Married For Convenience: Forgotten Husband / The Marriage Arrangement / The Husband Test. HELEN BIANCHIN
It was the last thing she had expected him to say. ‘You’re insane.’
He subjected her to a long, steady look before venturing in a hateful drawl, ‘Two million dollars as an unconditional gift in exchange for two years of your life.’
‘No.’
‘You sign a pre-nuptial agreement relinquishing any claim on my assets in lieu of the two million dollars I advance to your father on the day of our marriage,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
It was totally crazy. ‘No.’
‘Handsome recompense for an act of mercy.’
‘My father would never condone it.’
‘He need not know, if you act a part.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘You have twenty-four hours to reach a decision.’
She gave it, within mere minutes of his deadline.
The marriage of Elise Hansen and Alejandro Santanas took place a week later.
‘If it were not for my father,’ Elise vented with restrained vehemence as she attached her signature to the marriage register, ‘I would never have agreed to this diabolical arrangement.’
‘I have no doubt.’
‘What if I refuse you?’ she flung at him later that night when they retired to their hotel suite.
‘A no I should interpret as a maybe?’ Alejandro queried. ‘If my foreplay succeeds in arousing you to a state of sensual desire?’
‘You damned egotist,’ she spluttered.
Afterwards she hated herself, him, for proving that sex and love were two entirely different emotions.
It had taken only weeks to discover the existence of Savannah and learn that the glamorous model had been and, rumour had it, still was Alejandro’s mistress—a revelation deliberately designed to shatter her confidence. At the time, the vindictive gossip did not hurt at all. The pain came later.
Four months after her marriage her father suffered a heart attack, partly recovered, only to incur a second massive attack in a matter of weeks.
The night he lay so ill in hospital after the initial attack she forgot to take the Pill. By the time she realised the implications of her lapse it was too late, and her worst fears were confirmed when a home pregnancy test showed positive. A doctor’s appointment merely verified it.
For two weeks she suffered the tortures of the damned. Then, early one morning, soon after Alejandro left for the office, she simply threw a few clothes into a bag, slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche Carrera and headed north.
Ironically, she had only cleared the outer suburbs when another car ran through a ‘Stop’ sign.
She could vividly recall her reaction as she slammed on the brakes and made a desperate effort to avoid him; the sickening sound of colliding metal; a shuddering jolt that threw her against the door. Then nothing.
Elise’s head was throbbing so badly that at first she didn’t hear the repeated knock at the door.
‘Mrs Santanas? Are you all right?’
Oh, God. How long had she been in here? Five minutes…ten?
‘Yes. An attack of nausea,’ she reassured the nurse shakily. She’d have to pull herself together. She looked and felt like death. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘Doctor is ready to see you. Can I get you a cool drink? A cup of tea?’
There were disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste thoughtfully provided, and she made use of both before applying lipstick and running a comb through her hair. ‘Tea would be lovely. Thanks.’
Ten minutes later she sat in a deep cushioned chair facing a small middle-aged man, who viewed her over half-moon spectacles resting halfway down the bridge of his nose.
‘You’re pale, and your pulse-rate is elevated,’ he declared quietly. ‘Care to tell me what’s bothering you?’
‘The baby——’
‘Is fine. The mother, however, is giving me cause for concern.’ He subjected her to a lengthy appraisal, then ventured gently, ‘Your memory. Have you experienced any recurring flashes?’
She wanted to deny them, for, if she pretended they hadn’t occurred, she might somehow fool herself they were part of some horrid nightmare that had no place in reality.
‘A few,’ she admitted cautiously, unwilling to relay that her memory had returned in full.
‘You’ve found them distressing?’
Partial truth was infinitely preferable to truth in its entirety. ‘I guess it’s a natural reaction. My husband has been able to fill in some details, but not all.’
‘I think I should call him.’
‘No. No,’ she hastened quickly, aware of his sharp interest. ‘Please.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘He has been very concerned about you.’ He didn’t add that Alejandro Santanas had insisted on a full report after every one of his wife’s consultations. ‘I think it would be best if I see you again in a fortnight. Finish your tea.’
José was waiting in the car when she emerged, and as soon as he caught sight of her he moved quickly round to open the rear door, then, when she was safely seated, he slid in behind the wheel.
‘Is there anywhere you would like to go? A little shopping, perhaps?’
She had money, and sufficient credit-card buying power to walk into any store and purchase literally anything. For a moment she was tempted to indulge in a splurge that would raise her husband’s eyebrows when he received the bill. But she had an entire closet full of fashionable clothes, enough shoes to wear a different pair every day for a number of weeks. Perfume, toiletries, make-up. Even jewellery. Alejandro had been exceedingly generous, given the circumstances of their marriage. She related such generosity to the need to project the image of a successful man’s wife.
‘Double Bay, José,’ she instructed on a sudden whim. ‘Alejandro is entertaining a business associate tonight, and I have an inclination to buy a new outfit.’
‘Sí,’ José concurred with a friendly grin. ‘I shall take you there.’
The car slid forward, moving out into the flow of traffic, and Elise leaned back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes against the onset of images crowding her brain.
‘Would you like me to accompany you?’
Elise blinked at the sound of José’s voice, and hastily caught hold of her scattered thoughts as she established that the Bentley was parked outside one of several exclusive boutiques known for their designer labels and expensive price-tags.
‘No, thank you, José.’ She cast him a warm smile. ‘Why don’t you have coffee somewhere? I’ll be at least half an hour.’
She was twice that time and more, requiring special authorisation when it became apparent that she was unable to sign the appropriate credit slips.
They arrived home only minutes ahead of Alejandro, and she moved quickly upstairs to their suite in the hope of avoiding him…at least momentarily. If she hurried, she might be able to seclude herself in the shower.
She managed it, but only just, and when she emerged into the bedroom he was in the process of discarding his clothes.
Her eyes encountered his, then skittered away as he pulled off his shirt and took the few necessary steps to reach her.
For a few more hours at least, she had to act a part. After their dinner guests departed, she could unleash her inner rage.
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