. Plastering a smile on her face, she left the bathroom, walking very carefully in her strappy silver sandals with their extremely narrow stiletto heels. It was now or never, do or die. Because she would never make it through the evening without reassurance.
Antonio stood in the middle of the bedroom, adjusting his black bow tie, clad in his black tuxedo pants, his white dress shirt, and a black cummerbund. His expression was one she instantly recognized; he was lost in thought, miles away. She never could understand why he was always thinking so much. He was the most intriguing man she had ever met. And he was kind.
She'd never had a kind boyfriend before.
Rick had slapped her around. So had the others.
Tracey paused to watch him, her heart melting. “I have something for you,” she whispered. She knew he could never resist her.
He turned, clearly startled. Then his gaze slid over her.
She slowly pirouetted for him. “What do you think?”
He did not smile. His set facial muscles did not relax. “I think you are lovely, as always.” And he turned away.
Her eyes widened and she stared. He didn't even care that she was practically naked in the most beautiful designer gown she had ever seen! Abruptly she walked up behind him, her pulse pounding with dread. “Tonio, please talk to me,” she began.
He turned slowly. “We should go downstairs. Your guests are arriving. You are the hostess even if this is your aunt's house.”
“Don't be angry with me,” Tracey said softly, pressing closer to him. “What have I done to displease you?”
He set her away. “I was embarrassed when I met your sister. You never mentioned her.”
Tracey stiffened. This was about Cass? “She never came up.”
He stared and his expression was impossible to read. “You failed to mention the very existence of your sister, and that she would be here, but that I can abide. But what I cannot abide, what I cannot understand, not for the life of me, is how you could not tell your daughter that I would be here—or tell me that she would be here.”
Tracey was frightened. Antonio doted on his son, and she could sense where this might lead. “Tonio. I did tell her.” She hadn't meant to lie. The lie had popped out. “But she must have forgotten—either that or she didn't hear me.”
He stared at her. “I was under the impression that your daughter lived with you in Hempstead Heath.”
Tracey felt paralyzed. His tone was filled with accusation. Accusation—not love, not desire. And she thought,
He sees the truth.
Desperately she smiled at him, reaching for him. The panic blended with new fear. It was so raw.
His hands settled on her waist—holding her away. “I've known you for three entire months. But I am entirely confused. When have you last seen your daughter? Or have I misunderstood? She does live here—with your aunt and sister?” There was dark disapproval in his eyes.
Tracey blinked at him, and slowly she stepped away. She felt dizzy—she needed a drink
. Just one more.
“I didn't lie,” she said.
“I am at a loss.”
Tracey felt as if she were spinning, spinning, rapidly around. How could this be happening? Now, when she had finally fallen in love with someone good and kind, instead of a self-serving prick like Rick and all the others? Her instinct was to flee. “Antonio,” she whispered, on the verge of actually rushing away to hide in the bathroom.
He caught her arm gently. “I'm sorry,” he said, his gaze softening. “Don't cry. You will ruin your mascara and we must go downstairs.”
Tracey felt the tears moistening her eyes. “I come to see her whenever I can,” she tried. And it was the truth. “I really love her.” And that, too, was true.
He softened. “Of course you do.”
She tried to tug her hand free, but he wouldn't let her go.
“Your daughter needs you,” he finally said, slowly. “I saw it this afternoon, the way I can see now that you wish to be far more than you are.”
A tear fell. Tracey was horrified. “Of course she needs me,” she said, her smile stretching wide. “I'm her mother and she's my child. Did I tell you I'm taking her skiing in December? Just the two of us, a mummy-daughter holiday.” She smiled again, oddly breathless. She had no plans to go skiing with Alyssa. But that was why she was such a rotten mother, wasn't it?
“That is a wonderful idea,” he said, studying her. “Where are you going?”
“Saint Moritz,” Tracey said quickly, inhaling harshly. “Maybe you and Eduardo can join us?”
He gave her an odd look. “I do not think so. I wouldn't intrude on your time alone with Alyssa.” Something passed through his eyes, frightening Tracey. Because she thought it might be pity.
She nodded quickly, clinging to him. “What was I thinking? I am so nervous about tonight that I cannot even think clearly! Every year we go away, just the two of us.” Another inadvertent lie.
He brushed his knuckle across her smooth, alabaster cheek. His eyes roamed her face. It was a moment before he spoke. “It is never too late to make up for one's mistakes, Tracey. Not while there is the promise of tomorrow. Let me give you that advice, because I have experienced vast regret, firsthand.” He smiled a little at her then.
In spite of his smile, Tracey remained queasy with fright. The panic would not abate. She was losing him. Tracey felt tears welling up in her eyes.
His brows lifted. “I have upset you, and I did not mean to. We should go downstairs. There are five limousines in the drive.”
He was kind even now, when he no longer liked her. She should leave now. Not say another word. Just go, run, fast and far. Leaving would be safe. Oh, God. What should she do?
Leave. Stay. Run. Stay. Pretend. Go. Madrid.
Tracey inhaled. Maybe now was not the time to tell him her plans. That she would see the auction through, then quit her job, moving to Madrid.
“Tracey.” He had come up behind her, his large palms cupping her shoulders. “You are still upset. I beg your forgiveness.” He turned her around to face him. “Let's go downstairs,
querida.”
Tracey saw it then in his eyes. He was going to leave her. Soon. And she finally faced what she had known deep in her heart all along. He was only at Belford House because of the damned ruby necklace. Last weekend had been the end for him. “Please,” Tracey whispered, a word she had never used before, not this way.
He was startled. His eyes slid over her face. “We'll talk about this later,” he finally said.
Tracey's mind was spinning—she could not think clearly, she could only feel. What if she became the kind of mother Cass was? The kind of mother Antonio expected her to be? Wouldn't that change everything?
Why hadn't she thought of this before! She would take Alyssa to Madrid with her. “Antonio.”
He paused.
Tracey smiled, and it was a mask, one hiding her fear and panic. She slipped into his arms, pressing fully against him, cheek to cheek, while sliding her long thigh between his, up hard against his groin. Her gown parted up to her hip, revealing that she was wearing nothing
beneath the nude slip. “I love you, darling,” she said. “We still have a few minutes before we have to go downstairs.” And smiling, she pressed more fully against him.
 
 
One by one the guests wandered from the salon into the dining room to view the ruby necklace. It was the table's centerpiece. The table was long and narrow, covered with white linens, Waterford crystal, and Christofle silver, seating twenty on each side. Low floral arrangements consisting of white orchids floating in translucent pink bowls of scented water adorned each half of the table; in the center, on a pedestal, nesting in royal blue velvet, was the triple-tiered necklace.
Cass entered the room, aware of four security men in black suits hovering about. A couple was leaning forward eagerly to see the piece, and Cass waited for her turn to approach, keeping a discreet distance between them. Nevertheless, she heard the woman say, “I know this is a fortune in rubies, but it is so mundane. It looks like something a tart might wear, purchased from the ground floor of Sloane's. I don't know, Roger. I just don't know.”
“I am in some agreement,” Roger said. “After all, half the value is the piece's historical association—so it would be a bloody shame to take it apart in order to correctly cut and set all the rubies.”
Cass could hardly believe her ears, and she watched them drift away.
“Now, that would be far more than a shame, it would be a sin,” de la Barca murmured in her ear from behind.
Cass almost leapt out of her skin. She had avoided coming into contact with him as she sipped a glass of champagne with the other guests. As she knew no one, she had felt quite out of place, lingering by herself with Alyssa, but she had been acutely aware of him from the moment he had entered the salon—alone. Tracey had arrived ten minutes later, and Cass had then spent the next few moments trying not to notice the fact that Tracey had never been more stunning—or more flushed with happiness.
She was very stiff as she turned to face de la Barca. “It would be the worst travesty,” she agreed, “and I hope that the person who buys this piece doesn't do such a terrible thing.”
He smiled at her, his gaze sliding just once and briefly over her hair, which was rather thick and hanging straight to her shoulders; her face, which was devoid of makeup except for mascara, lip gloss, and a touch
of blush; and her beaded top. “I will pray with you,” he said. “No sweatshirt tonight?”
Cass flushed, but he was smiling, and a reluctant smile formed on her own lips. “I did not have a choice,” she said.
He laughed. “You are lovely, senora.”
“Please, call me Cass. There's no need to be formal.”
Their gazes slipped together and as quickly slid apart. “Shall we?” He gestured.
Cass nodded eagerly and they turned and approached the ruby necklace. Cass gasped. In that instant she could imagine it adorning the neck of Mary, Henry Tudor's daughter who had briefly reigned as England's Catholic queen. The necklace was stunning. Each tier of rubies was set in gold. The first tier boasted tiny drops, the second larger ones, the third the largest. But hanging from the last tier was a ruby the size of Cass's thumb. And it was nested amongst a border of tiny, glittering diamonds. “How wonderful,” Cass whispered, her heart beating madly, riveted by the sight.
Antonio de la Barca was silent.
Cass twisted to glance up at him and was stunned to find him unsmiling, eyes wide and fixed. If she did not mistake her guess, he had not even heard her; he was stunned. “Antonio?”

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