by Dani Collins
“Is that a trick question?” He lifted a brow, one that made her realize she didn’t want to hear how attractive he found other women right now. Probably not ever. “I expected someone more hardened is all I’m saying.”
“No, Kiara’s a very gentle sort.” Scarlett latched on to thoughts of her friend, the one person in her life who at least tried to be supportive. “She’s very loving with Aurelia. She’s an artist. An extraordinary one.” Scarlett had always been envious of Kiara’s creativity. Her own life had necessitated she become starkly practical. Any ingenuity she possessed was confined to spreadsheet formulas or a database programming language. “Her first gallery show is in Paris in a few weeks.”
Scarlett knew she wouldn’t be able to attend. A deeper melancholy stalked her, one stemming from the fact that she and Kiara had both known their lives would change after Niko passed. They had talked about it in hushed tones while sitting at Niko’s bedside, wondering what would happen once Val and Javiero knew about their children.
Maybe nothing will change. Maybe they won’t care, Kiara had said in a whisper at one point.
They had joked that staying on the island, raising their children as a celibate same-sex couple might have its perks. At least the toilet seat would always stay down.
They both desperately wanted the fathers of their children to bond with their babies, though, no matter what that meant for their own futures.
“When I asked how Kiara seemed, I meant with Val. Was she upset? How did he seem to be taking the news about Aurelia?”
“I have no idea. It was all I could do to be civil to him. I turned them away and came back up here.”
“You turned her away? I can’t make you like your brother, Javiero, but I expect you to be nice to Kiara. From the time I told her I was pregnant, she’s only ever been happy for me, even though she knew it meant Aurelia’s portion of Niko’s fortune would instantly be cut in half. She and I have always agreed we would never behave like your mothers. We won’t fight over that money.”
Her superiority was wasted.
“She can have it, as far as I’m concerned,” he said flatly.
“Really? Because the conversation I overheard made it sound like you were anxious to get your hands on it.”
A chill like the creeping fingers of frost emanated off him to invade and stall her heart.
“What you heard was the lifetime of ravenous insecurity Niko instilled in my mother with his cruel dangling of that money only to snatch it away. His fortune has caused so much pain and strife for me and people I care about, I refuse to poison my son with a cent of it.”
She really had underestimated his hatred of his father. It made going to him nine months ago seem almost an act of maliciousness, embroiling him further in Niko’s affairs rather than allowing him the clean break he obviously preferred.
Recognizing that left her shaking at her core, but she had to make the situation clear. “It’s not your choice whether Locke gets it. Niko’s assets will be managed under a trust until Locke and Aurelia are old enough to decide what they want to do with their portion. There’s an allowance for me to support him—”
“I will support you and Locke.”
Scarlett licked her chapped lips.
“We can discuss that if it’s important to you, but I don’t expect you to support us. I might not have told you about my pregnancy, but I never intended to keep you from your son or use him to get anything from you. I have the means to give him an excellent life. Along with my allowance, I draw a salary for managing the trust. Plus, Kiara and I have the use of the villa. There’s a stipulation to maintain its staff and upkeep. Any material support you offer is strictly at your discretion.”
“I won’t live on the island and neither will he,” Javiero pronounced with every ounce of the implacable, single-minded stubbornness she’d witnessed in him over the years. “Your allowance can stay in the bank. You’re coming to Madrid and I’ll provide everything. You won’t need to work, either. We’re getting married as soon as it can be arranged.”
* * *
A nurse heard their voices and came in to check on them. Gently she encouraged Javiero to return to his hotel, insisting Scarlett needed her rest.
Scarlett tried to sleep, but Javiero’s pronouncement pressed on her, making it hard to breathe. She couldn’t marry him. It wasn’t just about fighting for her right to control Niko’s fortune—which she would do—or how thoroughly marriage would impact the freedom she had finally been granted by Niko’s death. There were things in her past that Javiero and his mother definitely did not want to be connected to. Things she didn’t want to confess to if she could avoid it.
They didn’t circle back to his proposal—could she call it a proposal?—until the following day. Javiero arrived in time to speak to her doctor as he was making his rounds.
“I’ve arranged for a private nurse. Will that be sufficient to discharge them early so they can travel to Spain with me?” Javiero asked. “We’ll hire a nanny once we’re in Madrid,” he added in an aside to Scarlett. “I have a designer working on plans for the formal nursery, but a temporary one is being organized for our arrival.”
“A formal nursery. Like, one where ball gowns and tails will be worn?” Scarlett wasn’t sure where the sarcasm came from, but he’d put her on the defensive with his railroading tactics. That sort of behavior had been standard with Niko but, among other good reasons to tolerate his bullish tendencies, he had paid her salary.
Javiero gave her a sharp look but didn’t respond. He listened carefully as the doctor promised to check with the pediatrician, who was likely to agree to early release so long as she had proper care.
The doctor left and Scarlett folded her arms across the draped front of the pretty print dress Javiero had arranged to be delivered first thing this morning. He had ordered her a small wardrobe from a shop that specialized in maternity wear and clever styles for nursing mothers. He’d also organized a kit of newborn items, a top-of-the-line infant car seat and a basket of personal care items made with organic ingredients.
Since Scarlett had been admitted without so much as a toothbrush, she had been grateful. This morning’s shower and new clothes were a step toward feeling like her old self.
Since her old self knew how to hold her ground when she had to, she put on her unfazed expression and her most matter-of-fact tone. “Niko is no longer at the island villa. There’s no reason you shouldn’t come wi—”
“No,” he cut in.
She had known it was a long shot; still, she bit back a sigh.
“You said you weren’t intending to shut me out of his life,” he reminded.
“I’m not,” she assured him. “I want you to have as much opportunity to bond with Locke as I have. I just thought we would spend time discussing all the options open to us, then make a decision jointly, not crash straight into the train wreck of a loveless marriage.”
“The fact we’re not lying about our feelings is the reason it won’t derail at the first pebble on the tracks.”
“And your feelings are?” she prompted, holding tight to a blasé expression while her lungs seized on either side of her trembling heart.
“Unashamed,” he said in a level tone. “But protective. I would have married you immediately if you’d informed me sooner.”
“People don’t care about illegitimacy these days,” she argued.
“Some do. Val was teased partly because his mother’s affair with our father was such a notorious scandal. I didn’t participate or encourage it. I fight my own battles with him,” he said, as though it was important to clarify. “And I didn’t come away unscathed. I was mocked for being schooled alongside my bastard half brother. So you and I will do whatever is expected to ensure Locke doesn’t needlessly suffer. On that note...” He reached into his pocket. “My team informs me it’s customary these days for new mothers
to receive a ‘push present.’” He held out the square velvet box.
“Resorting to bribery?” She shoved her fists deeper under her elbows. “You gave me clothes. Flowers.” She indicated the obscenely extravagant bouquet.
“And this.” He opened the box, revealing a necklace of intricate platinum links. It held a charming pendant shaped like a padlock with diamonds inset in the hasp and around the keyhole. A miniature skeleton key hung next to it, lined with diamonds with a blue-for-a-boy sapphire decorating its head.
It was too beautiful to refuse, too extravagant to accept.
“It seemed appropriate.” A hint of gruffness entered his tone. “But if you want something else—”
“No! It’s beautiful. But I didn’t expect anything.” She didn’t know how to reject it gracefully so she spoke the truth. “Accepting it makes it seem as though I really did get pregnant to enrich myself.” She bit her lip in misery.
The corner of his mouth twitched in cynical agreement, the small action like a flick of a whip against the center of her heart.
“Your motive doesn’t matter. You did the work,” he said darkly, none of yesterday’s solicitude in his demeanor.
“I did the work so I could have a son, not so I could have that.”
His mouth tightened. “Nevertheless, inquiring minds expect you to wear it.” Carefully he drew the necklace from its nest and circled his finger to indicate she turn around.
She remained facing him, her chin jutting out with hurt.
“Paparazzi are gathering outside. That’s why I requested the early departure.”
“To Spain,” she choked. “I’m supposed to go with a perfect stranger—”
“Far from perfect. I’m sure we agree on that.”
“Well, you’re strange enough I don’t want to marry you!”
A thundering silence crashed between them, so voluminous it should have knocked their sleeping son from his bed. Her internal heat became embarrassment. Shame.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” she mumbled, looking to her feet in the low sandals he had provided her. Forceful he might be, but he wasn’t stingy. Or repulsive. “I’m not saying I would never marry you. Just that we should wait to make that decision.”
“After you see what can be accomplished with cosmetic surgery?” His crooked lips gave a cynical twist.
“After you quit thinking my motives are purely materialistic and superficial.” She fought to make herself understood. “We don’t know each other, Javiero. I know a version of you that your father told me. You know nothing about me.” Once he did, he would thank her for refusing him.
“We’ll learn. Marriage isn’t complicated. Like any partnership, you bring your strengths to the table and work toward advancing mutual interests.”
Was that how he had regarded his engagement? She’d been informed that his arranged union was about financial compatibility, not affection or passion. It had still made her sick to contemplate him being tied to another woman. Sleeping with her.
He wasn’t offering love here, either. That shouldn’t sting when it was unrealistic, given the circumstances. They really were strangers, but she’d like him to like her. To want to like her at least.
She cleared that yearning from her throat.
“What I know about partnerships is that they require compromise.” As opposed to being controlled by your husband until you were too exhausted to fight anymore, the way her mother had been by her father. “I’ll agree to go with you to Madrid. In return, you agree to hold off on marriage.”
“No.” Just that. The same aggravatingly pitiless refusal he’d always given her.
She wasn’t Niko’s envoy any longer though. This was about her and her son. She narrowed her eyes and tightened her ponytail.
“If we ever marry, I want Kiara and Aurelia there.” On that, she would not budge.
His expression hardened, exactly the reaction she expected.
“You don’t have family?”
“I do, but...” If she thought her mother would come, she would make the arrangements. The rest of her family was a wedding photo he didn’t want. “We’ll discuss the guest list if we agree to marry—which I haven’t. I have my hands full, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Locke had begun to fuss so she picked him up and sank into the rocking chair, but that wasn’t the reason an unsteady wobble accosted her stomach. What if he agreed?
“What do you really want?” he asked grimly. “This isn’t about a guest list.”
“No, it’s not,” she allowed shakily. “I want you to trust me.”
He snorted, telling her how far-off that was.
Which was the crux of her reluctance, and each time she pushed back, she undermined what little regard he might have for her. It made a future with him impossible.
“Let’s table marriage until we see how we get along as parents,” she said in a conciliatory tone. “We may decide killing each other is preferable to sharing our lives.”
“I’ll table it until we get to Madrid.” He moved behind the rocker and stuck his foot in the rail so the chair stopped moving. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.
“I don’t want to delay the rest of our arrangements with an argument I’ll win.” The pendant flashed in front of her eyes, then settled as a cool weight against the base of her throat. His fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of her nape and his hand nudged against her ponytail, sending a sensual tingle across her scalp and down the front of her chest.
She hugged Locke to breasts that began to ache.
Javiero moved in front of her and centered the pendant. His smile pulled at the scar across his lip and became more of a sarcastic sneer. “Compromise is fun.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SCARLETT STILL HAD a thousand concerns about her future with Javiero, but she wanted to coparent in good faith. She climbed aboard the private jet that would fly them to Spain.
She thought she would finally see Casa del Cielo, the Rodriguez estate south of Madrid. The sprawling villa had been featured in architectural magazines and overlooked hills covered in wine grapes. His family owned properties in Valencia and Seville, too, obtained generations ago and retained by the skin of their teeth after Paloma’s divorce from Niko.
All Javiero’s estates were profitable and worth millions now, but the bulk of their fortune had always been in telecom, energy and infrastructure. The corporate offices for those were in Madrid, ten minutes from the family apartment in the city center.
The scene of the crime, as it were.
As they arrived, she thought back to the first time she’d met Javiero here. Paloma was too proud to ask Niko for money, but Evelina had demanded funds once or twice a year. Niko had never simply transferred a balance. He had liked to make a statement of his “generosity” and use his supposed benevolence as an opportunity to lure his sons back into the fold.
Mere weeks into her employment, Scarlett hadn’t yet realized the murky history between all the players. Niko had sent her to Evelina first—a stunning, scorpion of a woman whose son hadn’t even bothered to show up for the meeting although Scarlett had gone to great lengths to accommodate his schedule.
Then she had arrived here expecting to meet Paloma, but the broad-shouldered, square-jawed Javiero had opened the door. He’d been unhurried, shirt open at his swarthy-skinned throat, charming and hospitable as he invited her in—yet intimidating as he issued an order that had somehow come across as an understated threat.
“Never approach my mother directly again. Come to me first with anything Niko wishes to convey. I will decide if she needs to hear it. And don’t get your feminist feathers in a ruffle.” A cynical smile had widened his masculine lips as she sat straighter. “I’m protecting her from a conscienceless tyrant, not controlling her. How do you come to work for such a monster? Do you need help? Blink twice.”
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She’d been stunned, utterly out of her depth; her blood felt thick in her veins, her skin oversensitive, and her entire being throbbed with a sensual beat. Somehow, she’d stammered into her spiel about Niko wishing to entail Javiero’s birthright on him with the caveat he come to Greece to claim it.
“No,” Javiero had stated before she’d even finished.
Minutes later, he’d dismissed her. She’d left feeling as though she’d barely escaped with her life, yet she’d been brimming with excitement and sexual fantasies.
The handful of meetings she’d had with him in the next five years had all been held here in this six-bedroom residence. It was a stunning home that took up the top floor of a complex built in the 1800s. The ornate decor reflected its history, but the building was impeccably maintained, with the layout of the minimansion airy and bright. There were three fireplaces and fully six balconies—two big enough to dine on—all of which overlooked the lush greenery of El Retiro park.
Every inch of this place became a salacious memory of that day as they entered. She had experienced the familiar, nearly irresistible pull when he’d opened the door. Her heart had plummeted then soared when he’d served the coffee himself, casually mentioning the staff had been dismissed for the day. Wicked temptation had kept her here to argue her point when she could have said her piece and left. She had been frustrated on so many levels that she had stepped into his space, pretty much daring him to make a move.
He had. He’d taken her by the shoulders and kissed her. Moments later, they had fallen onto that striped sofa before they moved into the bedroom for the most intimate type of communication. It had been silent except for words of erotic encouragement, and utterly spectacular.
Afterward, they’d showered, still barely speaking, and returned to the bed to make love again, less frantically this time. As the sun had set beyond the closed blinds, she’d insisted she had to leave, but they’d had one final, desperate, life-altering interaction right here in the foyer, against this wall.
Her soul stood outside her skin as her feet found the same spot, making her feel obvious and utterly defenseless. She searched his grim expression as he hung her jacket without removing his own.
