Authors: Patti Beckman
"I'll tell them we're moving to the States as soon as Jorge settles his business arrangements. That will make mother feel somewhat better."
She drew a deep breath and reached for the telephone.
An hour later, she was beside Del Toro in the Rolls Royce. Miguel was driving them to a shopping district of high fashion stores.
JoNell was acutely aware of Del Toro's broad shoulder touching hers, and the masculine scent of his shaving lotion. His powerfully built athletic body seemed to fill the car seat as it had the airplane cockpit. He was wearing a dark suit tailored of expensive fabric, a very pale lavender shirt with a matching, darker lavender tie. A diamond tie tack sparkled when he moved. In his lapel was a white carnation.
"Have you called your mother?" he asked.
"Yes. I called her this morning," JoNell replied frostily. "She cried."
"I am sorry. But then all mothers cry when their daughters announce that they are betrothed."
"If she knew the truth about this wedding, she'd have good reason to cry," JoNell said bitterly. "By the way, she didn't say anything about the cargo planes."
"My purchasing agent will contact your father today. It was late yesterday that I gave the order, and there is paper work involved in a purchase this large."
The dress shops had the most elegant sales rooms JoNell had ever seen. Chandeliers gleamed in the soft, indirect lighting. Feet sank deep in plush carpeting. In the ambience of hushed, quiet dignity there was heard only the rustle of garments being modeled and the murmur of the shop owner. It was the rarified atmosphere of haute couture familiar only to the very rich. As much as she resented Del Toro's dragging her here, JoNell couldn't help but feel like a princess (albeit a reluctant one!) as the models paraded exquisite design creations for her approval.
But it was Del Toro who studied the garments with a critical eye and made the decisions. A flick of his finger or a slight disapproving shake of his head signaled the acceptance or rejection of a frock. His imperial attitude added fuel to JoNell's fury. She felt like a child being outfitted by an autocratic parent.
Even so, she had to grudgingly admit that Del Toro had impeccable taste. Every gown he chose flattered her as if the designer had planned that of all the women in the world, the lines of his creation were made to flow around her body alone.
The fashion coordinator snapped her wrist disdainfully to shoo away a model when Del Toro frowned at a creation. When he saw a dress he liked, JoNell was whisked into a dressing room where three seamstresses pinned and marked how the garment was to be altered to fit her slender form. Not once did Del Toro ask about price.
He wasn't satisfied until JoNell had a complete wardrobe ranging from sportswear to dinner gowns. Much to her agonizing embarrassment, the wardrobe included filmy negligees and wispy undergarments.
She was relieved when the shopping expedition came to an end and she was settled in the back of the Rolls Royce, surrounded by boxes filled with garments that bore such labels as Givenchy, Christian Dior, Gucci, Saint Laurent and Fontana.
She supposed that Del Toro felt the purchases were necessary. He could hardly go around Lima with a wife dressed in jump suits and sneakers! But the end result was to make her feel like a kept woman. His highhanded method of dragging her down here and choosing the clothes for her robbed her of another shred of self-respect. Maybe she would have been more at home with a monkey wrench and a spark plug than choosing between a gown by Givenchy or Saint Laurent, but she didn't need to have Del Toro making her acutely aware of that fact.
He did not get into the car with her. Instead, he closed her door, then leaned down, thrusting his head through the opened window. "Miguel will take you home. I will take a taxi. I have some more matters to attend to."
On the drive home, in spite of her anger at Del Toro, she felt a sense of anticipation. She could spend the rest of the day sampling the delicious feel of dresses by the world's foremost designers. She could try them on to her heart's content. Despite the unpleasantness of the situation, she reasoned she might as well let herself enjoy the new wardrobe. What woman wouldn't feel some measure of excitement at having this kind of wardrobe in her closet?
When she entered her room, she found another huge basket of roses with the usual flowery note. "To express my deep love and admiration for my most beautiful bride-to-be." JoNell shook her head in disgust, crumpled the note and flung it into a wastebasket. You'd think, she reasoned, that since Del Toro had shown his true colors and admitted his interest in her was purely a selfish, business one, to save his own hide from Gustamente, that he would drop the phony Latin flattery. But she supposed, the macho image was so ingrained in him, he just had to keep going through the motions.
About five o'clock, JoNell was having the customary Peruvian afternoon snack, the lunch, consisting of tea, a hard roll and pastry, when a familiar voice from the doorway startled her. "Did you talk with your father today?"
"You have a nasty habit of sneaking up on people!" JoNell said shortly, turning to glare at Del Toro.
"Perhaps I should wear a bell around my neck, my love?"
"Don't be sarcastic, and I wish you'd stop calling me 'my love' in private. I don't like it."
"I am only practicing so I will not forget when we are in public. Remember, we must convince all of Peru that we are a loving couple."
She chose to ignore his remark. "Yes, I did talk with my father—or rather with my Uncle Edgar to be specific. He was at the airport office when I called. He confirmed that they have received the order for the cargo planes. He says my father is overjoyed. My Uncle Edgar also sends his congratulations and blessing. Says he must have misjudged you completely." She laughed bitterly. "Of course I didn't tell him that he had judged you quite correctly."
Del Toro flushed angrily. "Can't you think of our arrangement as mutually beneficial? I'm helping you, and you're helping me. It would make things so much more pleasant between us."
But JoNell refused to be swayed by Del Toro's suave exterior. "There's absolutely no reason to pretend to be nice to each other," she said dryly. "We have a business arrangement, that's all. Let's keep it impersonal."
Suddenly, Del Toro appeared to be distracted by something. The room fell silent as he listened, a slight frown touching his brow.
"What is it?" JoNell asked.
He raised a hand to silence her. JoNell heard a faint tinkling. Her gaze swung to her dressing table and became horrified when she saw the bottles of cologne vibrating. Next she was aware of a window rattling softly. The light fixture above her swung a fraction.
She felt something ominous in the atmosphere. "What is it?" she gasped with sudden fright.
"It is an earthquake tremor."
"Oh!" JoNell cried. Fear blotted out her dislike for Del Toro. Without thinking about it, she rushed to the nearest source of security—Del Toro's arms.
He held her tightly, gazing down with an expression of mocking amusement. "Is this how we keep our arrangement 'impersonal'? Not too bad!"
JoNell was so startled and disconcerted by her fear of the earthquake tremor that she didn't pull away, and the next thing she realized, his lips crushed down on hers. For a giddy instant, she felt that same unwanted emotional response she had felt that day on the deserted beach, a physical awakening of her body, pressing harder against his, a fire springing to life deep inside her, threatening to turn into raging desire.
But instantly, she came to her senses and jerked back from him. "That's not part of our deal!" she flared.
"You came to me," he reminded her.
"The earthquake frightened me, and you took advantage of it. You don't have any scruples at all where a woman is concerned, do you?"
JoNell felt rage in Del Toro's stare as he raked his eyes over her. For a moment the air in the room fairly sizzled with the clash of their emotions. But gradually, the anger in Del Toro's eyes drained away and logic took its place. Or was it cool calculation, as he weighed his fury against her importance to his safety? She thought that he had been near the point of telling her to forget their business deal and sending her packing on the first commercial flight home—but then had thought better of it.
He rammed his hand into the pocket of his snug-fitting trousers. In spite of herself, JoNell couldn't help but notice, with an unwanted tingle, how smoothly the rich brown fabric hugged the powerful muscles of his thighs.
"Here!" Del Toro thrust his hand angrily at her. He was holding a small, velvet covered box.
"What is it?"
"Open it and find out."
She lifted the cover. Her breath caught in her throat. Nestled in a black velvet cushion was an enormous solitary diamond in a simple gold ring setting. The diamond flashed blue-white fire with each movement of the box.
"It's your engagement ring," Del Toro said. "Why don't you put it on? Or better yet, let me put it on your finger."
JoNell got her breath back. She held the box out to him. "I can't accept this," she gasped. "You can't be serious."
"Of course I am serious. One doesn't buy a diamond like this for a joke! And you will accept it. You are the fiancée of Jorge Del Toro, and you will wear an appropriate ring."
Again she felt the impotent rage of being backed into an emotional corner. "I will not be beholden to you," she insisted, raising her chin. "I want it clearly understood that the day the marriage is ended, the ring goes back to you."
"You're a stubborn little fool!" Del Toro stormed. "Do you know how many women would jump at the chance to marry Jorge Del Toro even for one year? But you find excuses to riddle our marriage with hatred. Can't you relax and enjoy yourself once in a while? A year is a long time to hate someone you're going to have to live with."
JoNell glared at him. "I am different from all those other women in one important respect."
"And what is that?"
"You weren't able to mesmerize me with your so-called Latin flattery and charm the way you were the others. I know you for what you are!"
Dark green eyes clashed with large brown ones. Then the dark green eyes began to crinkle around the corners, and Del Toro threw back his head and laughed heartily.
"You are insufferable!" JoNell cried.
"So insufferable that you refuse to marry me—so insufferable that you would let your father lose his business rather than spend a year as my wife?"
JoNell's eyes filled with angry tears. "I knew you were totally without scruples, seňor," she said in measured tones. "But I had no idea you were also sadistic. Does it amuse you to taunt me?"
"Not so much as it pleases me to tell you when and where our wedding will take place."
JoNell gulped a chunk of air that felt sharp and pointed. She steeled herself to hear details which she had not wanted to think about. Until now, the prospect of actually going through the wedding ceremony with Jorge Del Toro had been a specter floating in the hazy future. But confronting the specific details of the wedding would rob her ethereal phantom of its elusive quality and plunge her into harsh reality.
"Can't it wait?" she resisted sullenly.
"No. We must have the wedding soon, within a matter of days. I must start immediately to make arrangements to transfer my business to the United States. I need my citizenship rights as your husband now. I cannot wait until Gustamente takes office. That would be too late."
JoNell wiped her moist brow. An invisible band tightened around her throat. "All right," she murmured in a resigned voice. "Let's hear it."
From that moment, JoNell's life played like a slow motion movie.
In her mind, Del Toro's words stretched out interminably as he described the simple civil ceremony they would have. She felt herself in a long, dark room, viewing her movements on a small movie screen. From this vantage point, she saw herself choose a lemon-white suit for what was, for her, a wedding in her mind only. She didn't realize that her detachment from the whole situation was a mental trick to preserve emotionally her unmarried state. On paper and in name, she would be Mrs. Jorge Del Toro. But in body and spirit, she fiercely clung to her identity as JoNell Carpenter, unmarried and still entitled, one day, to a full white wedding with a long bridal gown. Technically, she would one day become a divorcee. But her mind would refuse to relinquish her self-image as a never married, single girl.
In her thoughts, JoNell remained in her bedroom for the next forty-eight hours, never stepping outside to accompany Del Toro to register their marriage, not riding in the back of his Rolls Royce to the chambers of a political friend of Del Toro's, a judge, who married them.
There was a dream-like quality to the sequence of events, a defensive state of mind that insulated her from unpleasant reality.
The cold shock of reality washed over her only when she looked down at the third finger of her left hand, and there, next to the costly diamond engagement ring Del Toro had given her, nestled a diamond encrusted wedding band! She stared at the rings. They seemed to weigh her hand down.
Then they were in the limousine. "We will have dinner out tonight," Del Toro said, "to celebrate."
She looked at the tall, elegantly dressed man beside her. A bewildered voice inside her said, this man, this stranger, is
your husband
. She closed her eyes against hot tears that threatened to spill over. "Celebrate what?" she asked dully. "The closing of a business deal?"
Del Toro chose not to reply. He appeared to be in an expansive mood. He gave an order to Miguel in Spanish. The limousine whisked them to one of Lima's elegant dinner clubs. "We must start the evening with a toast," Del Toro exclaimed, and instructed the waiter to bring them two Pisco Sours. "In Peru, everyone drinks Pisco Sours," he smiled to JoNell.
When the drinks arrived, Del Toro touched his glass to hers. "To a happy and pleasant relationship for the next year."
"To a business relationship," she corrected bitterly.