for his actions, he was decidedly ill at ease with explaining himself to the woman sitting opposite him, but explain himself he had to.
‘No, let me guess.’ Milly’s voice was a shade higher than normal. The whole situation felt surreal. In fact, the past few weeks had felt surreal. You’d think I’d be used to dealing with surreal by now, she thought with an edge of bitterness that was alien to her. ‘The ex wasn’t ready to be an ex. Did the poor woman start getting ideas about settling down with you?’
Lucas found it difficult to think of Isobel in terms of ‘the poor woman’. She was anything but a helpless, deluded damsel with a broken heart. She was a sophisticated, hard-as-nails, six-foot model who had capitalised on the fact that, very slightly, she was acquainted with his mother. She had mistakenly figured that the connection carried weight. His parents had known her parents, both wealthy families living in Madrid, both mixing in the same social circles. The relationship had fizzled out when his father had died but she had done her utmost to resuscitate it during their six-month fling in the hope that familiarity would somehow guide him to a flashbulb moment of thinking that what they had was more than what it actually was. It hadn’t but she still refused to let go.
‘My relationship with Isobel was not of the enduring kind.’
‘Don’t you ever want to settle down? What was she like? Why wasn’t it of the enduring kind?’ Curiosity dug into her. ‘Was she a gold-digger?’ She pictured a kid who was too naive to comprehend all the things Lucas did and didn’t do.
‘I am a meal ticket for most women,’ Lucas responded drily, not flinching from the absolute truth. ‘Even for rich women who can manage quite happily on their trust funds. I have a lot of pull, a lot of connections. I offer a lifestyle that most women would find irresistible.’
‘What sort of lifestyle is that?’
‘What can I say, Milly? I have a passport to places only available to the rich and famous. It’s not just about the limitless spending and the shopping sprees, it’s also about the mixing and mingling with famous faces and people who appear in magazines.’
‘It sounds hideous.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Being on show every minute of the day and living your life in a glass house with everybody looking in? Having to dress up for social affairs every night? Wear war-paint and make sure you’re shopping in all the right places and mixing with all the right people, even if they’re dull and shallow and boring? I’d hate it.’
Which was why she had been such a breath of fresh air—enough of a breath of fresh air to make him alter his plans for leaving. Anonymity had brought him a glimpse of being the sort of man who could dump his cynicism for a minute...except cynicism was just much too ingrained in him for him ever really to do that. And besides, that glimpse of freedom was now gone.
Lucas gazed at her open, honest face and wondered whether she would be singing the same song if she were to be introduced to that life of glamour and wealth that she claimed she would hate. It was very easy to dismiss the things you’ve never personally experienced.
‘All this is by the by,’ he said with a shrug. ‘The fact is that Isobel has been annoyingly persistent in thinking that we can salvage something and carry on. She’s refused to fade away and, having finally reconciled herself to the end of our relationship, she’s decided that a little healthy revenge might be called for. When I went looking for you in the town, I was snapped.’
‘Snapped?’
‘Surely you can’t be that naive, Milly. The paparazzi are always on the lookout for candid shots of high-profile people. In fairness, I don’t know whether I was snapped by the paparazzi or by some interested visitor who recognised me. Or maybe Alberto’s wife just happened to let slip to someone who let slip to someone else that I was staying at the lodge with you... Whatever picture happened to be taken of us together consolidated the story. I would think that someone who knows Isobel posted it to her on a social network and it went from there...’
‘Sorry, but you’re losing me. What story? There is no story. Not unless it’s the story of the ski instructor who wasn’t a ski instructor.’
‘Are we back to that?’
‘Tell me what you’re talking about,’ Milly said because he was right. What was there to gain from going over trodden ground? So he had lied because he was suspicious of the human race and in particular of women. She could tell him a thousand times that she found it insulting and offensive but he would just look at her blandly, shrug and imply that her point of view was inferior to his.
‘Isobel has somehow managed to get hold of the fact that I’m here with you.’
‘You’re not here with me.’ She flushed hotly at the unspoken implication buzzing in the air between them like a live, dangerous electric current.
‘And I’m perfectly sure,’ Lucas intoned in a voice that was suddenly hard and devoid of emotion, ‘that she is all too aware of that. But she’s a woman scorned and she’s decided that a little malicious mischief is just what I deserve. She can’t have me so why not make life as hellish for me as she can, to teach me the valuable lesson that, when it comes to dumping, she’s the one who decides to do it?’
Milly frowned in confusion. For someone who had an exceptional grasp of the English language and how to use it to maximum benefit, he seemed to be struggling with his words. ‘Okay...’ She dragged out that one word while trying to grapple with whatever he was attempting to say to her.
‘There’s something else I should mention,’ Lucas admitted. ‘Another reason I came here was to have a break from my mother. She’s been ill and, ever since her extremely successful operation, she’s managed to convince herself that time is no longer on her side...’
‘I’m sorry. Happens with older people sometimes,’ Milly murmured. ‘My granny had an operation on her hip two years ago and, even though she can run up a mountain faster than a goat, she still thinks that she’ll wake up one morning and she won’t be able to stand. Sorry. I interrupted you. What does your mother have to do with this? Lucas, I haven’t got the foggiest what you’re talking about.’
‘Isobel,’ he said heavily, striving to stem the anger in his voice when he thought of where his ex had landed him, ‘has presented my mother with whatever picture was snapped of us in town and has intimated that...’ he shook his head and cursed fluently under his breath ‘...we are somehow involved in some kind of romantic situation.’
He flushed darkly, remembering the way his libido had gone into orbit when he had looked at her. Yes, he had toyed with the tantalising thought of taking her to his bed. Had that thought somehow manifested itself in whatever expression he had been snapped wearing? Had he been looking at her with some kind of sexual intent? Had some idiot’s camera caught him off-guard with a look in his eye that had lent itself to some kind of misinterpretation?
Milly’s mouth fell open. She didn’t know whether to be horrified, incredulous or just downright amused. No. Not amused. His expression was grim. If she laughed, then he wouldn’t be laughing along with her.
‘But that’s ridiculous.’ Who in their right mind would link the two of us together romantically? ‘I’ve been here for a couple of days. How on earth would anyone suppose that we’re somehow romantically linked?’ She tried a laugh of sorts and, as expected, he saw nothing funny in the situation. ‘Besides, I’m here recovering from a broken heart. Don’t forget I was due to be married less than a month ago...’
‘She’s implied to my mother that we may have known one another longer than a mere couple of days. She knows how I feel about involvement and permanence because I told her, and she knows that the last thing I would want is to find myself trapped in a situation where my mother thinks that I may have ditched my bachelor ways...’
‘How do you feel about involvement and permanence?’