Chapter Four
It was the middle of the night local time when they began their descent to the small airport in the province of Girona, about twenty kilometers northeast of Barcelona. He must have dozed off at some point, because he awoke to Renaud letting him know they were close to landing and that Senna and Max had retired to the bedroom. He hadn’t exactly slept well since being back in Miami—too many unknowns and too much future at stake.
He headed to the back of the plane to check on them, knowing Senna would want Max back in his carrier for landing. Could this really be her first time in an airplane? It was a good thing he’d procured passports for them both just as a precaution.
He opened the door to the bedroom slowly and walked inside. Only a dim lamp lit the interior. Nestled on top of the coverlet he found Senna fast asleep with Max burrowed in next to her. Her dark chestnut hair spilled over the pillow, and her full lips hovered just inches from Max’s chubby cheek.
Her blouse was askew, the top two buttons undone, and he could see a healthy glimpse of her camisole underneath. A surge of desire and possessiveness washed over him, causing him to sit down—hard—in one of the club chairs close to the bed.
Would things have been different if he had stayed in Miami? If he hadn’t boarded this very jet mere hours after making love to Senna and left the country for over a year? If he’d stayed and Senna had simply come to work one day, sat down in his office, and announced she was pregnant?
He’d never know, and it was too late to rewrite history.
He shook his head. The last couple of weeks had extracted a flurry of emotions. The joy of finding out he was a father was quickly replaced by the anger of having been left in the dark. Everything was jumbled, awry, and for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t sure what the future held. Only what he had planned.
He steepled his arms on his lap and rested his chin against his hands. Senna was a beauty, maybe not an obvious one, but someone who beguiled and seduced completely without intention. She was the type of woman you took for granted until you were virtually overcome with the need to possess her. She wasn’t so overtly beautiful that women hated her and men tripped over themselves to be close to her. His desire for her was like a soft whisper, slowly getting louder and louder until it was deafening.
Senna stirred in her sleep and hitched up her knee slightly. The movement caused her skirt to continue its journey up her thigh revealing the top of her stocking. He had to strengthen the clasp of his hands to prevent himself from reaching out to stroke the strip of skin now revealed to him.
Whatever circumstances had kept them apart, they certainly hadn’t assuaged his physical desire for her. He wanted her still, but he didn’t have time to entertain such feelings. Decisions had been made, and there was work to be done.
He rose from the chair and lowered himself silently to the edge of the bed. Senna’s eyes fluttered open and locked on his. There were no flashing licks of golden anger in the soft green depths. Only the haze of sound sleep, something he was fairly certain she hadn’t had in a long time.
“Hey.” She pushed herself up on her elbow to get a better look at Max. “Looks like the little king is pretty comfortable in a private jet.”
“You never forget your first time, even if you are an infant.”
Senna’s easy smile stretched over her lovely features. “What time is it?”
“It’s about four thirty a.m. local time. We’re going to be landing soon.”
He saw the panic skitter across her face as she sat up quickly and tucked her legs underneath her. He watched her glance down at her wrinkled attire.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have time to freshen up before we make introductions.”
“Are we staying at your house?”
Marco blinked. He supposed it was a house. If you called a fourteenth-century ancestral castle complete with guesthouses, full stables, servants quarters, and a main hall large enough to hold three hundred people, a house.
“We’re staying at my family estate, yes. I’ve secured one of the wings for our use.”
“We don’t need a wing. Max and I are pretty self-sufficient.”
Marco just smiled. She’d appreciate the rooms, he was certain of it. “Everything you need will be in your rooms.”
“Rooms?”
“Yes, you have your own bedroom and the nursery and nanny’s room are across the hall.”
“Max doesn’t need a nanny, he has me.”
“He does need a nanny, because you may be otherwise occupied.”
“Doing what? Did you get me a job waiting tables at the local taberna?”
Why couldn’t she just nod and agree? “Hardly.” Marco managed to spit out. He stood up abruptly. “Do you need help getting Max settled for landing?”
“No, but can you watch him while I use the bathroom?”
“Of course.”
She stood and crossed to the bathroom and disappeared inside. Next to him on the bed Max began to stir.
He really was a beautiful child. He was strong and sturdy and everything Marco could have hoped for in a son. Pride filled him at the thought of introducing him to his family. He may not have been planned, but he was a gift, one Marco never thought he wanted at this stage of his life.
The landing was smooth, and the ride from the airport to their home just outside of Girona City was relatively quick. Senna looked a little green from the curved mountain roads, but Max was awake and alert.
As JP made the last turn he slowed slightly, allowing the country estate to come into view at a more leisurely pace. Senna had her face to the window and for the first time in a long time Marco allowed himself to take in the grand home through the eyes of a newcomer.
“Marco, it’s a castle. You live in a castle.”
“Estate, castle. Same thing.”
Dawn wasn’t quite breaking but the sky was lightening, bathing the ancient structure in rosy tones. The craggy hills and valleys surrounding their estate also reflected the warm hues of dawn. As a boy he had run free through those mountain paths, discovering the joys of being let loose in the wild—filling up on a patch of wild berries, climbing the highest tree, discovering large spiders he was certain were an ancient and unclassified species. He desperately wanted Max to have those same joys.
JP parked at the front entrance and helped Senna and Max out of the vehicle. She held him tightly in her arms, almost like she was shielding him from some unseen force.
Marco felt an overwhelming desire to put her at ease. Yes, he wanted something from her, but she wasn’t a business entity to intimidate into cooperation or an enemy to bully or coerce with brute force. He had hoped to bring Max home to Spain without her, but he could now see that was never a possibility. Not only was she physically feeding the baby but their bond was strong. Senna was a good mother. She was tired and overworked, but she loved her son. That was a plus for Max, but it was going to make it harder for Marco.
“I think I see a damsel in distress up in one of those towers.” Senna laughed softly at her own joke.
“The only damsel I’m concerned about right now is you.” Suddenly feeling proprietary, he snaked his arm around her waist and urged her forward. “Come, Senna. It’s just a house.”
She hesitated then allowed herself to be led inside.
Even though the hour was early, the household staff greeted them as was the custom. Rene, his family’s butler for the last few decades, stepped forward.
“Welcome home, Mr. Medina, Ms. Callas. I trust your flight was uneventful?”
“It was fine, Rene, thank you.” He handed his laptop bag and suit jacket to the older man.
A rounded older woman with a kind face stood at Rene’s side.
Marco kissed her check. “Allow me to introduce you. Madame Cecile Marchande, please—”
“Ooooh, what a lovely baby. Look at those eyelashes! Please, mademoiselle, allow me.” She lifted Max deftly to her shoulder bouncing and singing. Max looked stunned but delighted by her exuberance.
Rene cleared his throat.
Marco smiled. Rene was a dour, old codger, but he was family. He was a slave to decorum and propriety, which made him valuable to Marco’s mother who valued those attributes above almost everything else. Marco cut off his admonition. “It’s fine, Rene. Ms. Callas can take the baby to their rooms to freshen up. Madame Marchande, perhaps you can assist?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Your family must still be sleeping.” Senna whispered to Marco as the nanny began to lead her away. Voices did tend to echo in the large space. If the foyer had her virtually speechless, she’d be in for quite a surprise when he had the chance to give her the grand tour.
“Yes, princesa. It’s still rather early. There will be plenty of time for introductions soon enough.”
…
Everything in the Medina home seemed custom built to make her feel like an idiot. It had taken ten minutes to figure out the shower heads in the bathroom. There were three main heads along with multiple jets. How many nozzles does a person need in a shower? Was there some sort of European blueprint for cleanliness they didn’t teach in the Miami-Dade school system? Once she’d figured them out, though, she had to admit, the effect was mind-blowing. Hot water pulsed on her back like the hands of a well-trained masseuse, kneading each and every kink into smooth, relaxed muscles.
She’d taken a short nap. Even though it was the middle of the night back home, she was ready to start the day and rid herself of jet lag. She had no idea how the time difference would affect Max, but babies often seemed far more adaptable than their adult counterparts. Besides, uber-nanny Madame Marchande claimed to have the magic solution.
She rinsed the last of what she assumed was conditioner out of her hair. The shower was filled with bottles and soaps, none of which had labels, and each one smelled more divine than the last. Either her hair was going to be well conditioned or weighted down with some sort of body cream made from the tears of virgin Catalan nuns.
She wrapped the luxurious towel tightly around her body and entered the bedroom.
“Hello, Senna! Welcome to Girona!” A petite woman with a black pixie cut and large honey-brown eyes identical in shade and intensity as Marco’s embraced her with a surprisingly strong grip.
“Holy crap!” That probably wasn’t what properly bred ladies said in similar situations, but Senna didn’t have time to think it through.
The little intruder pulled back and gave Senna an appraising look. “You are just as beautiful as Marco said you were. We’re going to have so much fun!”
“Okay, can I at least know who you are before we go skipping off into the sunset together?” Senna tried to drop her hands and step back but the woman’s grip was firm.
“Oh, of course, Marco probably didn’t have time to tell you I would be here. I’m Milania, his sister. You can call me Mila.”
“Hello, Mila, nice to meet—”
“I want you to be comfortable in our home.” Mila finally loosened her grip and skipped over to Senna’s recently vacated bed and sat down. “I can’t wait to meet my precious nephew. I’m going to be the best aunt ever.”
Senna couldn’t help but smile. Mila’s innocent joy was infectious. She had a spritelike quality that made it difficult to gauge her age, but she couldn’t be older than twenty. At twenty-five, Senna felt positively ancient next to her. “So, Marco said I get you all day starting with breakfast. Did you find everything in your closet satisfactory? Marco sent me a picture, and I guessed your sizes.”
She crossed the room, grabbed hold of the ornate handles, and pulled the doors open. The closet was lined with shelves of shoes, boots, purses, accessories of all kinds. In the middle was a large island filled with drawers. Trays of jewelry sat on top of the island, and luxurious benches dotted the room. It was a boutique just for her.
All Senna could manage was a groan followed by a whimper.
“I know, there isn’t much.” Mila had followed her inside and seemed to be paying careful attention to her reaction. “But don’t worry, we can fill it up. I did just finish an in-house design internship with Chanel in Paris.” She leaned in and whispered, “I have connections.”
Senna wasn’t sure they were looking at the same closet. The shelves and rods weren’t full, but several dresses hung on one of the racks along with some blouses and pants. Several shelves held shoes and bags that combined probably cost more than her college education. A quick inspection of the drawers revealed a variety of undergarments that put her cotton panties and nursing bras to shame. She picked up a particularly delicate thong, completely sheer with only two small nude satin bows at each hip. The price tag matched her monthly grocery budget.
“Mila, this is, it’s…”
“Disappointing?”
“Incredibly excessive.”
Mila laughed. “Oh, I like you. You’re amusing.”
Senna backed out of the closet and landed on a delicate satin-covered bench. What I wouldn’t do for a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.
“Here, let me help. I’ll pick something out and leave it on the bed while you get ready. Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”
“Sure, but I need to feed Max.”
“No problem, I’ll meet you back here in forty-five minutes. Does that work?”
Mila was turning out to be quite the little dictator about going down for breakfast.
“There are lots of products and cosmetics at the vanity.” Mila disappeared into the closet and began muttering to herself. “Now where did I hang that green Marc Jacobs sheath?”
What am I doing here?
…
“Senna? Where are you?” Marco’s Latin timbre floated through the air and reached her deep in the depths of her hiding spot. It also affected other specific body parts, but Senna tried to ignore that fact.
“In here.”
Marco entered the closet with measured steps, like he was unsure what he would find inside. “Are you all right, princesa?”
Am I? Not entirely. She didn’t bother answering.
He lowered himself slowly to the floor next to Max. Senna almost laughed. She doubted he’d ever sat down on the floor of a closet. He looked out of place. But Max was thrilled with his presence. He immediately flipped over onto his front and tried to scoot himself closer.
“And how’s my petit rei?”
“How come he gets to be your little king when I’m only a princess? That doesn’t seem quite fair.”
“Male privilege?”
Senna snorted. “No such thing. Any son of mine will learn quickly that moms make the rules.”
“It is true, son, they do. Even when you are old and decrepit like Daddy.” Max blew a spit bubble at him and stretched to grab his nose.
Marco laughed. It was a deep rolling chuckle that was effortlessly sexy. She’d gotten to know Marco while cloaked in his mysterious and intriguing CEO persona. But this Marco, this relaxed, funny, casual Marco, was new to her. No custom suit and Prada loafers—he came wearing low-slung jeans and a lightweight black sweater, hinting at the powerful body underneath.
Maybe it was because she felt so misplaced, maybe it was because she had gone so long without touching a man, but she had to fight a strong and sudden urge to crawl over to where he sat idly playing with Max and put her head in his lap.
“You know there are other rooms in this house. You don’t have to hide out in the closet.”
“I like it in here. I like the scale of it. If I close my eyes and ignore all the fancy clothes, I can pretend it’s my apartment.”
“You are a funny woman. You are staying in a fourteenth-century estate, and instead of resting in your oversized bedroom or installing yourself in the conservatory or the gardens, you have holed up in a closet.”
“I’m a simple woman. And all of this is a little overwhelming.”
He simply nodded in understanding.
“So, my mother is expecting us at dinner tonight. Do you feel up to that?”
What was yet another terrifying experience to add to her already exciting day? She’d spent breakfast surrounded by two of Marco’s fast-talking siblings, trying to keep up with the conversation and the passing platters. “Sure. But only if I can wear these.” Senna lifted a stiletto from one of the many shoeboxes littering the ground around her. The magenta pump had a bright yellow pompon accenting the top of the shoe.
She continued. “Mila outdid herself filling this closet. She assured me they were all the rage in Milan. I think they look like someone tried to design sexy clown shoes and failed miserably.”
A wry smile stole over his features. “I think you are correct in your assessment. But wear what you like. You will look beautiful whatever you choose.”
Senna sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. “Who will be at dinner?”
“Mila, of course. Marcellus is in town, so he will be there. Matteo is back from the jungles of Africa. Mace is still in Miami.”
“I met Matteo at breakfast with Mila. Gosh, you have a lot of brothers. Mila must feel completely outnumbered.”
“I think that’s one of the reasons she’s so happy you’re here. You help balance out all of the testosterone.” Marco gently stroked Max’s mussed hair. “It’s usually just her. Well, and my mother, of course.”
Senna had never heard Marco speak of his parents in any kind of detail. His brothers had always been around Medina Enterprises when she worked there so they weren’t complete mysteries. “What’s your mother like?”
“She is…strong. Opinionated.” He looked up and trained his honey hazel eyes on her. “She will love Max.” Senna was rattled by the hint of uncertainty in his words.
But hearing the word “love” fall from his lips so easily sent an unexpected thrill through her body. The air around them felt charged, pregnant with expectations, even desire.
If she dared, she could easily reach over Max and touch Marco’s broad, muscled chest, exploring the flat planes and deep ridges his thin sweater barely concealed. And she wanted to. She wanted nothing more.
Marco seemed to have a similar idea. He reached out and ran his hand down her jaw where it came to rest near her chin. Her eyes closed. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his physical touch. If the gentle caresses of his hand and thumb on her face caused this much delicious want inside her, she shuddered to think what it would feel like to kiss him again.
Suddenly, Marco retracted his hand and began rubbing Max’s back, much to the baby’s delight. It was just as well. She didn’t need to fall under his spell again. She was still trying to deal with the aftermath of the last time she’d let that happen.
They were quiet for a moment with only the occasional squeal from Max to pierce the quiet of the huge closet. Senna took a deep breath. “Marco, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your family.”
“Then I suggest you don’t wear the clown shoes.” He nodded to the colorful footwear behind her.
She laughed. It felt validating that he acknowledged the absurdity of her situation.
“Seriously, you’ll be fine.” Marco was once again all business. “Dinner is at nine. You have time to take a nap if you wish.”
He stood and then reached back down scooping up Max and Lambie. Senna pushed herself back to standing as well.
“I think I’ll take Max out to the stables and introduce him to the horses.”
“Okay. But I should change him before you go.”
“I’ve got it, don’t worry. Well, Madame Marchande may need to assist, but I have to learn sometime.”
“Just…be careful. He’s never been around horses.”
“Of course.” He walked to the doors of the closet. “I won’t let him ride without a helmet and chaps.”
“Marco Medina—”
“Kidding, princesa. But we’ll be careful.”
She wasn’t used to someone else having the right to take Max out of her sight. He’s his father, he has that right. Shaking her head she found herself wandering toward the bathroom. I need about six Tylenol and a nap.
…
Walking from the main residence down to the stables proved a time-consuming task thanks to the dark-haired, chubby-legged charmer of a son he held firmly in his arms. Staff deftly dropped their tasks to steal a glance at the Medina heir. Max was playing his role to perfection, tossing smiles and happy shrieks to anyone they met. And Marco was happy to let Max be the star.
Max’s hands gripped at Marco’s arms and his little legs kicked excitedly. At one point Max nestled his head into the hollow of his shoulder, and the love he felt for his son hit him like a tsunami. It was primal, far more powerful than anything he could have imagined. He and Senna had created this perfect combination of the two of them. And he was perfect. Even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He was his. He was a Medina.
When he learned about Max, he was sure Senna was trying to hide him away. So like any Medina would do, he immediately began planning how to get what he wanted—his son. He would honor his betrothal and marry Brynn, but Max would be raised as a Medina with direct access to the best education, caregivers, tutors, anything and everything he needed. To do this, he’d pay off Senna, and he and Brynn would raise the boy as their own.
The plan had made so much sense a few weeks ago when he was plotting it all out with his advisors and drawing up the terribly one-sided custody agreement for Senna to sign. He’d make sure she never wanted for anything financially ever again. What woman could turn that down? With Max halfway around the world, she could do whatever she wanted. She could go back to school or get a job in her field. Marco wouldn’t care if she spent the rest of her life sunbathing on Miami’s glorious beaches as long as he could secure Max as his heir and have him for himself.
He hadn’t always looked on his time with Senna as business that needed to be managed. There was a reason Senna was the only employee he’d ever crossed the line with. No one was more surprised than he was when his longing for her went from the flicker of a flame to raging conflagration. Before he could stop it, thoughts of Senna consumed him. She turned him on in every possible way. Her body, her sensuality, the way her mind worked—she flipped on every switch and button he had, and checked boxes he didn’t know existed.
But then his father suffered a massive stroke, and things changed.
Marco entered the stables and was greeted by his equine manager, Gerard, a jockey-sized older man with weathered features and a spring in his step that belied his advanced years. Gerard’s family had been masters of the Medina horses for generations, and he wasn’t entirely sure whose company Gerard preferred—humans or horses. But on this particular afternoon, Max took center stage.
“Ah, hello there, Mr. Medina. And who is this beautiful nado? Is this our new little master come to review the guard?” Gerard swept his arms toward the horse stalls as if presenting the horses for competition. The horses either slept or munched on their feed, completely nonplussed by their arrival.
Marco laughed, and Max squealed.
“Mr. Medina, I’ve wanted to tell you that we need to reshoe Romulus—”
“Hello, Marco,” the familiar melodious voice interrupted.
Gerard stepped aside, and there was Brynn Vandermere, Medina Enterprises’ communications liaison, daughter of his father’s best friend, and, he supposed, technically, his fiancée. They weren’t in a relationship, had never been on a single date, but his family had arranged their marriage when they were both children, and in anticipation of the two names joining to build an even more massive empire, their marriage was considered all but done.
He hadn’t anticipated seeing her just yet, but she usually did visit the Medina horses when she was staying at her family’s nearby home.
“Brynn,” Marco acknowledged her with a nod.
Gerard silently left them.
“So, you not only brought the baby but his mother as a bonus?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Mila told me.”
Why am I not surprised? Brynn made it her business to know his every move. Admittedly, it made her good at her job at Medina Enterprises. She was expert at being informed on his schedule as well as being apprised of current and breaking business matters.
“Yes, I brought her,” he said.
She stopped an arm’s length from where Marco stood with Max. “This is already difficult enough. I assume there was a reason she had to tag along.”
“It doesn’t change anything, Brynn. Her presence here actually may make everything easier.”
Marco couldn’t help but admire Brynn’s beauty, but it was hard and cold. Tall and lean, she drew attention when she entered a room. Her long blond hair was carefully coiffed, her icy blue eyes noticed the smallest details. She could have the attention of anyone in the room with the slightest tilt of her head or a purposeful flicker of her thick lashes. If she stood still long enough, she could almost pass for one of the sensual Grecian marble statues that dotted the Medina estate.
But their relationship was complex. He had general affection for her, but that was it. He would marry her out of duty to his family, nothing more. It would be so much easier if I loved her.
“How is Massimo?”
He shifted his weight, moving Max to his other arm so he had a different view of the horses. “The same. Some days are better than others.”
“Well, the wedding isn’t too far off now. I know he’s looking forward to it.”
That was an understatement. Massimo was obsessed with seeing Marco and Brynn wed. When Marco told him about Senna and Max, he was taken aback. Ultimately, he had agreed that securing the next Medina heir would be a great joy. And a well-timed one at that. As long as Senna knew her place was in the background. Far in the background. But the more time he spent with the mother and child, the more concerned Marco became that it might be difficult to convince Senna that was the best plan.
When he and Brynn were only toddlers, Massimo and Jakob Vandermere, Brynn’s father, had arranged the marriage of their children in order to merge their two vast corporations and ensure wealth and stability for future generations. It’s what was done in families such as theirs, families steeped with stalwart traditions, whose members resolved themselves early in life to accept and honor the wishes of generations past.
Brynn embraced the role as betrothed Medina wife-to-be. Early in life, she’d grabbed hold of the promise and held on like a wild animal. Marco knew that, for her, the arrangement at least gave her certainty. He’d seen firsthand the expectations Jakob placed on his daughter, and it unnerved him that their marriage arrangement was a source of stress on Jakob and Brynn’s relationship. Massimo wanted them to marry because it was tradition, it was expected. He wasn’t so sure that Jakob’s motivations were purely honorable.
But even so, Marco battled a faint tremor in his resolve to honor his father’s wishes. The older he got, the more violent the tremor became. He’d known Brynn since they were small children. She was like a sister to him. How could he marry her? Shouldn’t he be able to choose his own wife? Trying to convince his father of that had not gone well.
“Maybe you should take advantage of Max’s presence. You could use this time to get to know your future stepson.”
Marco watched as her bravado fell away, revealing her features etched with fear.
She recovered quickly and said, “One major life-altering event at a time, Marco.”
Maybe it wasn’t fair of him to expect her to fall all over Max. She didn’t sign up for this, either. Like him, she was engaged to someone she didn’t love, forced to marry someone for what really boiled down to a business transaction. Of course, now she was also tasked with parenting a child who wasn’t her own.
Max laid his head on Marco’s shoulder. He loved that it took him no time at all to trust him. To know that if he was tired, he could rest on his father’s shoulder.
“I still can’t believe you kept Senna from contacting me about Max.”
Brynn’s head whipped around to face him. Marco knew she didn’t like to be challenged, especially by him.
Her voice held an authoritative quality that was unnerving. “My team is tasked with making sure only the most important of business reaches you. Didn’t you tell me that yourself? No unnecessary distractions? ‘Be the gatekeeper’ you said. I did what you told me to do. I made sure those communications never reached you.”
Marco had never brought his arrangement with Brynn into the workplace. It was her idea to work for Medina Enterprises, and their fathers had given their blessings saying it would continue to foster their future business merger. But Marco knew Brynn just wanted to keep an eye on him and ensure he didn’t develop any serious female entanglements. In an odd way, he saw where she was coming from. She, too, felt bound to honor their families’ wishes. And now Senna and Max were here, the most potent threat to the future she’d counted on.
She took a step closer, firmly encroaching on his personal space. Marco felt nothing—no heat, no desire. “I mean really, Marco. Her story was a little too pat. You spent one drunken night together and then she’s having your baby? Please. It’s not even original. I told you. I thought she was trying to cash in on your indiscretion.”
Marco used his height to lean in and take control of the conversation. “Brynn, I’m going to stop you right there. Senna is here to help facilitate Max meeting his family. With her here physically it will be that much easier to settle things. I would think you would be happy about that.”
“Happy?” Brynn scoffed, her shoulders drooping, and for the first time he saw a crack in her confident facade. “I may want the security of being a Medina wife, but you can be sure that none of this makes me happy.”
Marco didn’t miss Brynn’s pointed glance at Max. A moment of heavy silence passed between them.
“And she’ll sign the agreement?” Brynn asked, her voice lowered to a whisper.
“Of course she will,” Marco replied sounding more sure than he felt.
…
Mila arrived at eight fifteen p.m. to help Senna select something to wear. She couldn’t help but be intimidated by the thought of having to be dressed and presentable for every meal. She was far too comfortable with eating takeout on the couch with Abby. All of this formality was exhausting.
Meeting Marco’s mother and his other brothers was terrifying, but she kept reminding herself that these people shared the same blood as Max. That made them important to her, and she wanted to make a good first impression.
Mila had her try on five different outfits before deciding on the silk sleeveless blouse with a deep neckline and strategically placed ruffles. She paired it with a matching blush pencil skirt with a finely detailed black lace overlay and added a matching wide belt that made the effect feminine, not provocative.
“La belleza. My brother may not let you leave the room.” Mila took a step back to admire her creation.
“Mila, I doubt Marco will even notice.” It shouldn’t be important to her that he notice, but a tiny part of her wanted him to appreciate her effort. Well, Mila’s effort.
“I’m aware of the plans my father has for him. But you two have a child together.” She handed Senna a pair of rose gold and diamond earrings, and Senna quickly slipped one on each ear. “That has to count for something.”
Plans? Before she could ask Mila what she meant, Marco entered the room without knocking.
Senna smiled, taking in his tailored suit and jacket paired with a dark gray fitted dress shirt. No tie this time.
“Did you come to make sure I wasn’t wearing the clown shoes?” He walked toward them, and a frisson of unease ran up and down her spine.
His expression was tight. The open, flirty Marco from earlier was gone. Senna knew this look. It meant something had made him angry, and he was trying hard not to yell at somebody. But they weren’t in the office, where stress and demands were expected; they were in her bedroom, at his family’s home, with their son asleep across the hallway. His displeasure seemed out of place.
Mila seemed oblivious to the brewing tempest. “Isn’t she beautiful? Dressing her is so fun. It’s like dressing a real live Barbie doll.”
“Yes, you look lovely, both of you. Ready?” He seemed to be avoiding her gaze. Something was definitely bothering him, and that was more than enough to ratchet up her already mounting anxiety.