Page 22 of Thiago (Family Ties #6)

Chapter Twenty-Two

I ndia eyed Thiago in the private elevator shuttling them to his penthouse suite. They had just returned from dinner, and tomorrow they had an early flight to Rio de Janeiro, where he had reserved a room for them at the luxurious and historic Copacabana Palace on Copacabana Beach.

While India was excited to go to their next destination, the trip had been magical so far.

On the ten-hour flight south, they had slept on the company jet, so Thiago was refreshed when they arrived and went into the Santana International offices the next morning.

She had spent the morning in a museum before visiting the company.

She met with the marketing team, including the vice president of marketing for Latin America, whom she’d spent time with when he had participated in the coaching sessions last month.

Though they served different markets, they were able to learn from each other and promised to stay in touch to further exchange ideas.

In the evening, they took a taxi to Vila Madalena, an artsy neighborhood known for its nightlife. Atop the Unique Hotel, they sipped caipirinhas and ate dinner at the Skye Bar with locals and tourists while admiring the city view.

The next day, India went into the office first and took the afternoon off for sightseeing.

She joined a tour group, which included a return to Vila Madalena and a walk down its famous winding pedestrian street called Beco do Batman, or Batman’s Alley, where the walls were covered in breathtakingly beautiful murals.

On the excursion, she made friends with a fellow tourist from Colorado, and they acted as photographers, snapping photos of each other in front of the impressive works of art.

Later, she explored a few other places Thiago recommended, including the Museu de Arte de S?o Paulo Assis Chateaubriand.

She spent over two hours there, admiring the work of well-known European artists like Gauguin, Goya, and Gainsborough, as well as the museum’s collection of Brazilian and other Latin American artists.

That night, they went dancing after dinner, and Thiago showed he had the same dangerously sexy moves on the dance floor as he did in the bedroom.

“You look tired,” Thiago remarked, cupping her cheek.

“I might be, a little bit. I’ve packed in a lot the past couple of days.”

The constant physical activity, more than she was used to, had taken its toll on her body.

She was also suffering from a bout of nausea.

Last week, she’d experienced the same thing and had thrown up after work.

She’d had fish for lunch then and had wondered if the meal could have been the culprit, but here she was, feeling very much like she wanted to throw up again after eating chicken.

She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what was causing her to be sick two weeks in a row.

Thiago pulled her into his arms, and she laid her head on his chest, reveling in the comfort of his embrace. “Then you need to rest tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

Their situationship was long over, and the Thiago she had known had been replaced. There were so many moments of tenderness and playfulness in this new man, which made her believe their relationship could develop into something more. Something longer-term, perhaps.

India kissed his bearded chin. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, once I’m good and rested,” she promised.

They exited the elevator, which opened into the entryway of his penthouse apartment.

The space was adorned with walnut floors, and a dramatic painting in an ornate gold frame dominated one wall, the image showing Brazilian farmers of all skin tones tending the land.

Recessed lights reflected off the dark floor, and a vase containing a royal blue orchid provided an eye-catching pop of color against the room’s warm earth tones.

In the bedroom, the view was spectacular, with floor-to-ceiling windows giving an unobstructed view of S?o Paulo’s glittering skyline of high-rises and skyscrapers.

The king-size bed in the middle of the room had an upholstered headboard and appeared small in the expansive space.

The decor in general was all about texture and warmth, with thick rugs covering the floor, and tables and chairs in solid colors and floral prints, including a sitting area perfect for moments of quiet reading.

India surreptitiously watched Thiago as he removed his jacket, leaving on his long-sleeved shirt that clung to his frame, pulling a little at his biceps and emphasizing his strong, wide shoulders.

It should be illegal for a man to look so good, she mused.

Not only did he have an incredible body, his features were arranged in such a way that the average person was forced to stop and stare.

She had seen plenty of people—women, especially—ogling him as they walked to their table this evening, as if each person was pulled in by his square jaw, smoldering dark eyes, and dangerously sensual lips.

“That’s new,” India remarked, nodding at the watch on his wrist as she slipped off her heels.

“It is a vintage Omega Seamaster.” Thiago flicked his wrist so she could better see its gold face, which matched the gold link band.

“They gained their reputation as dive watches and have a strong association with the James Bond character, believe it or not. This one belonged to my grandfather. My father’s father.

He wore it every day, and when he passed, my father handed me the watch.

He said Grandfather had wanted me to have it. ”

There was no arrogance or steel in Thiago’s voice. Just quiet pride that he had been chosen as the one to inherit the watch from his grandfather, someone he obviously admired.

“How old were you when you received it?” India asked.

“Twelve.” He paused. “Because of this, I started collecting vintage watches. I became obsessed.”

“Where are the others? Here or in Atlanta?”

“Here.” He paused again, appraising her with a thoughtful look. Then he seemed to come to a decision. “Would you like to see my collection?”

“Yes. Please.”

India recognized right away that sharing this part of himself was monumental, and anticipation fluttered in her veins as Thiago entered his dressing room and she followed behind him.

Past the island in the center and toward the back, they arrived at a door built into the wall.

He keyed in a code and then pressed his thumb to the biometric pad.

She heard a soft whoosh , and then he turned the handle.

Her mouth fell open when she saw the interior.

More dark wood and recessed lights, but also rows of watches, each nestled in a velvet box on a shelf.

There were dozens, a literal who’s who of luxury watches—Patek Philippe, Rolex, Audemars Piguet, Cartier, Jaeger-LeCoultre.

Some with leather straps, others with linked bands made of gold or platinum.

They were elegant and masculine, many of which sat behind a small plate attached to the shelf with an engraved date and text explaining the significance of the watch.

India walked slowly into the room. “There’s a small fortune in here. How in the world did you get your hands on all these watches?”

“It was not easy, believe me,” Thiago said with a low chuckle.

“That is not entirely true. Some are easier than others to acquire. Auction houses are a good place to find them, and so are private collectors who want to sell quietly. A few people have approached me directly, and I have bought others after the owner passed away and their family wanted to liquidate their assets. I have gotten some very good deals that way.”

He placed the Omega in its box and picked up another watch.

“This Patek Philippe was made specifically for the FIFA World Cup in 1962 and gifted to the Brazilian team captain after they won. It took me four years to convince the family to part with it.” He placed the timepiece back on the shelf and pointed to a Rolex with a black face.

“In the 1950s, those were given to Italian navy divers. Many were lost at sea, and of the ones available, few are in good condition. I was lucky to find that one at an auction house.”

“Why watches? Why not cigars or coins or something else?” India asked.

He pondered the question for a moment before he spoke.

“Many of these watches have been on the wrists of men who helped shape history, and they all have a story. When I wear one of them, I like to think I am bridging the gap between history and the future. Like my grandfather, these men are gone, but their memories live on, and their legacies endure for generations.”

“You’re different when you talk about this,” India observed.

He acknowledged her comment with a nod. “Do you know how some people like to go hunting at thrift stores to find hidden treasures? It’s the same for me.

Finding a piece, learning the history behind it, and then adding it to my collection gives me a great sense of satisfaction.

One day, I plan to move them to my house in Georgia, but I need to have a climate-controlled vault built first. Bigger than this one since I’m almost out of space here but plan to continue collecting for a long time. ”

Thiago pointed out a few more of the watches and explained their significance before they finally exited the room.

“Few people have seen my collection,” he said, confirming her thoughts as he closed the door and twisted the handle back in place.

Her pulse skipped at being granted entry to such a private part of his life. “Thank you for sharing your passion with me.”

“This is a hobby. You are my passion.”

He looked at her as if he wanted to eat her up then and there, but instead of her body responding with desire as usual, the nausea she had been experiencing for almost an hour worsened.

India placed a hand against her stomach, as if she could force her insides to behave.

“What’s wrong?” Thiago looked at her with a deep frown on his face.

Oh crap, she was going to throw up. “I don’t feel so good.” India lifted her other hand to her mouth.

“You don’t look very good, either,” Thiago remarked, his frown deepening.

India wrapped an arm around her midsection. “I think I’m going to be sick. No, I’m definitely going to be sick.” Nausea bubbled from her stomach into her chest.

Thiago reached for her. “Are you?—”

India turned quickly away and made a mad dash for the adjoining bathroom.