SHOCKED, LOLA STRUGGLED in her old boss’s arms.
A moment before, she’d run out on the dark, empty terrace to sob alone, when a man had suddenly appeared from the shadows. At first, she’d thought it was Rodrigo, and unwilling hope had risen in her heart. Then she’d recognized her old boss, Sergei Morozov.
“Sergei? What are you doing here?” she’d said in surprise, choking back her tears.
“What has he done to you, Lolitchka?” he’d said indignantly. “Look at you. Crying. He did this?”
She’d shaken her head vehemently. “No, he—” Then she’d stopped. Because Rodrigo was exactly the reason why she was out here crying alone.
No. That wasn’t fair. He’d told her all along not to love him. Just like he had during the months of their first affair. And just like she had then, she’d let herself care for him anyway.
Only this was so much worse. Because she truly loved him. And she didn’t know how she’d ever be able to face him again, knowing all he felt for her in return was pity.
She’d done this to herself.
Wiping her eyes, she’d said to Sergei, “Did Rodrigo invite you here? Are you friends now?”
“Friends?” Sergei’s eyes had flashed. “No. This man you married, he sent me a message. Inviting me to take you.”
Lola had frowned. There must be something lost in translation. “Take me? Take me where?”
“Away from him.” He’d snorted. “I do not understand how he could so easily tire of you. Now I, I would not so quickly tire. But I do not question. I am here. I gladly take.”
“Take?” she’d said, backing away until her heels hit the mansion’s stucco wall, trapping her.
“Da,” he’d said huskily. “His email said we must be seen together. Then he pays nothing to end the marriage.”
“What?” she’d gasped in shock, staring at him. “He would never say that!”
She’d heard a French door open, as someone came out on the moonswept terrace. Grateful to have someone else there, to stop her old boss’s apparent madness, she turned to see who it was—
“Do not worry, zvezda moya.” His eyes gleamed. Grabbing her suddenly with his big arms, he yanked her hard against him. “You are safe now. With me.”
“What? Stop!” Lola struggled in his arms, breaking away just in time to see who’d come out on the terrace.
Rodrigo.
His handsome face looked pale beneath his tanned, olive-toned skin, his dark eyes black as death as he stared at her. In another man’s arms.
“No.” Lola breathed, realizing what it must look like, after all the times he’d been betrayed. “No, Rodrigo, wait! It’s not what you think!”
But her husband didn’t wait. Without a word, he turned on his heel and went back inside the house.
Lingering behind him on the terrace, Lola saw his assistant, Marnie, staring at her smugly. Then she, too, turned and left.
“Sergei,” Lola gasped, shoving him away. “Why did you do that?”
He frowned. “You do not like?”
“Of course I don’t! What gave you the impression that I would?”
“But I thought you were a gold digger. Why not me instead of him?” He pounded his chest. “When I grow tired of you, I will openly give you a divorce! With money!”
Gripping her pink-crystal minaudière, Lola shook her head tearfully. “I love my husband. I would never, ever betray him!”
The man’s expression changed. “I am sorry. I did not know.” He looked after Rodrigo. “Sadly, he does not feel the same.”
With a tearful glance, she rushed to follow her husband into the Beverly Hills mansion. She pushed through the crowds, desperate to find him, but she could not.
Finally, she ran out into the front courtyard, by the burbling stone fountain. She came out just in time to see Rodrigo driving away.
Desperately, she ran out in front of him, blocking the Ferrari’s path. “Stop!”
Rodrigo’s black eyes pierced through her, filled with anger. “Get out of my way, Lola.”
“Not until you let me in this car!”
His voice was cold. “Your funeral.”
Lola half expected him to drive off and leave her as soon as she was no longer blocking his path. But he let her climb into the passenger seat beside him. Without looking at her, he stomped on the gas.
They drove away from their own party, from their new Beverly Hills mansion, from all the guests and gifts and everything else.
She stared at her husband in the moonlight. His eyes remained stubbornly on the road, as if she weren’t there. But she saw the way his jaw twitched, saw how tightly his hands gripped the steering wheel.
Lola took a deep breath.
“Please,” she whispered. “You can’t think—”
“Can’t think what?” he bit out, his voice dangerously low. “Can’t think the woman who claimed to love me betrayed me for another?”
“I know that it might have looked like that, but I never—”
He gave a low bitter laugh. “I know what I saw.”
“You don’t!”
He flashed her a glance, his dark eyes like ice. “Then what did I see?”
“Sergei said someone sent him an email, pretending to be you. Inviting him to take me. Practically begging him to.”
“What do you mean, take you?”
“But I know it wasn’t you,” she whispered. “I know you wouldn’t do something so underhanded and dishonorable.”
“No. I wouldn’t.” He turned right, taking the corner too fast.
“Neither would I. Because I love you—”
“Stop it.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the road. “You invited him to the party tonight. Admit it.”
“How could I? I didn’t know about it!”
“You must have found out somehow,” he muttered. Looking at his tight posture, at the way he stared so fiercely at the road, she felt the waves of misery coming off his body, and her heart broke for him.
Lola thought rapidly. If she hadn’t invited Sergei, and Rodrigo hadn’t either, then who? Who would have anything to gain by wrecking their marriage?
Every time Rodrigo gets close to a woman, he sabotages it. I used to blame myself, but not anymore. Not after it happened in all three of his engagements.
If Rodrigo hadn’t sabotaged all his relationships, then who had? Who had the ability, and the reason?
Lola sucked in her breath.
Suddenly, she knew.
“It was Marnie,” she choked out. “She did it. All of it.”
Rodrigo scowled as he drove. “What are you talking about?”
Lola stared at him. In the window behind him, she could see tall palm trees turn silver in the moonlight. “Marnie invited Sergei tonight.”
“Now you’re blaming my assistant for your own unfaithfulness?” He gave a bitter laugh. “You must be truly desperate.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense!”
He glanced at her coldly. “And why would she?”
She thought fast. “Marnie wanted you for herself,” she said slowly. “So she’s systematically rid herself of any rival who crossed her path.”
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve known her for over a decade.”
“Exactly.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Marnie forced all my fiancées to cheat?”
“She’s your assistant. She has access to everything. Your email. Your bank accounts. She could hire actors and pay them directly. She could even arrange for pictures to be sent to you as evidence.”
“Because she’s wildly in love with me.” His tone dripped sarcasm.
She glared at him. “Don’t you think it’s a strange coincidence that you happened to come out on the terrace the exact moment Sergei grabbed me?”
For a moment, Rodrigo looked at her blankly. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Stop it.”
“It’s the only explanation!”
“Marnie McAdam had been loyal to me for years. I won’t let you insult her.” His voice was low, savage. “Not to assuage your own guilt.”
“But—”
“Not another word. I mean it.”
His body was vibrating with repressed fury. He didn’t believe her.
With an angry breath, Lola turned away, looking out at the moonswept night as they drove past a charming commercial street. The palm trees were decked with white lights, the elegant restaurants and boutiques draped in artificial snow. It all felt so fake. Her heart hurt.
Living in the high desert as a child, there’d been no palm trees, just sagebrush and scrubby Joshua trees, and dirt yards instead of manicured green lawns. But at least that had been real. She would have preferred that, she thought with a lump in her throat, to this.
“Please, Rodrigo,” she whispered, trying one last time. “Think about it. She had to have arranged it—”
Pulling the Ferrari abruptly to the curb, Rodrigo turned to her, his black eyes hard. “Get out.”
“What?” She breathed in shock. She looked at his taut shoulders, his cold features. Shivering, she looked out at the trendy neighborhood, at the sleek, expensive apartment buildings on one side, and the luxury car dealership on the other. “You can’t mean it.”
“You lied to me.” His dark eyes were like ice. Like an enemy staring at her over the barrel of a gun. “I want you out of my life. For good.”
“You’re not seriously going to leave me here?”
His low, hateful voice cut through her. “Get. Out.”
With her heart bleeding inside her, Lola clung to her pride. It was all she had left. Slowly, she opened the car door. Gripping her pink-crystal clutch, she turned back to him, hating the begging in her voice but unable to stop herself. “Please, Rodrigo, please, if you’ll only listen—”
But he didn’t even look at her. The open door slipped out of her hands as he pressed hard on the gas, driving away from her without another word, or another look.
Lola watched the car drive away from her, leaving her abandoned on a corner of Santa Monica Boulevard, the old Route 66. She couldn’t believe he’d left. Despair filled her as she clutched her pink stole over her shoulders, shivering in the cooling air. Fighting tears, she reached into her bag for her phone.
Then she saw it. The gold wedding band she’d planned to give him tonight. With the inscription I love you now and always.
Her eyes widened, and she fell to pieces. A sob racked through her, and she covered her face with her hands.
Her husband was gone. Everything was gone.
No. Not everything.
Lola looked up from her hands with an intake of breath.
Her baby.
Fighting down emotion, she wiped her eyes hard. Finding her phone, she dialed with shaking hands. She waited as the line rang and rang. When the other person finally picked up, she nearly cried with relief.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please help me.”
* * *
Rodrigo felt nothing as he drove away. He felt numb, from the inside out.
As he drove up the coast, his phone rang repeatedly. Sure that it was Lola, he ignored it. Let her find her own way home. She had a phone. She had credit cards. Let her get a taxi. Or, hell, he’d abandoned her in front of a car dealership—let her buy herself one and drive herself home.
He wouldn’t be at the beach house when she got there.
A woman had cheated on him. Again. And not just a fiancée this time.
He’d been betrayed by his wife. His partner. The mother of his child. The woman he—
Rodrigo’s stomach twisted. He glanced out at the sweep of moonlight against the black ocean. He should have known better than to trust her. He should have known better than to care.
Stopping at a traffic light, he cursed loudly, punching the dashboard. As he clawed back his hair, he saw the people in the next car staring at him in alarm. As soon as the light turned green, they drove away in a terrified puff of smoke.
No wonder they were afraid. He probably looked like a madman. But the truth was worse.
He was cursed. Cursed from childhood.
His own mother hadn’t loved him, his biological father hadn’t claimed him, and the man who’d given him the Cabrera name had despised him. Rodrigo had been desperate from childhood to find someone to love.
But he hadn’t.
And he wouldn’t.
He would never love anyone. Or be loved in return.
A chill went through him, like the sudden frigid calm that came over someone sinking into icy waters for the last time.
Whatever. He set his jaw. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need Lola, either. He’d forget her, just like all the rest.
Except she wasn’t like the rest.
Their relationship hadn’t begun with flowers and fancy televised awards shows, or amid the fantasy of a big screen dream, but quietly, slowly over time. He and Lola had been partners first, then friends, and finally lovers.
He knew her. He trusted her.
Or at least he had.
That was what made her betrayal the worst of all.
Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He’d make her regret it. He’d fight for custody of Jett. Whatever the prenuptial agreement had promised, Lola didn’t deserve custody of their son. She was corrupt, deceitful, a horrible excuse for a human being. She was no fit mother—
Memories of all her hours caring for their baby, so lovingly and so well, ripped through him. All her time and care had gone to their son, while his own hours had often been spent building his business empire.
Would he really hurt Jett, by taking him from the care of a loving mother, to leave him instead with paid nannies, as Rodrigo had once been? Could he be so determined to punish his wife that he’d hurt his son as collateral damage?
Furiously, he set his jaw. Fine. He’d let Lola keep custody. But he’d take everything else. The prenuptial agreement was watertight. If she cheated, she ended up with nothing. She should enjoy buying that car from the dealership tonight. She wouldn’t have it long.
When he finally pulled past the gate into the courtyard of his beach house, he parked haphazardly. He had to take a deep breath before he picked up his phone. But to his shock, he saw it hadn’t been Lola calling, but Marnie. She’d left several messages.
She was probably worried, after he’d abandoned his own party without an explanation. But Marnie had seen what happened on the terrace. She didn’t need one.
Rodrigo stared up blankly at his beach house.
How could Lola have betrayed him? How?
Had she lied when she told him she loved him?
I love you. He heard the echo of her tender whisper. Only you. And I’ll love you forever.
He felt sick, remembering. If she loved him, how could she have immediately betrayed him?
Had she been so crushed by Rodrigo’s rejection of her love that she’d immediately jumped into the arms of another man? And she’d somehow invited Sergei Morozov to the party beforehand?
But that didn’t make sense. He remembered Lola’s shock when she’d first seen the magnificent Spanish-style mansion. She hadn’t known about the party.
Then who?
Marnie wanted you for herself. So she’s systematically rid herself of any rival who crossed her path.
No. He shook his head angrily. Sweet, loyal Marnie, who’d devoted nearly fifteen years to his service? No, impossible. He wasn’t going to listen to Lola’s excuses or impossible story.
Perhaps Morozov had been stalking Lola all this time. Perhaps the investigator had been wrong, and the two of them had continued to secretly be in contact after her marriage. And tonight, when her pride was wounded, she’d immediately phoned the other man, telling him she wanted him—
It didn’t matter. Going inside the beach house, Rodrigo slammed the door behind him. He would send for his lawyers at once. But first, he had to see his son. Right now. He had to feel like there was still one thing on earth he could depend on. One person he could love, who loved him back.
But the house was dark and empty. Feeling cold, Rodrigo walked through it, calling the housekeeper’s name. But the kitchen was dark.
So was the nursery. The crib was empty.
His son.
Snatching up his phone, he frantically dialed his housekeeper’s number, then his bodyguard’s. If Tobias didn’t pick up, he’d call the police—
He nearly gasped with relief when the line was answered.
“Jett’s fine, Mr. Cabrera,” Tobias replied calmly. “He’s safe here in the car. With his mother.”
Rodrigo’s jaw dropped. “Lola is with you?”
“Yes. I’m driving Mrs. Cabrera to the airport now. She’s taking the first flight back to New York.”
To New York.
Gripping his phone, Rodrigo looked slowly around the shadowy beach house. Outside, the silvery moonlight on the vast, black Pacific seemed hollow and gray.
“She called me after you abandoned her on the side of the road.” His bodyguard’s voice was reproachful. “That was cold, Mr. Cabrera. God knows I hate my ex, but even I wouldn’t do that.”
Let me talk to her, Rodrigo wanted to say. Then he remembered how he’d told her he wanted her out of his life for good. How he’d left her standing on the sidewalk in Santa Monica. Lola would never forgive him for that. Ever. Even if he’d wanted her to.
“You don’t have to fire me for it, either,” Tobias said. “Because I qu—”
“You’re not fired,” Rodrigo said heavily.
The man paused. “I’m not?”
“You’re right,” he said flatly. “My son should be with his mother. Lola knows how to love him. I don’t. Take them to the airport. And leave me the hell alone.”
Rodrigo hung up. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey—not tequila, never tequila, it would only remind him of Mexico City—he drank it straight from the bottle.
He drank through Christmas Eve, until Christmas finally came, bright and fine. The sun sparkled in the blue sky, shimmering against the wide ocean, which stretched out forever.
Just like his empty beach house. Once, Rodrigo had thought this house was the perfect size. Perfect for dating, perfect for entertaining and impressing others.
Now, it stretched with the vast emptiness of space, lacking oxygen, leaving him to float, with nothing to cling to. Especially after Mrs. Lee arrived to pack up all of Lola and Jett’s things and mail them to Hallie Moretti’s house in the West Village.
The day after Christmas, Rodrigo put the whiskey away. He forced himself to get up. To shave. To shower. To run ten miles along the beach, then visit a boxing gym, where he punched the hell out of everything.
For the rest of the week, he focused on work, ordering his whole team to come back into the office early, in order to greenlight production of as many new films as possible. If anyone on his staff dared voice a single regret at giving up their holidays with their families, Rodrigo verbally ripped them apart. He didn’t need a family. Why should they?
He was better off alone. They would be, too.
By midafternoon on New Year’s Eve, Rodrigo was holed up in his luxurious private office in the Cabrera Media Group headquarters in downtown Los Angeles, staring at his computer, manically reading script after script. He’d been there all night, sleeping fitfully on the sofa in his office. He planned to do the same tonight for New Year’s Eve. As long as he kept working, there’d be no need for him to return to the beach house. Ever.
Or think about the divorce papers his lawyers had prepared for him, already waiting at his house for his signature.
Marnie, who all week had seemed as nervous of him as a caged tiger, peeked into his office. “Mr. Cabrera?”
Impatiently, Rodrigo waved her in. “You have my clothes?”
“Yes, sir.” She handed him the duffel bag of clean clothes she’d brought from his beach house.
Grabbing it, he turned away. “Thanks.”
“Are you doing all right, sir?”
“Of course I’m all right.” He glared at her. “I’m not like my board, whining about their families and the holiday season. They have no work ethic.” He took a deep breath, controlling his tone. “But you do, Marnie. You haven’t complained once. Thank you for that.”
“I’m glad to be here, sir.” She set down a stack of papers on his large dark wood desk. “Ned Stone sent over a script. He says it’s a four-quadrant film.”
Ned Stone was the biggest agent in Hollywood, and a four-quadrant film was the holy grail of the film industry: a movie that would appeal to both men and women, young and old.
But looking at it, Rodrigo didn’t feel elated. He just felt tired. So tired, in fact, the room seemed to swim in front of his eyes.
“Take it back,” he whispered, not moving. “I don’t want it.”
Marnie stared at him, her eyebrows lifted in shock. “You don’t care about a four-quadrant film?”
“No,” he said slowly. “I don’t.”
Since Lola had left, he’d tried to lose himself in work. He’d committed hundreds of millions of dollars to projects he couldn’t even remember now. Half his board was threatening to quit and muttering dark suspicions about his mental health. But for all that, he felt exhausted and numb. Hollow.
He’d tried to run away from his feelings. He’d tried not to think of Lola. But he’d failed. She was all he could think about. He hated work. He hated home. Most of all, he hated himself.
Because without his wife, nothing else mattered. Not success, not fame or fortune. Not even a four-quadrant film.
Because he loved her.
Rodrigo felt a whoosh go through his body, like vertigo. He staggered back beneath the weight of the realization. The duffel bag slid from his hands to the hardwood floor.
Oh, my God. He loved her.
All this time, he’d tried to keep his heart cold. But he’d been lying to himself. The truth was, in the depths of his heart, he’d known it was already too late. He’d loved her from the moment she’d kissed him in Mexico City. Perhaps even before.
That was why he’d never slept with another woman. His body had known what his mind and heart refused to admit. He’d been too afraid to admit it, even to himself, after all the times he’d been hurt by the women he’d loved.
Except he hadn’t loved his first three fiancées, he now realized. How could he? He’d barely known them. As a young man, he’d been so desperate for love, to have a real family, that he’d proposed marriage within weeks.
Then he’d promptly come up with a reason to leave. Because he hadn’t loved those three women, any more than they’d loved him. If they had, they wouldn’t have been so easily lured away.
But he loved Lola. It had terrified him. Seeing her in Morozov’s arms had been all the excuse he needed to end their relationship. He’d almost been relieved to accept the worst rather than let himself be vulnerable, and love her.
But Lola, who’d also known pain and loss, hadn’t given in to fear. She’d been brave. She’d been loyal. She’d had his back, all along.
Get this through your head, she’d said. I’ll never betray you, Rodrigo. Ever.
And she hadn’t.
Rodrigo was the one who’d betrayed her.
“Are you all right, sir?” Marnie frowned, coming closer in the downtown office. “You don’t look well.”
His jaw clenched. He’d betrayed Lola by not trusting her, when she’d been the best friend he’d ever had. He’d betrayed her by not being brave enough to give his heart.
“Sir?”
He slowly looked at his assistant.
And he’d betrayed his wife by not believing her, when she was the smartest person he knew.
Marnie wanted you for herself. So she’s systematically rid herself of any rival who crossed her path. She’s your assistant. She has access to everything.
“Marnie,” he said quietly. “I know what you did.”
His assistant’s eyes widened beneath her thick glasses. Then, slowly, she smiled. “I’ve just acted as any good secretary would. And kept my boss out of trouble.”
Ice went down his spine. Lola had been right about everything. “You sabotaged my engagements.”
Marnie’s eyes turned bright, eager. “It wasn’t even hard. They all fell for it so easily. They cheated. They proved they weren’t worthy of you.”
He felt sick.
“But Lola didn’t.”
She scowled. “I sent the best porn actor from the agency. But she blew him off. I had to be more creative.”
“So you sent the message to Morozov, pretending to be me.”
“I knew you couldn’t actually want to be married to her.” Her expression darkened. “She doesn’t love you. Not like I do.”
I love you. The memory of Lola’s beautiful face, her luminous hazel eyes in the moonlit night, came back to him. Only you. And I’ll love you forever.
“I did it all for you.” Marnie’s thin face was triumphant. “Lived only for you. Sacrificed my life for you. You need me, Rodrigo. I’m the only one who can protect you from everything. From pain. From loss.”
Rodrigo lifted his head.
“I don’t want to be protected. Not anymore. I never wanted you to do any of this,” he said in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Marnie. It’s time for you to go.”
She looked flummoxed. “Go!”
“I’m in love with my wife. Because of you...”
Because of you, I’ve betrayed her, he almost said. But that wasn’t fair. It hadn’t just been Marnie’s lies that kept him from loving Lola. He’d been scared. Scared of losing control. Scared of abandonment and pain. Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, “It’s time for you to find another job and a different man to love.”
His assistant’s face crumpled. “No!” she cried. “I don’t know how to do anything else.” She gave a sob, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know how to change.”
He hadn’t either, Rodrigo realized. He might have spent the rest of his life focusing only on wealth and power, unloved and dead inside, as lonely as a mummy in a tomb full of cold treasures.
If not for Lola’s warmth. Her bravery. Her love.
Because of her, he had the chance to be better. To make better choices. To be brave enough to change.
“I’m sorry,” Rodrigo said, looking down at his assistant. He lifted the duffel bag with the change of clothes back to his shoulder. “You’ll get severance for your years of service. But I love my wife. You have to know you can’t work for me anymore.”
Marnie wiped her eyes. “Then what will I do?”
“I don’t know.” Turning away, he paused to look back at the door. “I hear Sergei Morozov is moving back to Moscow and looking for a new assistant.”
She blinked at him, looking like a mole who’s just seen the sun.
“Good luck,” he said.
Turning away, Rodrigo strode through his office, yelling right and left for everyone to go home, to spend the holiday with their families and friends. His employees’ eyes lit up with delight. But he couldn’t wait. He nearly ran out of the walnut-paneled lobby, holding his phone to his ear, telling his pilot to get the plane ready.
He had to see Lola. Tonight. Before the New Year began. He’d be brave enough to tell her he loved her.
But as he jumped into his car and stomped down hard on the gas, driving down the sunlit highway toward the airport, Rodrigo wondered if he’d be too late.