A Night, A Consequence, A Vow

by Angela Bissell

  With each step he’d waited for a sense of panic to set in. Instead, he felt a deep, unmitigated satisfaction. A growing certainty that he was doing the right thing.

  He answered Emily’s question. ‘Not especially.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sounded surprised. ‘Xavier’s adopted, right?’

  ‘Yes. But that’s not a factor in our relationship. We have different personalities, that’s all. Sometimes we clash.’ He closed his laptop, noting Emily’s hands fidgeting in her lap. ‘You’re nervous,’ he observed.

  ‘A bit. I’m afraid the whole family thing is rather alien to me.’

  Little wonder, he thought. She’d grown up with an absentee father and no mother. By her own account, the closest thing she’d had to a maternal influence as a child had been her grandfather’s housekeeper, who she described as an austere woman whose one saving grace had been teaching Emily to bake and cook.

  ‘Have you heard from your father?’

  She shook her head, her mouth turning down, and Ramon knew a fierce desire to find Maxwell Royce and hurt him. The man’s daughter was pregnant and engaged and he hadn’t bothered to return her calls. Out of courtesy, Ramon had left a message on his phone the day before the engagement was made official, but Royce hadn’t responded.

  ‘Why The Royce?’ he asked, voicing a question that had been lodged in his brain like an annoying burr for weeks.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re smart, dedicated, hard-working. You could have done anything,’ he said. ‘Chosen any number of professions. Why carve out your career there?’

  Colour swept her cheeks. ‘When I inherited half of the club, I had no choice but to step up.’

  ‘But you devoted yourself to The Royce long before then.’

  She frowned. ‘It’s my family’s business.’ A defensive edge crept into her voice. ‘Why wouldn’t I get involved?’ Her expression became shuttered. Averting her face, she looked out of the window at a bank of solid cloud, effectively ending the conversation. But, slowly, her gaze came back to his. ‘Actually, there’s more to it than that...’ She hesitated, her throat moving around a tight swallow. ‘I think, in the beginning, I was looking for some kind of connection.’

  ‘To your father?’

  ‘Yes. And to my grandfather. I wasn’t close to either one of them, but they were the only family I had. Working at The Royce gave us some common ground. I suppose I wanted to prove myself. To earn their respect. Their attention.’

  Ramon felt a tugging deep in his chest. No young person should have to earn attention from a parent. His dislike of Maxwell Royce strengthened.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked, swiftly diverting the focus from herself. ‘You gave up an architectural career to join your family’s business. Do you miss being an architect?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ he hedged. ‘I often have a hand in the design and renovation of the clubs and properties under my purview, so I still get to dabble.’

  ‘It must be amazing to have a creative talent.’ Her voice was wistful.

  ‘You don’t see yourself as creative?’

  ‘Not really.’ She wrinkled her perfect nose. ‘The most creative I get is baking.’

  ‘I like it when you bake.’

  She gave him a pert look. ‘Correction. You like it when I bake in my underwear.’

  He couldn’t hold back a grin. On impulse, he reached for her left hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles—just above the glittering diamond that proudly proclaimed to the world she was his. A smile softened her face and his mood lightened. Perhaps, with Emily by his side, he wouldn’t find this weekend with his family too painful.

  * * *

  Emily sensed a dark storm of tension building within Ramon from the second the jet’s wheels touched down in Barcelona. During the flight he’d been happy to talk and their conversation had distracted her from her nerves. Now, as they travelled in the back of a chauffeur-driven SUV to his parents’ villa, he was silent and brooding.

  Did he not get along with his family? The thought sent a shaft of dismay through her. If his relationship with them was strained, how would they receive her? Would they welcome her as a daughter-in-law? Or would she be the scarlet woman who’d trapped their son into marriage by getting herself pregnant?

  She looked at the enormous rectangular diamond that glittered on her ring finger. Set in platinum and flanked by two sapphires and clusters of smaller diamonds on either side, it was a beautiful piece of artistry which had drawn a shocked gasp from her when he’d slipped it onto her finger. But after three days it still felt heavy and unfamiliar on her hand—as alien and disconcerting as the experience of meeting his family was going to be.

  Her stomach threatening to rebel again, she rummaged in her handbag for a piece of crystallised ginger and popped it in her mouth.

  Twenty minutes and three pieces of ginger later, their driver turned off the road and drove between two massive gated pillars. A long tree-lined driveway dappled with early-evening sunlight eventually opened onto lush, colourful gardens and led to a circular courtyard at the front of a magnificent two-storey villa. Before the vehicle had stopped, the villa’s big front door swung open and a slender, casually dressed woman emerged.

  She was beautiful. A generation older than Emily, but still trim and fit-looking in white trousers and a simple sleeveless burnt orange top. Dark chin-length hair streaked with the odd strand of grey was tucked behind her ears, revealing a stunning bone structure that bore such a striking resemblance to Ramon’s, Emily knew at once that this was Elena de la Vega, his mother.

  She smiled broadly as they exited the vehicle, then stepped towards her son, her arms extended. She spoke to him in Spanish and Emily didn’t understand the words, but she heard affection in the older woman’s voice, and saw the shimmer of restrained tears in her eyes. Her emotion, so visible and patently heartfelt, made Emily’s chest squeeze. But when mother and son embraced, Ramon was stiff, the hug he gave his mother awkward-looking in spite of Elena’s obvious delight at seeing her son.

  Emily had no time to dwell on the odd dynamic. Elena turned, clasped Emily’s hands in both of hers and squeezed. ‘And you are Emily,’ she declared, her English accented but perfect. Her eyes shone, a rich shade of caramel-brown like her son’s. ‘It is a great pleasure to meet you.’

  ‘And you, Mrs de la Vega.’

  ‘Elena,’ she insisted. ‘My goodness, you are beautiful.’ She touched Emily’s cheek, her eyes glistening again. ‘Come.’ She motioned them towards the villa. ‘Vittorio has been feeling breathless today so he’s resting in the salon before dinner. But he is looking forward to seeing you both.’

  As they headed indoors, Ramon placed his palm in the small of Emily’s back and murmured in her ear. ‘My mother can get a little over-emotional.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she whispered, wondering why he felt the need to apologise. Elena de la Vega was delightful.

  Vittorio de la Vega turned out to be a tall, commanding man who looked reasonably well, despite the heart problems Ramon had briefly mentioned on the plane. He greeted his son with a firm handshake, then welcomed his future daughter-in-law with an infusion of warmth similar to his wife’s, if less effusive. After kissing Emily on both cheeks, he politely enquired about their journey, then offered her a choice of non-alcoholic beverages. The subtle deference to her pregnancy made her blush, but she saw no outward sign of judgement or disapproval.

  ‘Have you set a wedding date?’

  Elena posed the question the moment they were all settled on comfortable sofas in the beautiful, high-ceilinged salon.

  ‘Elena,’ Vittorio gently chided. He sent Emily an apologetic look. ‘You must forgive my wife. She can be very excitable.’

  Elena flicked an elegant hand, unperturbed. ‘I’ve recently discovered I’m getting a daughter-in-law and a grandchild. I think a little excitement is perfectly acceptable.’ Her warm smile encompassed both Emily and her son. ‘You’ll want to get married befor
e the baby arrives, yes?’

  ‘When we decide on a date, you’ll be the first to know, Mamá,’ Ramon said.

  If Elena found her son’s tone a little too sharp, she gave no indication. She addressed Emily. ‘Your mother must be very excited.’

  Emily stiffened, her gaze shifting to Ramon. Had he told his family nothing about her? He covered her hand with his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, his eyes offering a form of apology. To Elena, she said, ‘My mother died when I was born. I never knew her.’

  ‘Oh, my dear.’ Dismay clouded the older woman’s eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She was silent, as though taking a moment to respect the depth of Emily’s loss. Then, ‘I would not wish to intrude but, if you need help with planning for the wedding or the baby, I would love nothing more. You may already know that Ramon and Xavier don’t have a sister, so I’ve missed out on all the exciting girl things. I would have loved a daughter...’ Her gaze flicked to her son. ‘But when Ramon came along, he was our miracle. We couldn’t have expected another.’

  Ramon didn’t say anything, but the slight tightening of his hand over hers betrayed the sudden flare of tension in his body. She glanced at him again, but his face was impassive. Unreadable. Hiding her confusion, she smiled at Elena. ‘Thank you. I’d appreciate that. I think I’m going to need all the help I can get.’ And then, because Ramon’s ill humour was starting to unsettle her, she remarked on the splendour of the villa and asked Elena for a tour.

  Less than an hour later, they sat down to dinner at one end of a long table in a sumptuous formal dining room.

  ‘Xavier couldn’t join us tonight,’ Elena said, her tone apologetic. ‘But he’ll be here tomorrow.’

  Vittorio poured wine for the table and a sparkling grape juice for Emily. ‘Have you been to Barcelona before?’

  ‘No. This is my first time in Spain.’

  Elena clapped her hands together. ‘Oh! That’s very exciting. You have so much to see! Ramon, where will you take her first?’

  For the first time since they’d walked off the plane, a relaxed smile curved his mouth. ‘Barri Gòtic,’ he said.

  ‘Ah. Marvellous,’ Elena enthused. ‘The old city is magnificent.’

  From then on the conversation remained light and flowed throughout the meal. With her nausea gone and the tension dissipated, Emily was able to enjoy the fabulous food served over three courses to the table by a trio of discreet, efficient waiting staff. As the evening grew late, however, she found herself stifling a series of yawns.

  ‘I believe my fiancée needs to retire.’

  Ramon’s statement elicited a small start of surprise from Emily. Was he really so attuned to the subtleties of her body language? And there she’d been, thinking her efforts to hide her tiredness had been rather stellar.

  ‘Of course.’ Elena cast her a sympathetic look. ‘You must go and rest. We will have plenty of time over the weekend to talk.’

  Upstairs, the suite she and Ramon had been allocated was enormous and just as resplendent as the rest of the villa. Emily dropped onto the end of the majestic four-poster bed, sighed and kicked off her low-heeled sandals. ‘Your parents are lovely, Ramon.’

  He stripped off his shirt and she admired the impressive expanse of hard muscle and smooth skin. She didn’t think she’d ever tire of gazing at his magnificent body. He was truly breathtaking. He toed off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. ‘They’re good people.’

  Emily dragged her gaze away from his taut, flat stomach and that tantalising downward arrow of dark hair. ‘But...?’ she said softly.

  He paused. ‘But what?’

  She hesitated. ‘Did I just imagine the tension earlier?’

  He shrugged. ‘No family is perfect, Emily.’

  Brows tugging together, she opened her mouth to ask why he was being cryptic, but he turned away, shed the rest of his clothing and then straightened to face her.

  Emily’s mouth dried.

  Not only was he standing naked before her...he was erect. Proudly, gloriously erect. Liquid heat pooled between her legs.

  Struggling to remember the gist of their conversation, she forced her gaze up. ‘Is this your best attempt to avoid talking?’

  One corner of his sinful mouth curled. He tipped her chin up. ‘Sleep or sex, Emily?’

  If she said sleep, he would leave her alone. Respect her need for rest. But suddenly rest seemed very overrated. And her nausea hadn’t recurred in several hours. What was the expression? Make hay while the sun shines? She arched an eyebrow. ‘Conversation isn’t an option?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, in that case...’

  She reached out, curled her fingers around his hot, rigid length and took him into her mouth.

  * * *

  Showing Emily the sights of Barcelona proved a more pleasurable experience than Ramon had anticipated.

  Rising early on Saturday, he borrowed one of his father’s cars and took her on a scenic coastal drive before heading into the centre of the city. They parked up and strolled along grand boulevards and winding cobblestone streets, and he realised it’d been many years since he’d allowed himself to enjoy the energy and vibrancy of the city he’d loved as a boy. Whenever he returned for business he kept his visits as short as possible. Now, as he pointed out iconic landmarks and showed her some of the city’s greatest architectural gems, he realised his designer’s eye had missed the unrivalled beauty of Barcelona with its mix of contemporary, Gothic and mediaeval design.

  Barri Gòtic, the Gothic quarter, was still a tangle of old, narrow stone alleyways and unique, interesting storefronts. Emily loved it and insisted they explore. When their stomachs growled for sustenance, he chose a traditional tapas bar with art nouveau murals on the walls, lively jazz music and a reputation for outstanding food.

  Whether from pregnancy or the excitement of discovering a new city, Emily glowed. She was beautiful—and she had charmed his parents, as he hadn’t doubted she would. His mother already adored her. More than that, her presence had been a balm of sorts, gradually easing the tension in him. The burning shame and brutal guilt he relived every time he saw his parents and which, even after twelve years, made looking his mother in the eye almost impossible.

  He reached across the table and tucked a curl behind her ear as she bit into another savoury croquette. So far today, no nausea. In fact, her appetite was exceptionally healthy, not unlike her appetite in bed last night...

  ‘Ramon?’

  Jerked from the memory of her lush mouth on him, he smiled at her, but her attention was elsewhere.

  She frowned, looking over his shoulder. ‘There’s a young man over there staring at you.’

  Twisting round, he followed the line of her gaze.

  And felt his stomach muscles clench into a sudden, violent spasm.

  Jorge.

  His spine turned to ice. He blinked, trying to shake the crazy notion from his head. It couldn’t be Jorge. Jorge was dead. Ramon knew this. He had watched him die twelve years ago.

  The lookalike stood up, started stalking towards their table and a swift bolt of recognition cleared the confusion from Ramon’s head.

  Slowly, he rose. ‘Mateo.’

  Mateo Mendoza glared at him with fierce, undiluted hatred blazing in his black eyes. He spoke in Spanish, his voice a low, belligerent snarl. ‘You’ve got a nerve showing your face around here, de la Vega.’

  Keeping his cool in the face of the younger man’s hostility, Ramon tried to remember how old Jorge’s brother had been when he’d last seen him. Twelve? Which would make him twenty-four now.

  Another man, roughly the same age, appeared at Mateo’s back. He put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and murmured something, but Mateo shook him off.

  Ramon threw a glance at Emily. A look of startled alarm had settled on her face.

  Dios.

  He didn’t want her to witness this. Didn’t want her in the middle of a situation he might not be able to control. Body tensed, alert,
he focused his attention on Mateo. ‘Whatever you want to get off your chest, Mateo,’ he growled, ‘this is not the place.’

  The younger man drew his right arm back and Ramon knew he was about to put his weight behind a punch. He could have ducked, blocked the blow; he was bigger and stronger, so he could take the other man easily. Instead, he braced his shoulders and took the full impact of Mateo’s fist on the left side of his jaw. It hurt like hell, making a cracking sound like a gunshot inside his skull.

  Emily shot to her feet. ‘Ramon!’

  ‘Sit down, Emily,’ he gritted out. He didn’t want Mateo’s attention on her.

  ‘I will not sit down!’ she cried. ‘What on earth is going on?’

  Eyes narrowed, chest heaving, Mateo trawled his gaze over her, a sneer twisting his lips.

  Ramon fisted his hands. ‘Did that make you feel better, Mateo?’ he asked drawing the other man’s attention.

  Slicing another look at Emily, Mateo jabbed a finger in Ramon’s direction. ‘This man is a murderer,’ he spat in English, and then his friend grabbed his arm and roughly dragged him out of the bar before the burly staff member who was weaving through the tables reached them.

  His heart racing, Ramon apologised for the disturbance, paid the bill and added an extra-large gratuity, then took Emily by the elbow and walked her into the street.

  In a high-pitched voice, she demanded, ‘What on earth was that about?’

  Retaining a firm hold on her arm, he headed in the direction of the car. ‘Keep walking, Emily.’

  ‘Why did you let him punch you?’

  ‘Because he was angry and needed to vent.’

  ‘By hitting you?’

  ‘I deserved it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He realised she was panting and slowed his stride a little. ‘I’ll explain later.’

  ‘He said you were a murderer.’

  Ramon clenched his teeth and winced as renewed pain shot through his jaw. ‘I heard what he said.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what he meant?’