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Carlos Mondragón shook his head impatiently. “The subject grows tedious. Let’s talk business.” Looking both ways in the crowded ballroom, he leaned forward and whispered, “It’s true. Pierre Harcourt’s looking for a new developer.”
Theo sucked in his breath. “For Paris?”
Taking a new scotch off a waiter’s tray, Carlos nodded.
He tried to hide the sudden pounding of his heart. The famous Harcourt property in Paris, one of the last undeveloped big parcels in the heart of the city, had been his dream for years. It was how he’d first met Celine Harcourt, years ago, while pitching development plans to her father. Even tonight, he’d stared at her, wondering how to ask if the rumor he’d heard could be true.
Pierre Harcourt was a difficult man to please. For years, the man had dragged his feet on pulling the trigger and developing a property that had belonged to his aristocratic ancestors before they were hauled off on tumbrels.
But Theo had never given up. He’d been dazzled by the potential, from the moment he’d seen the vast car park on the edge of the Seine. Emmie had helped him with that last proposal, when he’d spent millions of euros on architectural and landscape design, investigating government regulations and wooing potential investors. It had all seemed wasted when Harcourt chose a different firm last year.
Until now.
“What about Allmond?”
“Financing fell through. I heard from my mistress whose cousin works there. Harcourt is now looking for stability and deep pockets.” Snorting, the Italian saluted him with his lowball glass. “Clearly describes you now, old man.”
Theo ignored the teasing. “Is it public knowledge?”
“It will be, tomorrow.”
“Is Harcourt here?” Theo demanded, looking sharply around the ballroom.
“You think he’d attend one of his daughter’s bacchanals? He’s past that these days. He’s in Paris—hey, where are you going?”
Theo had departed without farewell, looking for his wife.
Pushing through the drunken crowds in the ballroom, he finally saw Emmie, bountiful and sexy, a gorgeous red flame amid tiny wispy women in beige slip dresses. Even without red sequins, Emmie would have shone for him like a star.
But her shoulders seemed slumped, and she seemed to stumble in her strappy stilettos. Should he have tried harder to include her in his discussion with the two men? But Theo knew she wasn’t a fan of sports, and he’d thought her unlikely to be mesmerized by discussion of the summer cricket season, conducted half in Spanish and Italian. So he hadn’t been surprised when she’d wandered away to the buffet table.
But now, he set his jaw grimly. Had Celine said something rude?
There was a loud cheer around them, as the clock struck midnight, and as always at Celine’s summer parties, the music changed from classical quintet to pulsing, soaring club music arranged by a famous DJ who charged hundreds of thousands a night. All around them, wealthy, beautiful people poured onto the ballroom floor, as multicolor lights flashed around them.
Their eyes locked across the crowded ballroom. His wife shimmered like a dream, as the beat and haunting melody lifted him to a strange euphoria.
Emmie.
His mouth went dry as something tightened in his chest.
Shaking himself out of his trance, he set his jaw and went grimly through the crowd. When he reached her, he thought she looked pale. He wanted to ask what Celine had said to her, but instead he said merely, “We should go.”
“Okay,” she said quietly. Maybe she was just tired? He wanted to believe that. He took her arm, in case she needed support, with those damned high heels causing her such trouble. With his other hand, he reached into his tuxedo jacket pocket for his phone.
They left the hillside mansion, overlooking the moon-swept sea. He helped her walk down the path, beneath flickering red lights. The vintage 1950s speedboat pulled up before the two of them even reached the end of the dock. His drivers prided themselves on being quick.
As the boat hurried back toward his anchored yacht, Theo sat in the long back seat beside Emmie, his arm stretched behind her.
“I have some bad news,” he told her in a low voice, over the roar of the engine and splash of the wake.
Her big eyes shimmered at him in the moonlight. “What?”
He took her smaller hand in his own. “I’m afraid we’ll have to miss Mykonos and cut our honeymoon short.”
“Why?” She swallowed, then whispered, “What changed your mind?”
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he kissed it gently. He felt her shiver, just from that, and it made him want... But there was no time for that, he thought with real regret. “I need to go to Paris. Pierre Harcourt’s deal with Allmond fell through.”
