Читать книгу The Best Of February 2016 - Catherine Mann - Страница 19
ОглавлениеTHE MINUTE CESAR arrived home, he sought out his wife, finding her in the sitting room talking to her mother on the tablet.
She didn’t roll her eyes when he ruefully showed her the teething ring he’d found in his jacket midmorning, the one he’d obviously pocketed the last time he wore this suit and that she’d been searching for high and low ever since.
In fact, she looked quite distressed, lifting a searching gaze as he entered. Her mother’s voice, so similar in tone to Sorcha’s, but with that heavier accent, was saying, “I didn’t want to tell your sisters until I’d spoken to you and found out if it’s true.”
Cesar was pulled up short by Sorcha’s expression, heart taking an uncomfortable kick. He hated seeing her upset.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Mum says a lawyer from London wants to meet her to discuss her settlement proceedings against the Shelby estate for the house and other income she should have received as a beneficiary in Da’s will. Would that be your lawyer? Is it just a preliminary thing?”
“That was weeks ago. Is he only calling you now, Angela? That’s not acceptable,” Cesar affirmed, moving into the screen so his mother-in-law could see him, hands instinctively going to Sorcha’s shoulders in a comforting caress.
“Hello, Cesar,” Sorcha’s mum said with her dazzled smile. “No, he called ages ago and that was your Mr. Barrow again, on the telephone from London today. He said he would forward you a full report if I wanted him to. The Shelby family has admitted provisions were made for us and we’re in a position to sue for damages above what was owed in the first place. He wants to meet to discuss it and I... Well, when it seems too good to be true, it usually is.”
“In this case, I expect you’re seeing justice at work,” Cesar assured her, pleased on her behalf. “I’ll check with Barrow, but my advice would be to hear what he has to say. I’d bring Sorcha so we could sit in, but I’m leaving first thing in the morning for Dubai. This presentation has been in the works for nearly a year and can’t be put off.”
He had suggested Sorcha invite her mother or sisters to stay while he was gone, not liking to leave her alone. None had been able to get away and she hadn’t wanted to come with him. His schedule was full and the heat and local customs would keep her in the hotel most of the time so she hadn’t seen the point.
“He said he’d come Monday, but I’ll see if he can wait until you can be here,” Angela said, hand to her forehead as though dizzied. “Oh, Sorcha, do you realize if you hadn’t fallen in love with your boss, none of this would be happening?”
Beneath his light hands, her shoulders stiffened and a strangled noise was quickly muffled in her throat.
Sorcha offered a brisk promise to be in touch about their travel arrangements and ended the call, ducking away from his touch. She would have walked out of the room if Cesar hadn’t caught her arm.
A kind of shock held him. She loved him?
Women had said the words to him in the past, but he’d always dismissed them. It wasn’t something he had ever wanted to hear or could say with conviction himself. Frankly, he’d never believed any of those women and told himself not to put much stock in it now.
But there was something very compelling about being granted entry into the tight circle of people Sorcha held closest to her heart.
“Sorcha?” he asked, gripped by anticipatory tension. “Do you?”
She skimmed her gaze down, biceps tense in his light grip. “Do I what?”
He touched her chin with his free hand, insisting she look at him. Her eyes were their darkest blue, the pupils large and deep, her mouth tremulous. Her vulnerability was hard to witness, but he had to know. With a gentle caress against her cheek that he meant as reassurance, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?”
The word felt like a phrase in a foreign language he was trying for the first time.
Her brow pulled in a flinch and her eyes grew shinier. Her mouth opened, then she closed it again, as if she couldn’t decide how to respond.
He dropped his hands, startled by a deep stab of disappointment. “I didn’t think you’d lie to your mother about something like that.”
“I didn’t,” she said quickly, folding her arms. “I mean. Yes, I do, um...” She cleared her throat. “Love you,” she said with a little thrust of her jaw, brow a line of determination as she dragged an air of confidence around her.
He’d seen her don this look a thousand times when the pressure was high and now knew it was her defense mechanism, something she’d learned to wear against those who’d been hard on her after her father’s death.
She shouldn’t feel a need for it with him. Laughter rose in him, the kind fueled by soaring joy. It was alien, yet powerful, like a ferocious storm he ought to fear, yet a primal part of him reveled in it.
“Why haven’t you said?” he asked, bemused.
She finally met his gaze, searching so deep, he went on guard. Angst crept into her expression.
“Do you love me?” she asked.
He mentally took a long step backward. Here was the issue with deep feelings. They turned quiet words into explosives that could go off if they weren’t handled very carefully.
Love had never been on his radar. A psychologist would accuse him of taking all those lovers to counter the absence of affection in his youth, but he would argue that he had a healthy sex drive. He’d learned early to take pride in his accomplishments and let his self-esteem hinge on his opinion of himself, no one else’s. He didn’t yearn for acceptance or fulfillment. He was utterly secure.
Even with his son, he didn’t nurture to earn the unconditional adoration Enrique showed him. He met his son’s needs because it filled him with deep, personal satisfaction to see the boy content. Did he love his son? He suspected that yes, he did, but he hadn’t framed it in so many words to himself.
What he felt toward Enrique was simple and instinctive, but his regard for Sorcha was more complex. He was in the most intimate relationship he’d ever had, but was this love? He was too honest a man to blurt out such a statement without being absolutely sure.
How could he be sure, though? His scientific mind wanted points on a graph. A series of tests and results. Hard data.
“You know I’m not wired for it,” he said cautiously.
* * *
Sorcha told herself he wasn’t saying that to be cruel, that she had always known this about him, but his deflection still felt like a knife to the chest.
She was facing down his lost memory of Valencia all over again, but in a higher, more acute octave. She loved him. She had begun to believe he had feelings for her, but he didn’t. Not on the level she was at. Everything she thought they shared was actually only in her mind, her heart. There was nothing on his side but sexual attraction, respect perhaps and a strong sense of responsibility.
“That’s why I haven’t said.” She hated that her voice wavered. “I should check Enrique.”
He didn’t let her go. “It doesn’t mean we can’t be happy. You’re happy, aren’t you?”
She wanted to claim she was and walk away, just to end this painful moment, but she shook her head.
“I’ve been telling myself I should be,” she said, staring blindly toward the hall. “You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t take on another dependent just to feel loved. When I married you, I told myself it was better to have a husband who provided for me, than one who loved me and left me to fend for myself, like Da did to Mum. I thought it was unrealistic to expect both love and material support, but it’s not. Da did make provisions for us. He loved us and wanted to take care of us.”
She swallowed, still taking this news in. All her mixed, resentful feelings toward her father fell away and love, wistful love, was left. It was freeing, yet painful, making her ashamed that she’d doubted him.
And it cast her marriage in a dark light. She had settled for support, which wasn’t a bad thing, especially when she’d had hope for love.
But her husband wasn’t wired that way.
Hope was gone.
The walls of their gorgeous house came into focus. The furniture she’d chosen with such care, wanting to create a home for them, suddenly seemed very superficial. A placebo for the environment of love she’d really been seeking.
“I’m going to check flights,” she said. “I’d like to see Mum.”
“Not wait for me?” He tightened his hand on her arm, not hurting, but she could feel his tension.
“I need to be with the people who do love me.”
“Sorcha...” The way he said her name was a jagged score against her heart, making her want to seek comfort from the very man who was destroying her.
“If you loved me, you’d understand how painful this is,” she said, shaking off his touch.
He flinched. “You’re not taking a commercial flight,” he said stiffly. “The jet can take you this evening and come back for me and Rico. I’ll make some calls.”
* * *
Cesar was still brooding days later, standing in the suite he was sharing with Rico, staring out at the green-blue expanse of the Persian Gulf.
He hated that Sorcha wasn’t in their home, but told himself it was good that she was with her family. She had looked so miserable, he hadn’t known what else to do but give her what she wanted and send her to the people who always made her smile.
He hadn’t made her smile.
Damn it, that was the problem with emotions. They left you susceptible. He didn’t want to hurt her. She’s the one who’d allowed him to.
“Why aren’t you changing?” Rico asked, coming into the sitting room with damp hair, buttoning a fresh shirt. He swore. “We’re not going to a club, are we?”
“We aren’t, no.”
Rico hung his hands on his hips. “I never expected to see you mope because you weren’t home with your wife.”
“She’s at her mother’s and I’m not moping.”
“Just because the rest of us are incapable of showing a shred of humanity doesn’t mean you can’t admit to affection for your wife. We can all tell you think your son is the most important thing you ever made.”
“He is,” Cesar said, turning to confront his brother.
Rico hitched his shoulder. “Not the way we were raised to think, but Sorcha would agree. Why do you think I offered to marry her? I knew she’d be warmer with her children than Mother was with us. And Diega? Can you imagine her with a child? She’d eat it. Be honest, you knocked up Sorcha to get out of that marriage, didn’t you?”
“I don’t remember that day,” he reminded coldly. He had a very nice replacement memory, but his original motivations remained a mystery.
Rico snorted, rocking back on his heels. “How about all the days leading up to it?” he challenged. “Remember those? Because you were always going to sleep with her. I knew that the first time I met her, when you looked at me with a promise to kill if I didn’t stop flirting with her. If your interest in Sorcha was only physical, why put off having her? You were keeping her around because you liked her. What are you afraid of if you admit you care for her? That she’ll steal company secrets?”
Cesar fisted his hands in his pockets. “No. I trust her implicitly.”
“Ah, it’s me you don’t trust,” Rico said in a tone of enlightenment. “You don’t want to admit you have a weakness where she’s concerned.”
Not even to himself, Cesar thought grimly, but couldn’t deny it. He was missing more than his son. He wanted his wife. He wanted to taste her skin, feel her against him in bed, hear her laugh. He wanted to watch her hands move as she told him a story.
He wanted to know how things were going with her mum. He was worried that she was being treated badly by the locals and hated that he wasn’t there to protect her.
He wanted to hold her, suspecting he might have made her cry. He wanted to reassure her it would be all right, but would it?
How could he make things right if he didn’t love her? How would he even know what love was? Blood didn’t come from a stone. If the raw material wasn’t present, you couldn’t extract it. What they had was chemistry—
He tipped his head back as realization frothed up in him as quickly as bicarbonate foamed in vinegar.
One element could bond to another, forming something that wasn’t present before. He knew that as conclusively as he knew his lungs took in oxygen molecules that could attach to hydrogen and become the water that made up seventy percent of his physical body.
He and Sorcha certainly generated enough heat to support a chemical reaction.
Hell, love wasn’t a substance anyway. It wasn’t something you found and weighed. It acted like an energy, one with enormous power. Sorcha’s love wasn’t sitting within him, taking up space. It was radiating through him, like light, accelerating his own emotions.
He quite suddenly urgently wanted to be with her. His need to feel her and smell her was magnified, expanding like a supernova, wanting to swallow her into him with the understanding they’d both be stronger for the bonding.
And apparently love had the ability to slow time, because the two days before he’d be home to see her suddenly stretched like an eternity. Would she even be there? A black hole opened inside him as he understood what he’d done to her that day.
If she wasn’t there waiting for him, it meant that he’d killed her love.
If you did love me, you’d understand how painful this is.
He did understand. He felt sick at deflecting what had been the greatest possible gift she could give him.
Moving to his phone, he quickly texted, asking if she was on her way home.
Tom wants to meet us. I’m staying for now.
Cesar’s heart stuttered in his chest.
She’d left him once before, but he wasn’t comatose in a hospital this time. He wasn’t going to let it happen again.
* * *
Everything, from the moment her mother had spilled Sorcha’s heart to being home again, where her mum said things like, “See? Falling in love with your boss isn’t a disaster,” was heart-wrenching.
Cesar didn’t love her. Sorcha told herself to be content with what she had. They were closer than they’d ever been.
But this was as far as they would go. She had to come to terms with the death of hope.
Thankfully she had her mother’s settlement package to distract her.
The biggest news had been that the mansion on the hill was being procured from the actor who’d bought it. Their old home would soon belong to her mother.
They had all debated at length about whether Mum should move into it. In the end they decided it didn’t matter how anyone in the village reacted. They had all learned to live with judgment long ago. If that was the home her mother loved, she ought to live there if she wanted to.
That set the groundwork for her mother to hire a manager to keep her existing house open for lodgers and its modest income.
She kept saying that with that income, she didn’t need anything more than the settlement she’d been entitled to in the first place.
Sorcha, having worked in the cutthroat business world, understood there was a time for kindness and a time when being nice got you nothing. After all they’d endured, she was not going to let her mother be talked out of one euro less than what she deserved. She had a vision of Tom Shelby swanning in and reminding her mum so much of the man she had loved that he’d soon have her signing away her claim to everything, including the house. No way was Sorcha leaving until all the t’s were crossed and i’s dotted.
Corm, bless him, suggested they meet at the pub so they felt as though they had home-turf advantage when Tom arrived. They were all quite nervous and it turned out to be a surprisingly amiable afternoon.
Tom opened with what sounded like a heartfelt apology. He explained that his mother was still alive, but in a home with dementia. He’d been a minor when their father died and his grandfather had had power of attorney. The grandfather had orchestrated the fraud, his signature was on all the papers prepared by a now dead lawyer. Tom was leaving it to a court-appointed authority to determine a fair settlement.
He was being as decent as he could be in the circumstances and Sorcha had to allow that she might have judged him too quickly in Spain. His remorse and desire to mend fences seemed very real.
“My being here is personal. I wanted to meet you properly,” he said, explaining that his—their—sister was working in South America and unable to get away, but was hoping to meet them soon. “Given the way I met Sorcha... That was a terrible shock,” he said, patting a warm—yes, it was even brotherly—hand over hers. “I’m so sorry for that. I must have struck you as incredibly callous. I had heard a rumor my father had children in Ireland, but as you can imagine, it was never discussed. When Cesar pulled me aside and told me... I wanted to speak to you then, but he said it wasn’t the time. He was so livid I was glad to get away with my life. Honestly,” he said with an earnest nod as Sorcha’s sisters giggled. “But I— Oh, hello. Speak of the devil.”
Tom picked up his hand off Sorcha’s.
“What? Oh!” Sorcha turned in her seat to see her husband striding through the pub toward them, hair damp and tousled by the weather, cheeks lightly stubbled in that rugged way he liked to wear his beard. He wore a rain-speckled suit and his eyes had dark bruises under them.
Her heart soared in excited reaction.
He stopped at the far end of the table and Sorcha was aware of the entire establishment quieting.
Speaking of livid, she thought as he looked at her. Was he angry she hadn’t come home? He was acting like a bloody dictator, if that’s why he was here, but honestly, what was wrong with her that she was so darned happy to see him even when he looked so grim?
She wasn’t mentally prepared to face him, though. She had married him in a state of delusion, believing she could somehow reach his heart, but she didn’t know how to resume their marriage now that the reality of his locked heart had been shown to her so bluntly.
Enrique squawked and Cesar dragged his gaze from predatory fixation on her to soften as he looked at his son. He took the boy from his auntie’s lap and gave him a little toss into the air, kissing his cheek, then winked one eye against the baby’s happy tap of his open hands against his face.
“I’m excited to see you, too. But I need to talk to your mother. Angela, would you mind?” He handed Enrique to Sorcha’s mum, who agreed to take custody of her grandson with the special adoring blink she reserved for Cesar.
Then he held out a hand in Sorcha’s direction. And because he was that arrogant and she was that obedient, she got to her feet on his wordless command.
He said to Tom in a very ominous tone, “You know, of course, that nothing said at this table has any legal bearing?”
“I do know that,” Tom said with a faint, dry smile. “Your wife said the exact same thing the moment I arrived.”
Cesar looked at her. “I’ve always taken you for a soft touch.”
“I can be cold-blooded and practical when necessary,” she said, adding in a joke that fell flat, “I learned it from the best.”
Cesar’s eyes narrowed in a look he might give a mortal adversary. “I’ve booked us into the hotel. Call if he needs us,” he said with a nod at Enrique and pulled her away without even her purse.
The hotel was down the block and across the street, just far enough to keep them from talking as they ran through the rain, trying not to get soaked. At the desk, the same woman who’d given Sorcha the dirty look last time lifted supercilious brows as Cesar told her he had a room reserved.
As he took the key, he said to the woman, “My father is Javiero Montero y Salazar, el Excelentísimo Señor Grandeza de España. I’m his eldest son. That means I and my wife will be the Duke and Duchess of Castellon one day. That sort of thing seems to impress your management, given that we’re in the suite you reserve for royalty and you hang photos of titled guests on the wall.” He pointed at the framed and signed snapshot of an actor who’d been knighted. “Your bad manners reflect on you, not us. Do I need to have this conversation with your employer?”
“No, sir,” the woman said, eyes wide, voice mousy.
He didn’t say another word, just tugged Sorcha up to their room.
As he pressed the door closed and threw the key on the side table, she said, “Do I finally get to ask what you’re doing here?”
She was shaking and hoped he put it down to shivers at wearing damp clothes.
“Where should I be? Sitting in our empty house, waiting for you?” He threw off his wet jacket and moved to fetch a pair of towels from the powder room, handing one to her. “I had the feeling you weren’t planning on coming back for a while. Is that true?”
She opened her mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say. “I wanted to be sure things with Tom were okay,” she lied. “These are the first contracts and legal briefs Mum’s ever read. I want to go over them with her so I know she understands what she’s signing.”
“And then you were going to come home?” Cesar persisted.
Home. Her heartstrings plucked. This village where her family lived had always been home. That house on the hill had been home and could be again.
But home was a villa in Spain. Her heart knew that.
“Sorcha—”
“Don’t be angry with me!” she said, pressing her towel to her face, then opening it across her shoulders and hugging it around her wet shirt and over her damp hair. “I know you weren’t raised with love. To love. I know it’s a foreign concept to you, but I hoped, okay? I hoped for three years that you would fall in love with me and you didn’t. In fact, you were going to marry someone else and I couldn’t watch it. So I tried to leave and—”
“You’ve always loved me,” he said, tossing his towel after his jacket and folding his arms. “Did you tell me that day? In Valencia?”
“Maybe,” she mumbled. “I might have whispered it after we made love and I thought you were asleep.”
He was looking at her like he always did when the topic of That Day came up. Like he wanted to drill inside her head and take possession of the memories she held just beyond his reach.
“And you haven’t said anything all this time because...?”
“Because of this!” She waved between them. “If you had ever loved anyone, Cesar, you would know how painful this is. To love someone and feel like you can’t have them is excruciating!” She threw the towel away and hugged herself, cold and miserable and feeling pitiful.
“Would it feel anything like waking in a hospital and knowing there was one person you wanted to see, only one person who could possibly ground you, one person who would act like they gave a serious damn about you almost dying, then hear that she had quit and left the country? Would it feel something like that, Sorcha?”
She eyed him. Was this a trick?
“Did you really feel like that?” she asked faintly. “Because I kept telling myself you’d call if...” She shrugged. “Diega chased me off, you know that.”
“I didn’t then. All I knew was that you were gone and I was so angry...” He shook his head as if just the memory of how incensed he had been still had the power to steal his speech.
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I wanted to be there.”
He shrugged, both acceptance and dismissal in the gesture. “I didn’t think you would come because you loved me. I thought you would come because you’re Sorcha.”
She had to smile at that, thinking there was a compliment buried in there even though she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.
“You’re right about love being foreign to me. My parents are...the way they are. Mother came from a title without money. She had to marry well and bring her family back into the class she thought she belonged in. My father? Honestly, I suspect he’s one of those genius savants who doesn’t feel emotions like the average person. The one time I let myself grow fond of someone, to trust in friendship—not love, but friendship—I was kicked in the face. Do you know when I finally began to understand what love looked like? What it was?”
She shook her head.
“The day your niece went missing. You were upset beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. I get it now, of course. If Enrique somehow disappeared... I can’t even say the words without my heart rate climbing. But that day I understood that you loved that little girl and I could see what it would cost you if she didn’t turn up. It was not a good advertisement for love. It was a terrifying caution against it.”
“But you love Enrique, don’t you?” she asked anxiously. That much she needed to hear.
“So much.” His breath left him and his shoulders slumped in a kind of bemused defeat. “I can’t imagine if the baby swap had happened and we didn’t have him. Or if it hadn’t happened and I didn’t know about him at all. I should have said this sooner, Sorcha, but thank you. Thank you for having my son and bringing him into my life. He is, well, Rico said it best the other day. Enrique is the most important thing I have ever made. Thank you for making him with me.”
A rush of emotion filled her eyes and made her sniff. At the same time, she had to wonder, if he loved his son... What about her? Could he not love her a little?
“I feel that way about him, too,” she began, voice tight. “And I can’t deny him his father or his birthright, but I don’t know what to do about us. I’ll come back to Spain, I will, but I’m going to need time.”
“Sorcha.” He came forward to take her hands. His were warm and hers chilly. He frowned at her cool fingers and pressed her hands between his own. “I’ll never know what I said to Diega or why I crashed, but I am convinced that I went to tell her I couldn’t marry her. I think I realized that day that I loved you, too.”
“You don’t have to say that,” she said in a husky voice. “I already said I’d come back.”
“No.” He squeezed her hands. “What I’m feeling right now? It isn’t easy to articulate, but it’s right. I woke up from that crash and I was angry. Angry that I couldn’t remember, angry that you were gone. Angry that I was marrying a woman I didn’t want. Then the London hospital called and a million feelings hit me. Confusion and shock and—”
“More anger,” she said.
“Relief,” he said after a shrug of acceptance. “That I didn’t have to marry Diega. That I would see you again. Lust,” he said wryly and adjusted his grip so he held each of her hands cradled in each of his, thumbs drawing circles in her palms. “I don’t do well in any sort of weakened position, you know that. I won’t let anyone take advantage of me and since my crash, I’ve had this giant vulnerability of lost time. But once you were back in my life I began to feel I was coming back onto an even keel. I didn’t see how much you meant to me. I admit that. There’s been a lot to adjust to. Fatherhood, for one.”
She nodded, unable to argue with that.
“But when you said you loved me, I was happy, Sorcha. I haven’t been happy since...” He narrowed his eyes. “Since before my mother started pushing me to formalize my engagement. Do you know why I worked such late hours when you were at the office with me? Because you were at the office with me. Now I want to be home. Because that’s where you are. Actually, now you’re in Ireland and guess where I am?”
She pressed her lips to keep them from trembling. His face was blurring and she sniffed. “You’re not just saying that?”
“When have you ever known me to be sentimental for the sake of it? Sorcha, I love you.”
She sniffed again and threw her arms around him. “I love you, too.”
“Finally,” he groaned, tightening his arms around her.
“I love you so much.” She started to cry.
“No, mi amor,” he murmured, catching her up then sitting her in his lap as he lowered to the sofa. “Please don’t cry.”
“Happy tears,” she assured him, arms around his neck. Kissing his throat. “Happy, happy, happy.”
He cradled the side of her face and covered her mouth, kissing her sweetly. Lovingly. Then he looked into her eyes. “I’m happy, too. I didn’t know love could feel like this. So beautiful. So right. I adore you, mi amor. Stay with me always.”
“I will,” she promised.
