Pearls

by Mills, Lisa

  He stared at her a moment longer before dropping his gaze to the table. “They’re not silly if that’s what you want in life.”

  “Romance?”

  “I was referring to love and marriage.”

  Isabel studied him for a moment, realizing he’d never mentioned any romantic entanglements or even shown interest in the subject. Though he didn’t have Raúl’s striking good looks, Manuel was clean-cut and attractive, certainly an eligible bachelor the ladies would notice. Figuring they knew one another well enough now, she dared to ask him a personal question. “What about you, Manuel? Are you interested in love and marriage?”

  “No.”

  She thought he answered too quickly. “Why not?”

  “I want a career. I want to travel the world and work on archaeology digs.”

  “Can’t you have both?” To Isabel the answer seemed obvious.

  “No woman would want to live in a tent half her life, traveling from one dusty, dirty location to the next. At least no woman I’ve ever met would.”

  She sensed he’d rather change the topic, but she couldn’t resist pushing just a little more. “Maybe you just need to find the right one.”

  “Maybe I’m too realistic to believe that will ever happen.”

  His voice had taken on a sharp edge that told her he wanted to drop the topic, but she had one last comment on the subject. “Well, I believe a person can have love and a career. I intend to pursue my career, and Raúl can continue his.”

  Manuel raised his dark eyebrows in question. “He’s asked you to marry him, then? You didn’t mention that before.”

  Isabel lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. “Nothing is official yet, but he loves me and I love him. Marriage is the natural course of things, so it’s just a matter of time.”

  “Quite sure of yourself, aren’t you? You have a lot to learn, little girl. Little American girl.”

  As if he’d aimed his arrow straight at her weakness, his barb pierced the most tender spot in her heart. Isabel bristled at the undeserved insult. Why must he always remind me that I don’t quite fit in? As if I didn’t suffer enough of that growing up. Scenes from her childhood flashed through her mind. Standing in line for the bus alone while the white children huddled and whispered a short distance away. Playing hopscotch by herself on the playground. Sitting at home every Friday and Saturday night because no one wanted to date the girl who was different.

  At times she hated her father for making them live in the white, conservative neighborhood where she’d spent her miserable childhood. He never seemed to understand the pain his decision caused her. Though people respected her father too much to behave in an openly cruel manner, they didn’t offer her the same respect. Her skin was darker than everyone else’s. She could speak two languages, and her mother sent unusual food in her lunchbox. She felt like the oddball, the misfit of the neighborhood, a leper at school.

  Though her escape to college had placed her in a multi-cultural atmosphere and eased some of her suffering, Isabel never healed from the wounds of her early childhood. Nor did she outgrow the feelings of inadequacy brought on by her uniqueness. By moving to Venezuela, she had hoped to find a place of acceptance, assuming she could blend into the country of her mother’s birth.

  But cultural prejudice lived and thrived on other continents too, and he seemed to relish educating her on the subject—that first day in his office when he’d informed her she did not speak with the accent of a Venezuelan, and now by insinuating that she did not understand the culture because of her American background. Too Venezuelan for America, and too American for Venezuela.

  Furious and wounded, she pushed away from the table and started to leave.

  “Isabel, wait!” He stood and grabbed her sleeve before she could escape. “I’m sorry. Look, I don’t even know why I said that. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Her eyes stinging with tears, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “It’s okay. I guess deep down I know I don’t really fit in here. You’re just stating facts, right?” Jerking away from his touch, she retreated to her room.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Isabel hurried to the pier, hoping she’d not missed Raúl. He’ll be so surprised to see me. How many times has he invited me to go on the yacht with him? She’d risen early, intending to escort her grandmother to church. But when Magdalena begged off due to a severe headache, Isabel had rushed to the sunrise service and left the church in time to meet Raúl for a day of yachting.

  Marina business was conducted in a stately clubhouse, and she stopped to inquire where she would find his yacht.

  “Slip 79,” the attendant told her.

  Isabel walked down the weathered planks of the pier, enjoying the briny scent of the ocean breeze and the warm sunshine. “73, 75, 77, here it is.” Her gaze roamed over the impressive craft. Raúl obviously took good care of the yacht because every inch of its forty-five foot length sparkled, reflecting the pristine maintenance.

  Grasping the railing, she pulled herself up the high step to the deck. The boat rolled and shifted beneath her feet, causing her to grip the rail for support until she grew accustomed to the movement of the vessel. When she found her sea legs, she removed her sandals and strolled the warm planks. The upper deck was empty, and her calls below went unanswered.

  Finding a seating niche near the stern, she sat to enjoy the sun while she waited for Raúl to arrive. Seagulls flew radical patterns above the turquoise water, and the waves lapped at the sandy coastline in a steady rhythm that soothed and comforted. It felt good to be out of the house and doing something fun for a change. As much as she loved the research and translation, she was feeling cooped up from all the hours spent hunched over the books. And besides, a weird tension had developed between her and Manuel since their spat. Hopefully a day off would remedy the situation.

  After a time, she heard voices and moved toward the bow. Just as she prepared to step out from behind the helm cabin, she caught a glimpse of the new arrivals. Ducking down behind a storage bench, she watched with morbid fascination as Raúl boarded the yacht with a stunning señorita in a tiny bikini and a flimsy cover-up that didn’t actually cover anything. The woman clung to his arm and pressed herself against his side in an unmistakable invitation. Hot jealousy flared in Isabel’s breast.

  A gust of wind carried pieces of their conversation to Isabel’s ears.

  “Yachting is a sport?” the woman asked, staring up at Raúl, her eyes framed by thick, black eyeliner.

  “To some it is. Depends on the sportsman.”

  “What kind of sportsman are you?” she purred, tipping her chin up and presenting her full lips in invitation.

  “Let me show you.”

  Horror swept through Isabel as Raúl turned to the woman and wrapped his arms around her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss, and his hands roamed along the woman’s body, leaving Isabel fiery red with shame and anger. Sickened, she turned away from the scene.

  “Come to my cabin, mi amor. Let us make some sport of our own before the other guests arrive.”

  “Let the games begin,” the woman answered in a seductive tone.

  She heard their footsteps and their intimate whispers fade away as they retreated below deck.

  Fool! Stupid, naive fool! She raged as she hastily climbed off the boat and ran back to the car she had borrowed to make the trip into the city. Abuela had tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen. Hurt and humiliated, she shut herself in the car and drove to a quiet stretch of beach where no one would observe her tears.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  From his bedroom window, Manuel saw Isabel return just before noon and wondered why she’d come home so early. She’d left him a note that morning, telling him where she intended to spend her day. He hadn’t expected to see her until nightfall. Curious, he walked toward the front entrance to greet her. When she entered, she tried to avoid his gaze, but he couldn’t help noticing her reddened eyes and pale, distraught face.

  “Is
abel?”

  She rushed past him and fled down the hallway to her room, shutting the door with a resounding thud. He followed and stood outside her room for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. Ideally, he would find Doña Montez and explain the situation to her. She would be the best choice to aid Isabel with her problems. But the older woman remained in bed with a headache, and Maria, the cook, had given Manuel stern orders not to disturb the matriarch. Concerned, he couldn’t just ignore her obvious distress. Drawing a breath for courage, he knocked on Isabel’s door.

  She answered with a tremulous, “Who is it?”

  “Isabel, are you all right?”

  “Not really.” He heard her sniffle and blow her nose.

  “I feel silly talking to your door. Can you come and tell me what’s wrong?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s humiliating.”

  “Isabel, please don’t make me stand out here all night pleading. Just open up and talk to me. We’re friends, right? Friends are there for each other. I promise you’ll feel better if you talk about it.”

  He heard her soft footfalls crossing her room and the door swung open. Her face was red and blotchy and she held a wad of tissue in one hand. “If you must know, that … that horrible man I’ve been dating, he….” A sob choked off her words.

  “He what, Isabel? Did he hurt you?” Manuel felt a surge of protectiveness as he studied Isabel’s sorrowful face, teary eyes, and drooping shoulders. She looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her, and he couldn’t help but lay a protective hand her shoulder.

  To his surprise, she moved into his arms and buried her face against his shoulder. “Raúl was with another woman on the yacht,” she sobbed, wetting his shirt with her tears. “They were kissing and touching, and—” She stopped suddenly and looked up into his face. “How could he do that to me? He’s been hinting about marriage, then I find him….” Her teeth clenched, and she pounded her fists against his chest in frustration before tears caused her to melt against him again.

  He wrapped his arms around her and held her, stroking her hair and back as she struggled with her hurt and pain. The gentle fragrance of her perfume wafted up to his nose and filled him with a heady sensation. He’d noticed how beautiful she was, but he never realized how good she’d feel in his arms. He longed to pull her tighter against him and rest his cheek against her silky hair. No you don’t, Santiago. This is not the time for that. To suppress the feelings she stirred in him, he tried to focus on a less dangerous subject. Work. Think of work. The journal project.

  Oh no, the journal project! With dismay, he realized that if Isabel and Raúl broke off their relationship, he would probably lose their only sponsor for the project. And then where would he be? He needed the money to pay his debts, and he needed the recognition he could gain from this discovery to further his career.

  He knew he was selfish to worry about money and prestige in the midst of her suffering, but there it was. Reality crashing in hard, he felt like crying right along with Isabel. Raúl’s betrayal would likely destroy both of their dreams.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Isabel cringed when she saw Raúl’s Mercedes coming down the lane to Casa Grande a week after “the incident.” The wound of his betrayal had not diminished. Instead it had festered in her heart, and she dreaded facing him. As she watched from a front window, the car rolled to a stop, and he stepped out, looking the part of a dashing, romantic hero. Why did you have to ruin what we had, Raúl? She swallowed the ache in her throat and denied herself the right to cry. Not in front of him. Nor for him.

  Drawing a deep breath, she braced herself. His knock sounded at the door, but Isabel didn’t hurry her step. She lingered in the front room for a few moments, letting him wait and wonder. His second knock brought Maria from the kitchen, but Isabel waved her away, not wanting any witnesses to the humiliating scene that would surely follow. She felt glad Abuela had taken Manuel for a guided tour of her tropical garden. She would not need to worry they’d overhear.

  Just as he rapped a third time, Isabel opened the door. He put on a winning smile and reached for her. “Mi amor,” he crooned.

  Mi amor. The pet name was more an insult than an endearment after hearing him call another woman the same thing. Isabel shrugged away from his touch and moved to stand beyond the half-opened door, out of his reach. She greeted him with cold, unwelcoming silence.

  His smile faded. “Isabel? Is something wrong?” He placed a well-manicured hand against the door and pressed it open a little wider. “You look pale. Are you sick?”

  “You could say that.” She turned and walked toward the living room, leaving him to decide whether or not to follow her.

  The door clicked shut, and she heard his steps on the tile behind her. In the living room, she avoided the couch and chose a chair made for one. Her choice brought a frown to his features, one she understood all too well. He liked to touch her and hold her. Recent events had helped her realize how much he influenced and controlled her with physical contact. He would pet her and she would melt, push aside whatever concerns she had, ignore her instincts in order to keep his affection—the perfect recipe for a dysfunctional relationship. Well, no more.

  Looking mildly perturbed, he seated himself on the end of the couch nearest her. “I have been unable to contact you for days, and you’ve not returned my messages. Do you know how your absence affects me, Isabel? I am lost without you.” He moved to lay a hand on her knee, but she shifted so her legs were out of his reach. Surprise flickered over his features at her silent rebuff. “What is it, mi amor? Why do you pull away from me?”

  She held her tongue for several minutes, allowing the tension to thicken and fill the air between them.

  “Isabel?”

  “I saw you.”

  A dark eyebrow quirked upward in question. He obviously did not understand, and why would he? He had been too busy fondling that woman to notice that they weren’t alone on the boat.

  “I came to the yacht on Sunday to surprise you, and I saw you with her.”

  His eyes widened with understanding, then his gaze dropped to the floor. For a moment, he had the decency to look embarrassed. But like all cads, he quickly recovered from the surprise and rallied. “Isabel, I am sorry you witnessed that indiscretion, but you must understand. The other women mean nothing to me.”

  Anger ripped through her, and every muscle in her body clenched with the surge. “Women? You’ve been with more than one?”

  He held his hands out to his sides and shrugged. “Isabel, this is the way of Venezuelan men. You will be thankful for my experience when you finally surrender to me. I am an accomplished lover.”

  Her disgust and fury grew. For the first time she saw him for what he was. You arrogant, unrepentant womanizer! “So am I supposed to thank you for being unfaithful to me? You did it to please me? Is that what you’re saying?” Isabel wanted to claw his eyes out. No wonder he was able to sweep her off her feet so easily. He’d had so much practice, and she was totally naive.

  “I am a man. You have denied me your full affections for months. How did you expect me to contain my passions?”

  She gasped in outrage and shot to her feet, ready to send him on his way.

  His hand snaked out and he grabbed her wrist, pulling her onto his lap. She fought against him, but his arms locked around her like a steel vise.

  “I could have seduced you, Isabel, or taken what I wanted at any time. You were putty in my hands. But I chose to respect your wishes, to honor you by waiting.”

  “Let go of me!” She jerked and flailed, trying to free herself.

  “I didn’t mind. It seems right that I should wait for the one I want to marry.” He hooked one hand behind her head and tried to kiss her while Isabel struggled against his advances. But she was losing the fight. He was so much stronger than she.

  “Is there a problem here?”

  Raúl’s grip loosened at the sound of th
e deep masculine voice in the doorway. Isabel leapt from his lap and backed away from him as a wounded animal might shrink from a fight. Raúl’s gaze shifted from her to the doorway, his soft, brown eyes turning hard in anger. “Mr. Santiago, your timing leaves something to be desired.”

  Manuel crossed his arms over his chest, glaring. “I’d say I have perfect timing, Raúl.”

  Isabel felt a surge of gratitude as Manuel stood his ground, playing her protector.

  Doña Montez appeared in the arched doorway beside Manuel, her back straight, black eyes flashing with outrage. “How dare you treat my granddaughter this way in my house?” For a seventy-eight-year-old woman, her grandmother proved to be very intimidating when angered.

  For the first time, Raúl lost a little of his bravado. “I uh … forgive me, Doña Montez.” He looked to Isabel, as if to ask for her help.

  Isabel lifted her chin and met his pleading look with a defiant one of her own. “Leave. Now.”

  He glanced about the room as if looking for an ally. Finding none, he walked toward the door, his back still rigid with pride.

  No one spoke until the front door clicked shut and the roar of his engine had faded from their hearing. Only then did her grandmother break the silence, her voice soft with compassion. “The blinders are off and you see with your own eyes now, Nieta. But not all men are like Raúl.” The old woman turned to stare at Manuel, a slow smile spreading across her aristocratic features. Isabel watched the color creep past Manuel’s collar and spread upward over his face.

  “I’ll leave you two to sort this out.” Manuel turned and hurried away.

  Tears burned Isabel’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks, bringing her abuela to her side. When warm, motherly arms pulled Isabel into a comforting embrace, she allowed all the pain of the last week to bubble to the surface and spill out.

  Seven

  Manuel glanced into the office. Finding it empty, he headed for the living room in search of Isabel. After the scene with Raúl, she had retreated to her bedroom to nurse her wounded heart. Though he hated to burden her with another concern, he needed to make some decisions regarding his future. As much as he would like to, he couldn’t live on hopes and dreams. He needed an income. Living off the generosity of an old woman left him feeling emasculated, and he knew he couldn’t stay at Casa Grande much longer.