Monaco was every bit as glamorous as she envisioned it. Beautiful people strutted through avenues lined with a fusion of charming old buildings alongside modern structures in a whirl of fashion, trendiness and money.

It was hard to feel anything but insecure amid all that Monaco was famed for, but Leila did not have the inclination to dwell on it, not when other more pressing issues took up her thoughts.

Foremost was Marco Vincenzi, her husband. That the sudden aversion he seemed to demonstrate toward her was perplexing to say the least, was an understatement. It hurt. It sawed through her like the blunt edge of a serrated knife.  

Maybe aversion was too strong a word. He was doing everything right when they were together. He was attentive and even foresaw her every need, hence her being submerged in scented bubbles and silky bath oils at that very moment. 

Their conversation during their flight to Monaco, albeit stilted on her part, had been a constant attempt on his. Granted, he had kept it on everything else but the burning issue of their marriage. They’d spoken of nothing else but frivolous plans for the rest of the trip, including the Statesmen Ball they were to attend that evening. 

“I realise it might be short notice, but I’ve only just got word that a business opportunity might present itself,” he had told her casually.

Leila couldn’t help but feel put out again. Business as usual, and she was just there as part of the package, she’d tried to remind herself. 

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” he’d observed. 

Leila had chosen her words. “It doesn’t matter how I feel about it, does it? I will have to perform my duties as part and parcel of my obligations as your wife.” She had seen his face darken and she knew she hit a nerve. 

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he had finally said. He had veered the conversation in a different direction. 

And then had ensured she had been comfortable before he had been called to the cockpit. Like with his yacht, Marco got to play with his other toy, his jet. With Monte Carlo up ahead, he had to land the jet in one of the private landing strips afforded to the elite who piloted their own. Safely landed, they had stopped for a rather overdone lunch at one of the many Michelin restaurants before they had installed themselves at the hotel. 

“An afternoon of pampering, my Princess,” he had said as they had entered their suite while the assistant from the spa, a beautiful petite young woman, had waited to escort her to it. She had not thought it necessary at the time but she realised it was perhaps exactly what she needed.

 She had to admit that he was playing the part of a considerate and caring husband, to the tee. But that may fool everyone else. Not Leila. Their separate rooms at their suite was testament to their anything but picture-perfect marriage. 

Leila pounded the water in frustration as it became clear to her that she would have to deal with the consequences of marrying someone like Marco. Watching the splashes of foamy liquid run along the marble tiles in the bathing suite of one of the finest spas in Monaco, did nothing to alleviate the situation. But it did make her feel a little better. 

For a brief moment. The tight knots that the masseuse had so skilfully kneaded and coerced out of her lower neck earlier, returned. 

The rather startled assistant who’d drawn the luxurious bath arrived with a bunch of towels. 

“Is everything okay, mademoiselle?” she asked. 

Leila apologised profusely and pleaded exhaustion.

She was dressed in custom-made Dior. She had thought it frivolous when it had been commissioned, but now standing in front of the mirror in the jewel-red chiffon silk creation, she looked every bit as glamorous as the movie stars and celebrities she had followed in the tabloids. 

The cowl neck swept modestly just above her cleavage but plunged down the small of her back. It shimmered along her generous curves, highlighting them. 

Mira helped pin her long brown tresses in a trendy up-style that pulled her features a little making her cheek bones even more prominent. She felt beautiful. A smile curved along her lips as her reflection swayed in the mirror.

Marco was simply handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo standing in the middle of the living room, waiting for her. Perhaps she’d been expecting more of a reaction from him, but his cool appraisal of her, was deflating. 

And Leila wondered why it caught in her throat like a lump of coal. But she did not pause to analyse it. Sweeping through the room, determined to get the evening over with, she beat him to the door of the suite. 

“Leila.” His voice was soft and tender and she turned to look at him. “You can’t go out like that!”

She stilled and quickly examined herself but found nothing out of place.

His lips tugged in a slight smile as he slowly produced a long velvet case from his tuxedo pocket. Opening it, he came toward her, and presented her with an astounding ruby and diamond necklace. It was simple but magnificent. A tear shaped ruby dropped from a string of diamonds.