HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 16: Why Are You Here?

I instinctively step back, but my ankle twists awkwardly, causing me to stumble.

In an instant, Sandro reaches out and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against his chest.

"So careless," he mutters, the vibrations of his voice resonating through his chest beneath my ear. "Did you forget that your ankle's still healing?"

My ankle isn't really bothering me anymore, though I've been favoring it since I twisted it the night I met Sandro.

Without warning, Sandro shifts his weight, lowers one arm, and scoops me up into a bridal carry.

People who had stopped paying attention to us suddenly focus again, curious about the scene Sandro is causing. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Sandro," I protest, my voice pleading.

"If I put you down, you'll just try to run away and hurt yourself again. No, it's better to hold you like this."

"People are staring."

"Let them," Sandro replies. "Let them be jealous that they can't hold you in their arms."

I doubt anyone's jealous of me. If anything, it's the women glaring at me, upset that they aren't the ones being held by Sandro. Who here would envy a middle-aged housewife?

But Sandro's grip is unyielding, his confidence unwavering. He's so strong, so sure of himself.

I can't help but remember that night—how he wrapped his arms around my thighs and lifted me up, meeting each thrust with powerful precision. The memory sends a shiver down my spine.

I've never felt so desired, so truly satisfied, not even with Samuel. Only Sandro made me feel that way, showing me what pleasure really is.

Compared to Sandro, everything about Samuel seems weak and unattractive.

When Samuel doesn't get his way, he throws a tantrum, yelling and demanding respect. It's more like dealing with a child than a grown man.

Sandro, on the other hand, stays calm and composed, even when he's being controlling. It's sexy in a way it shouldn't be—especially when he's refusing to put me down in front of a nightclub full of people.

And in the bedroom, when he takes control...

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he commanded, his voice deepening as we made love. When I obeyed, he whispered, "Good girl."

He bucked inside me, hitting that perfect spot that made me scream.

"Scream my name," he growled in my ear. "Let everyone know who's making you feel this good."

"S-Sandro..."

"Louder."

"Sandro!"

Even now, the memories leave me trembling with desire.

But none of that distracts me from the growing number of people staring at us, curiosity and suspicion evident in their eyes.

"Please, Sandro, put me down," I beg, lowering my voice. "I'm a married woman."

Sandro's expression hardens as he lifts an eyebrow. "You were the one who said you wanted a second round..."

My face burns with embarrassment. I did say that, but I'm still unsure if I meant it or if it was just something I said to get under Samuel's skin. Regardless, I can't afford to be seen like this.

Someone from the country club could spot me, and Samuel wouldn't hesitate to use it against me, despite his own flaunting of Kaylee.

It's such a double standard—Samuel parades his girlfriend around, but if I tried to do the same with Sandro, it could cost me everything.

Appearances are everything, and it's always harder for a woman to maintain them.

"I'm not divorced yet, Sandro. Please, put me down."

He studies my face for a moment before carrying me over to a barstool and gently setting me down. But even then, he doesn't move far. He keeps one arm draped across the back of the stool, standing close enough to block most of the club's view of me.

"Now, tell me why you're really here, Rafha," he says, his tone commanding.

How can I tell him the truth when I'm not even sure what the truth is?

"I work for the Rockview Elite Country Club," I say quickly, latching onto the first excuse I can think of.

He gives me a flat look. "I know that. How's that relevant?"

I clear my throat. "The Fuentes family has started planning their next event. I wanted to formally invite you and your father."

The Fuentes are major donors; any request from them carries weight. Thank goodness I remembered the event, or I might've had to admit just how conflicted I am about Sandro.

"What kind of event?" Sandro's eyes narrow.

"Mounted shooting, through the country club grounds."

The Fuentes originally wanted a live hunt, but with local laws and liability issues, Mr. Carter convinced them that shooting at paper targets from horseback would be just as entertaining.

"They really think my father would enjoy that?" Sandro asks with disdain. His father's aging and nearly blind; it's hard to imagine him on a horse.

I probably shouldn't criticize clients or Sandro's donors, but I feel a strange sense of trust with him, like I can be honest. After all, he hasn't breathed a word about our night together—not even to Samuel during their argument.

"The Fuentes only care about what *they* enjoy," I say, and Sandro's lips twitch into a faint smile. I lean back, relaxing a bit. "But a lot of billionaires and political figures will be there. I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss it."

Sandro hums thoughtfully.

Hunting—legal or otherwise—is a favored pastime for the elite. Even with just paper targets, it's enough to draw a crowd.

Sandro looks at me for a moment longer, then sighs and runs a hand down his face. "Why are you really here, Rafha? You could've just called my assistant. You didn't need to come all the way here under a pretense."

He's right, and I don't have a graceful way to dodge the truth without losing face.

"I'm sorry," I murmur. I shouldn't drag others into my emotional mess before sorting it out myself. "I didn't mean to mislead you."

"Great..." Sandro pulls back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest. I instantly miss the warmth of his touch.

"I'm sorry," I say again, because once doesn't feel like enough.

He shakes his head and straightens up.

"Will your husband be there?" he asks, his tone suddenly sharp.

It's an odd question, one I probably shouldn't answer. But I still feel guilty for the confusion I've caused.

"Probably," I admit. "Though I haven't confirmed it with him yet."

Sandro's gaze intensifies. "And if he does attend, who will he be bringing as his date this time?"