Behind Her Smile (15 page)

“Inhale slowly.” A tender hand presses into the middle of my spine. Unlike David’s touch, this one comes with no pain. “Slowly, Karolina. On my count inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.” And so it repeats over and over until I am calmer.

Cool relief trickles from where his hand touches the middle of my back to the base of my neck, along my shoulders and down to my fingertips. I want to collapse against him and soak up his warmth.

“How do you always find me alone?” I finally rasp.

“Because you’ve caught my attention and I can’t get it back,” Alec Christos says brazenly.

A breeze swirls around the air dense from the salt water. I curl my fingers around the guardrail tightly. If I turn to face Alec, I’m afraid I’ll lose what little composure to which I’m clinging.

“I don’t want to see you in pain.” He speaks the words so softly; I wonder if they really happened. “You stand out in the crowd, a beacon of warmth and beauty, but I see what you’re hiding. I can’t ignore a woman I care for when she’s hurting.”

Clenching the guardrail tighter still, my voice trembles when I speak. “Do you have a radar letting you know when I’m vulnerable? Your timing is impeccable.”

Alec doesn’t remove his hand from the middle of my back. Unlike David’s touch, which reminds me of obligation, the weight of Alec’s hand is welcome. I let myself sink into his hand.

“It’s inexplicable, Karolina. An instinct gnawing at me. When I saw you fleeing the party, I couldn’t help but follow you out here. It’s wrong for me to find pleasure in being near you, Karolina. How can I not? You’re
good.
And sweet. So sweet. Knowing that I can’t have you is torturous.” Alec crowds closer causing my body to freeze in place. Hardly a breath makes my chest rise and fall. Is he going to touch me more? The thought of his closeness ignites my senses and calms my fears at the same time.

“You belong to another man. David Morgan, no less.” There’s no hiding the disgust in his voice.

Belong.
The word sums up my relationship with David accurately. My husband dictates all of my movements, activities, relationships . . . And I don’t have the guts to stand up to him and demand equal footing.

Being surrounded by Alec, though, makes me stronger, braver. “Maybe you’re interest stems from our similarities.” Recalling his words from yesterday afternoon, I don’t hide my sarcasm. This steamroller of a man would never let someone rule over him like the way David crushes me.

“Smartass is not a good look for you, Karolina,” he chides softly. “Tell me why you are upset.”

The impulsive part of me wants to trust Alec. The pattern is familiar enough. It’s how I ended up a married woman at just twenty-two. With a few smooth words, David had me melting at his feet in a pile of swooning goo. Look how far that’s gotten me—a marriage leaking love faster than helium escaping a hole from a balloon.

The warring emotions battle inside me until loyalty wins.

“There are almost five hundred people in there. It was getting hard to breathe,” I settle on saying. Technically it was hard to breath in and outside of the gala, each inhalation causes a sharp stab against my smarting ribs.

Alec sighs as though he’s disappointed in me. Gently, he touches my shoulders to turn me to face him. He braces a hand on either side of my hips against the rail, caging me in. Even though I’m breathing shallowly to hide the throbbing pain in my ribs, my chest still brushes against his snowy white dress shirt. Heat radiates from him. He stares at me intently, never shifting his gaze from mine.

All the noise swirling around in my mind settles. With Alec, somehow, I’m safe.

“What if someone see us?” I whisper. “This isn’t appropriate. David–”

Alec presses his pointer finger against my lips, halting my words. Slowly, he shakes his head. “I’m fighting my attraction to you, Karolina. Fighting so damn hard because I know I can’t have you. To do that, we need to settle whatever
this
is. And not with half of Miami in attendance. The next chance I get, I’m coming for you, Karolina.”

Not one part of me questions his sincerity. In his voice, I hear steely determination. I should be terrified. I should argue with him. I should shout
there’s nothing between us!
Stalk away and never see him again. All the rational thought disintegrates with just one touch from Alec. Because at the place where my lips touch his calloused fingertip, the connection is undeniable.

Alec’s features narrow dangerously. It’s clear an internal battle wages, but he doesn’t voice what’s troubling him.

“Take care of yourself,” he says gruffly.

As mysteriously as he appeared, Alec disappears. His long legs eat up the concrete balcony, and he vanishes back into the throng of people. With a whoosh of breath, I collapse against the rail, and I hug my arms loosely around my waist, careful not to squeeze my ribcage.

Now that Alec’s gone, fear arrives. What if David saw that exchange? He’ll never forgive me. Hell, I shouldn’t forgive
myself.
What am I thinking, getting physically close to another man?

“There you are.” David strides onto the moonlit balcony. At the sound of his voice, I startle nervously. Does he know anything? “What are you doing out here, my jewel?” I check for visible signs of displeasure. There are none, and I nearly sigh with relief.

“I needed some air. It’s pretty crowded inside.” I give him the same lame explanation as Alec, but, in this case, the man believes my words. With a short nod, he slithers an arm around my waist to anchor me to his side. I try to mask the wince of pain that bursts from my ribs. David ignores the reaction.

“It’s nearly time for dinner. You weren’t trying to miss my speech, were you?” He plasters on his megawatt, rakish grin while he steers me through the ballroom to our table at the front of the room.

“Not at all.” I hide behind a demure mask. “Claustrophobia got the best of me.”

David pulls back my seat and guides me into the clear-backed chair. His hands rest on my shoulders and gently squeeze before he takes his own seat next to mine. David Morgan is the picture of chivalry. Soon, the table is full of Morgan Financial’s most important clients. I engage Mrs. Maria Marquez in conversation about fall fashion.

Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “So many women want to prance around in skintight clothing. Disgusting, I think. You dress quite appropriate for a woman of such humble beginnings. Ellie Saab. Nice.”

I try to overlook the not-so-veiled insult. Casting a quick look at my husband, I find he’s talking intently with an older man. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a familiar shock of unruly midnight hair a few tables away. The man casually gestures to the others at his table, clearly engaging the group when they burst into laughter.

As Maria prattles on about social castes—I mean fashion—I can’t help but compare David and Alec. At one time, I thought David to be the angel and Alec the devil. How looks can be deceiving. Whereas David works tirelessly to gain the approval of his comrades, Alec slips into any social occasion with ease. He works the room effortlessly while David paints on war paint to fit in.

The first course is served, the cue for the emcee to approach the podium at the left-hand side of the stage. “Good evening and welcome to the first annual Morgan Family Benefit,” he intones to a wave of applause. The man speaking is the starting point guard for Miami’s professional basketball team. A man from humble beginnings, it was easy to persuade Terrance Paul to host an event raising money for underprivileged children. His speech is short, really serving as a warmup for David.

Gallantly, Terrance extends a hand toward our table as he welcomes my husband to join him on the stage. All eyes in the room zero in on David, who leans in to kiss me on the forehead before jumping to his feet and jogging confidently up the stairs to where Terrance stands.

“Please, please, don’t exert yourselves. Thank you,” David says modestly raising a hand to silence the thunderous applause that greets him. With the spotlight shining down on him, he is Miami’s golden boy. His bright white teeth sparkle, not a strand of his coiffed hair out of place. He reaches into his tuxedo jacket to reveal a stack of notecards and places them on the podium, followed by a smart-looking pair of reading glasses.

“It is with humble respect that I thank you all for being here this evening.” David’s rich voice booms throughout the massive space. “As you may or may not know, I was incredibly close with my parents and my brother. Not a day passes when their loss does not affect me. You being here today fills a gap in my chest that’s been aching since I lost them last year.” Overcome with emotion, David looks down at his hands. The room falls utterly silent, watching the grief-stricken man compose himself.

“Before I tell you more about my family and the children we are all supporting tonight, there’s one very important person I need to thank. Karolina, my jewel . . .” I swear the women in the room sigh at the romantic nickname. A flush colors my cheeks, but I hold his gaze, smiling tentatively. “Long before today, I knew you were the best woman I’d ever met. Your kindness is unfailing, your patience with my hectic work schedule unending. You keep our lives running smoothly and still managed to put together this breathtaking event in memorial of my family. Jewel, I’m in awe of you and I love you.” With an adoring gaze, he lifts his hands to applaud me. Hundreds of eyes land on me making me blush a brilliant shade of red that matches my dress. “She’s going to kill me for embarrassing her,” David jokes causing a ripple of laughter to cascade through the crowd.

I yearn for this kind of praise. His words make my heart feel full. Recognizing me in front of all of these people is a sign of genuine love. It has to be. Sure, we have our problems, but at the root of our relationship is love. I want to believe it. So badly. He’s my husband. He has to love me.

When David continues to speak, I finally lift my head. There’s still one pair of eyes pinning me in my spot: Alec Christos. His jaw is set firmly, his dark eyes darker than normal. On the top of the table, he tightly clenches his hand into a fist. An invisible current of electricity crackles between us when our eyes meet. Then I whip my head up to face David. The last thing I need is for him to spot me paying attention to another man when he is speaking.

But David doesn’t control my thoughts.

While he tells a story about his mother’s charity work, my mind drifts to the man a few tables away. I don’t know what to believe anymore. One moment, David despises me, and the next, he’s boasting to five hundred people about what a wonderful wife I am. Confusion swirls, but, as usual, David wins.

“M
rs. Karolina, Mrs. Karolina. Please wake up, Mrs. Karolina.”

Lifting my hand, I swat at the pesky voice hoping to silence it. But the minute my hand comes in contact with a fleshy cheek, my wrist screams in protest. My eyes snap open at the shooting pain and I cry out.

“Oh, thank goodness, Mrs. Karolina. I thought you were . . .” Miranda hovers above me, worry creasing her features. What have I done to make her this upset? My memories are blurry and disconnected. I want to reassure her because she doesn’t need to stress. It’s not her responsibility.
I
am not her responsibility.

“I’m fine,” I garble though it hurts to talk. Am I fine? My wrist throbs painfully and I’m woozy. And there’s a big blank space in my mind where the memories of how this happened should be filed.

Miranda blots a cool, damp washcloth on my forehead murmuring to herself in Spanish.

“I’m okay, Miranda,” I insist and lift a hand to indicate she should stop with the washcloth. Even though her tender touch makes me want to snuggle back under the blankets, I need to figure out what’s going on.

“Shit!” Briefly forgetting my damaged wrist, I place it on the mattress to shuffle my body into a seated position. Immediately, I cradle the smarting appendage between my breasts. Miranda scoots to the side, giving me room to sit up against the pillows. The effort is momentarily dizzying.

Gathering whatever dredges of my courage are left, I lift my head. Miranda and I share a silent, charged look. This is not the first time I’ve woken to Miranda nursing me back to health. In the six months following the charity gala, this has happened on more than one occasion.

In a way, Miranda’s the closest thing I have to a friend. Sure, I frequently see plenty of women in my social circle, but I wouldn’t consider them my friends. None of them knows anything about me any deeper than the shallowest of subjects. Miranda sees what happens behind closed doors. She knows the relationship between David and me is nothing like the one we portray to the outside world. Miranda must be as scared of David as I am because she’s never said a word about the states she finds me in. Instead, Miranda plays nurse.

Just once, I wish I could take comfort in her.

Miranda breaks the heavy silence between us first. “You must see a doctor.” She looks pointedly at where my wrist rests limply against my chest. In most other scenarios, whatever injury inflicted has been minor enough that we can treat it at home. Not this time. “It’s broken,” she adds.