If his solicitor could have seen Cesar’s expression right then he probably would have put the phone down and run. But he couldn’t, so he went on, oblivious.
‘You were photographed at Alexio Christakos’s wedding this morning in Paris.’
‘So?’ Cesar offered curtly, his mind still full of lurid images of Lexie Anderson and her effect on his body.
His solicitor in Madrid sighed heavily. ‘
Well, it would appear that some very industrious reporter decided to do a quick search, to see if there was any connection between you and Christakos. They came up with the fact that the recently deceased Esperanza Christakos was briefly married to one Joaquin Da Silva, years before she became a renowned model.’
For a second Cesar saw only blackness. He sat down. ‘How did they find this?’
‘It’s not a secret who your mother was, Cesar,’ his solicitor pointed out carefully. ‘It’s just never been discovered before...the connection...’
Cesar knew this. His mother had left so long ago that no one had ever seemed to have the inclination to go digging. He came from the Da Silva dynasty and that was all people cared out.
Until now.
Cesar managed to give an instruction to his solicitor to monitor the media attention closely and put his phone down.
The press would have a field day. He was the estranged half-brother of two of the most renowned entrepreneurs in the world. It would be open season on prying into their lives. For speculating on why nobody had ever spotted the connection before now. And so on, and so on.
He was well aware that this was hardly big news—people discovered half-siblings all the time. What he wasn’t prepared for was the prospect of ignominious media intrusion into an area of his life that had always been shut away. Not acknowledged.
The only time the reality of his brothers had been acknowledged, it had been used to taunt him. To drive home the fact that he was not the chosen one. That he could trust no one. Ever. As much as he hated to admit it, the scar was still deep. He only had to think back to earlier that day to remember how it had felt to be so black and bitter next to their happiness and ease with the world. A world that had taught them they could trust. That mothers didn’t leave you behind.
Cesar cursed the maudlin direction of his thinking. Cursed himself again for having gone to Christakos’s wedding.
With this film on his estate his privacy was already being well and truly eroded. Now this.
And then another picture of Lexie caught Cesar’s eye and a headache started to throb behind his right temple. He feared that the reclusive life he’d lived for so long was about to slip out of his grasp unless he could do some serious damage limitation.
CHAPTER TWO
‘MISS ANDERSON? MR Da Silva would like to see you in his office, if you could spare a few minutes?’
Lexie knew it wasn’t really a question. It was an order, and she chafed at the autocracy, already imagining his dark, forbidding expression. He’d been a complete stranger to her less than a couple of hours ago, known only by his reputation and name, yet now his saturnine image was branded like a searing tattoo on her brain. His taste...
Hiding her reaction, Lexie just shrugged her shoulders lightly and smiled. ‘Sure.’
She followed the smartly dressed young woman down a long hallway. She’d just arrived back at the castillo from the camera tests and was dressed in her own clothes again. Worn jeans and sneakers. A dusky pink long-sleeved cashmere top, which suddenly felt way too clingy.
The make-up artist had scrubbed her face clean and she’d left her hair down, so now she had no armour at all. She hated the impulse she had to check her reflection.
Lexie hadn’t had much time yet to look around the castillo as she’d been busy since they’d arrived, doing rehearsals and fittings. It was massive, and very gothic. The overall impression was dark and forbidding. Oppressive. Not unlike its owner. Lexie smiled to herself but it was tight.
A stern housekeeper had shown her to her room when she’d arrived: dressed in black, hair pulled back in a tight, unforgiving bun. She might have stepped straight out of an oil masterpiece depicting the Spanish Inquisition era.
Lexie’s bedroom was part of an opulent suite of rooms complete with an elaborate four-poster bed. Reds and golds. Antique furniture. A chaise longue. While it wasn’t her style, she had to admit that it was helping her get into character for the film. She was playing a courtesan from the nineteenth century, who was torn between leaving her profession for her illegitimate son and a villainous lover who didn’t want to let her go.
It was a dark, tragic tale, and the director was acclaimed. This film was very important to her—and not just for professional and economic reasons. One scene in particular had compelled Lexie to say yes, as she had known it would be her own personal catharsis to act it out. But she didn’t want to think of that now.
After a series of soulless but financially beneficial action movies, this was Lexie’s first chance to remind people that she could actually act. And hopefully move away from that hideous Luscious Lexie image the tabloids had branded her with. Not entirely unjustly, she hated to admit.
The young woman stopped outside a massive door and knocked. Lexie’s mind emptied. Her heart went thump and her throat felt dry.
She heard the deep and curt ‘Sí?’ And then the woman was opening the door. Lexie felt as if she was nine again, being hauled up in front of the head nun at her school for some transgression.
But then Cesar Da Silva was standing in the doorway, filling it. The woman melted away. He’d changed. Washed. Lexie could smell his scent—that distinctive woodsy smell. But without the earthy musk of earlier. It was no less heady, though.