‘Later,’ he repeated.
She fell silent but he sensed her gaze darting back to him, again and again, questioning. Confused. In the car, a thick, heavy silence enveloped them, Emily’s rigid posture telegraphing her anger.
He cursed under his breath.
Coming to Barcelona had been a mistake.
When they reached the villa, he stopped the car outside the front steps and kept the engine idling. ‘Go inside, Emily.’ He felt the weight of her gaze on him, but he looked straight ahead, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
‘Where are you going?’
He didn’t know. But he needed some space. He couldn’t deal with her questions right now. ‘Go inside,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Please.’
She got out and slammed the door, and he gunned the engine and drove off.
* * *
Dinner that evening was a tense, awkward affair, the empty chair beside Emily a painful reminder of the awful incident at the tapas bar.
She still had no clue what the confrontation had been about, but she knew one thing with utter, unequivocal certainty.
Her baby’s father was not a murderer.
She wished he would come back and tell her that himself. But she hadn’t seen him since he’d sped off in a cloud of gravel and dust and brooding testosterone.
Anxiety gnawed at her, diminishing her appetite for the lovely meal in front of her. Question after question tumbled through her head. Where was he? Was he okay? Why hadn’t he called? Had he been involved in an accident? Why hadn’t he returned for dinner?
Had he abandoned her?
Reading her anxiety, Elena said gently, ‘He’ll be back.’
The man seated across from her gave a derisive snort. ‘This is typical of him to run off.’
Xavier’s voice vibrated with anger and Emily gripped her knife and fork, everything within her rebelling against the notion that Ramon had ‘run off’.
He wouldn’t desert her. Not here. Like this. He could have run at any time in the last three weeks, starting from the moment she’d told him she was pregnant. He hadn’t. And she refused to believe he’d done so now.
‘I am sorry you had to witness what you did this afternoon.’ Xavier spoke to her. ‘My brother—’
‘Xavier.’ Vittorio interrupted his son. ‘Emily deserves an explanation, but I think it must come from Ramon.’
Xavier’s expression tightened, his intense, somewhat superior gaze flicking back to Emily.
Like his younger brother, he was devastatingly handsome, but far more formidable. Although they weren’t genetically related, nature had graced them both with strong, broad-shouldered physiques and stunning facial structures. The most striking contrast Emily could see was their eyes. Where Ramon’s were expressive and warm, Xavier’s were a cold, hard grey. Not unlike her own, she supposed, though hers were several shades paler and a lot less piercing.
She suppressed a shiver.
Had she been wise to tell them what had happened? When she’d gone inside, bewildered and upset, Xavier had been there with his parents and Elena had seen her stricken expression and immediately put a comforting arm around her. Before Emily had thought better of it, she’d spilled the details of the entire incident.
Distracted, she toyed with the food on her plate.
And then the sound of a car engine and gravel crunching outside had everyone surging to their feet.
Xavier threw down his napkin and stormed out first, a fierce scowl on his face.
Vittorio strode after him.
Emily made to follow, but Elena placed a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Give them a few minutes,’ she advised. ‘My boys have tempers. There might be some fireworks.’ She looped her arm through Emily’s. ‘Walk with me on the terrace.’
Emily didn’t want to walk. She wanted to go to Ramon. She wanted to check with her own eyes that he was all right. She wanted the explanation she was owed.
No sooner had they stepped onto the terrace than the arguing commenced outside the front of the villa. Raised male voices carried clearly on the still evening air and she heard Xavier, then Ramon, and his deep, familiar baritone made her heart clench in her chest. Vittorio wasn’t as loud—the mediator between his sons, she assumed. They spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, frustrating her attempts to understand. And then their voices grew muffled, suggesting they’d moved into the house and closeted themselves in a room.
Emily’s breath shuddered out, a deep sigh of despair. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’
Elena hugged Emily’s arm as they strolled. ‘I’m afraid things have been strained in our family for a long time. Ramon has struggled to move on from the past—from the mistakes he made as a boy—and he believes that, because he hasn’t done so, we haven’t either.’
Emily looked at her. ‘But you have?’
‘Of course. I love my son. I always have. I never stopped loving him—he simply stopped allowing himself to be loved.’
Why? Because he believed he didn’t deserve love? A deep ache spread through Emily’s chest.
Elena sat down on a cushioned rattan sofa and urged Emily to sit beside her. ‘Everything will be fine. You’ll see.’
Emily wished she shared the older woman’s optimism. ‘What did Xavier mean—when he said it was typical of Ramon to run off?’
Elena shook her head. ‘Pay no attention to what Xavier says. He is hard on people—himself included.’ She wrapped her hands around Emily’s. ‘Ramon is a good man. He will be a good father. Already I see changes in him I never would have imagined.’
Her heart missed a beat. ‘Really?’
Elena smiled. ‘Really.’ She squeezed Emily’s hands. ‘Sometimes all a man needs is the love of a good woman.’
Love.
Emily’s heart began to race.
Did she love Ramon?
These last few days, she had started to think she might, and the idea overwhelmed her with a wild, conflicting mix of wonder and fear.
‘I’ve only known you for twenty-four hours, Emily,’ Elena continued, ‘but I am a good judge of character. I believe you have a kind, forgiving soul. And I believe my son can learn from you.’ She cupped Emily’s cheek with her palm. ‘He fears responsibility, but not for the reasons you might think.’
‘Emily.’
Ramon’s voice stopped her breath in her lungs. In unison, she and Elena rose and turned.
Rumpled, dishevelled and still breathtakingly handsome in the khaki trousers and black tee shirt he’d worn throughout the day, he strode across the terrace.
He held his hand out to her and, after a brief hesitation, she slipped her hand into his.
His grip was firm as he turned to his mother, his demeanour stiff. ‘I apologise for my absence, Mamá.’
Elena reached up and kissed her son’s cheek. ‘Apology accepted. Now, go. Talk with Emily. You owe her an explanation.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KEEPING HER HAND firmly in his grip, Ramon led Emily into the gardens, along a lighted pathway and into a secluded alcove. Hedges and fragrant rose bushes provided privacy and, to one side, an ornate stone bench sat beneath a high, vine-covered arch.
His blood still beat furiously in his veins from his run-in with Xav.
His brother could be so sanctimonious. So self-righteous, at times.
He let go of Emily and she lifted her hand to his face.
‘Ramon...your jaw.’
He seized her wrist and pulled her hand down before she could touch him. ‘It’s just bruised.’
Frowning, she jerked her wrist free, then hugged her arms around her middle. ‘Where have you been?’
He heard the hurt in her voice and his self-hatred burned brighter. Deeper.
But he’d needed the time alone. Time to bring his emotions under control. Time to work out how to explain—how much to tell her.
All of it, his conscience cried.
‘I hadn’t planned to miss dinner,’ he said. ‘There was a road accident�
�’ Her eyes widened and he quickly added, ‘Not me. Tourists.’ A group of three young Australian holidaymakers who’d run their camper van off the coastal road and flagged him down in distress. ‘I stopped to help and waited until the emergency services arrived.’
Even upset and pale, Emily was beautiful. The mint-green knee-length dress she’d donned for dinner was fresh and feminine, showcasing a figure that was starting to show subtle signs of pregnancy. Her hair was captured loosely at her nape and he knew an overwhelming desire to sink his hands into those lustrous curls, bury his face in them and breathe deeply until her scent overtook his senses and his mind was filled with nothing but her.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the stone bench. ‘Sit, Emily.’
Her chin came up, and for a moment he thought she might refuse. Then she sighed and sat down.
He took a deep breath. ‘The young man in the tapas bar today was Mateo Mendoza,’ he said. ‘He’s the younger brother of Jorge Mendoza, my best friend during my teens.’ He drew another breath but his chest was so tight his lungs wouldn’t expand properly. ‘When we were eighteen Jorge drowned in a boating accident. Mateo blames me for his brother’s death.’
Emily stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Why?’
‘Because it was my fault.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘It was a reckless teenage escapade. There was alcohol involved. And the boat wasn’t seaworthy.’ He clenched his jaw against the surge of hated memories. The vision of Jorge’s pale, blue-lipped face as he slipped beneath the surface of the ocean, beyond Ramon’s desperate reach.
Emily turned her palms up, imploring. ‘Ramon. Please. I still don’t understand.’
‘I was the ringleader,’ he bit out. ‘And it wasn’t the first time I’d led Jorge on some reckless pursuit. His parents had already spoken to mine, expressing their concern.’
She was silent. Then, ‘Isn’t that what all teenage boys do? Push boundaries? Do reckless things?’
Her attempt to minimise his culpability only fuelled his guilt. She’d heard only half the story. He doubted her sympathy would withstand the rest. He forced himself to go on. He just wanted it out now. Over with.
‘I had a girlfriend at the time. Same age, eighteen. After Jorge’s funeral, she tried to comfort me but I was in a bad place. I didn’t want comfort, so I pushed her away, ended the relationship. I was blunt,’ he confessed. ‘Cruel, even.’ He paused, emotion rising, threatening to engulf him. His throat felt hot and thick. ‘She was upset. She went out with her friends and overdosed on a party drug. In the hospital, it was discovered she was five weeks’ pregnant.’ Shame burned his insides, hot and searing. ‘She lost the child.’
‘Oh... Ramon...’ Emily stared up at him, her features illuminated by silvery moonlight. ‘Did she know she was pregnant?’
‘No.’
Emily stood up, took a step towards him. ‘Which means you didn’t, either.’
He frowned. ‘That doesn’t exonerate me.’
‘Of what?’ she challenged. ‘Ending a relationship? That’s not a crime, Ramon.’
He hardened his jaw. ‘My actions were callous and irresponsible.’
‘That doesn’t make you a murderer.’
‘I killed my best friend and my unborn child,’ he grated.
She placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘You don’t really believe that. I don’t believe that. You were just a teenager.’
‘I was old enough to know better. I was reckless. Careless with the lives of the people I cared about. I hurt Jorge’s family. I hurt my girlfriend’s family. I hurt my family.’
Emily moved closer and he wanted to push her away. Urge her to protect herself. Protect their child.
From him.
‘You’re a good man, Ramon.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Yes,’ she argued, tilting her chin up. ‘I do. When I told you I was pregnant, you could have run. You could have abandoned me. You didn’t. You’re standing by my side. By our child’s side.’
‘Don’t paint me as a saint, Emily,’ he warned. ‘I’m not.’
‘You’re not a monster, either.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose and then remembered it was Xav’s favourite gesture and dropped his hand.
‘Come to bed,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘You look exhausted.’
Expelling a heavy breath, he lifted his hand and pushed a stray curl back from her face.
‘That’s my line,’ he growled.
She smiled. Then she caught his hand, interlaced her fingers with his and led him back to the house.
* * *
The next day, by mutual agreement, they embarked on their return journey to London sooner than originally planned. Elena was disappointed, but she understood they both wanted to put Saturday’s incident behind them and have some time alone to process it.
As their bags were loaded into the SUV that would take them to the airport, she drew Emily aside and embraced her in a tight hug. ‘Whatever happens, you and your child—my grandchild—are now part of this family,’ she said. ‘You will always be welcome here.’
Emily fought hard to stem a rush of tears. In a different life, a make-believe life, she would have grown up with a kind, compassionate mother like Elena. She could only hope she’d be as good a mother to her own child. ‘Thank you.’
Elena gripped Emily’s arms and gave her a firm look. ‘For what it’s worth, I believe you and Ramon are going to be fine.’
Not wanting to burst the older woman’s bubble, Emily forced a smile. Yesterday, wandering hand in hand with Ramon through the old city, talking and enjoying each other’s company as they’d explored the intricate labyrinth of winding streets, she might have agreed. Today, doubt, fear and uncertainty had stripped away any fledgling sense of happiness and hope. Already she could feel an unsettling shift in Ramon, his mood when he’d woken this morning taciturn, remote.
She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘How can you be so sure?’
Elena pressed her hand to Emily’s cheek. ‘Because my son has been running for twelve years,’ she said. ‘Now he has a reason to stop.’
The journey to the airport was dominated by silence, and as soon as they were in the air Ramon opened his laptop and Emily buried her nose in a magazine.
She didn’t absorb a single word.
Instead, her mind replayed every line of every conversation she’d had over the weekend with Ramon and with his mother.
You have a kind, forgiving soul.
Did she? She’d never thought of herself as a particularly benevolent person before.
Her mind skipped to her father who’d been AWOL for weeks now and hadn’t returned any of her calls.
Was he all right?
She snuck a glance at Ramon, still focused on his screen, and knew he’d be angry if he knew she was worrying over her father’s welfare. Her tenuous relationship with Maxwell frustrated Ramon. He didn’t understand why she didn’t simply sever all connections with her father. She couldn’t blame him. Most days she didn’t understand it herself.
Where was Maxwell? Holed up with a woman somewhere? Deep in some gambling den, perhaps, losing whatever possessions and money he had left to his name?
A familiar feeling of despair washed over her. When it came to winning her father’s attention, she’d never stood a chance against the lure of the high life. For Maxwell, women and high-stakes poker games had proved far more appealing than the responsibilities of fatherhood.
Why had he never settled? Was he running from something? The way Ramon had been running for the last twelve years?
As soon as they’d landed and transferred from the plane to a chauffeured black sedan, Emily fished her phone from her bag. She hadn’t checked for messages in more than twenty-four hours. She powered the phone on and held her breath, waiting. Praying.
Seconds later, the air left her lungs on a little exhalation of surprise.
&n
bsp; On the screen was a text from Maxwell.
Ramon sent her a questioning look. ‘Is something wrong?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, and slid her phone back into her bag.
* * *
Emily chose a small, quaint restaurant nestled in one of Mayfair’s quiet side streets, just a few blocks from The Royce, in which to meet her father. Their phone call, three days previously, had been brief, just long enough for Maxwell to ask if she’d be willing to meet with him and for Emily to agree. He’d turned the choice of time and place over to her and told her to text him the details.
She paused outside the restaurant.
Would he turn up?
She stepped inside and Maxwell rose from a table in the rear corner, gesturing to catch her attention.
A dart of surprise shot beneath Emily’s ribs. She was ten minutes early, yet he was here waiting for her.
Dry-mouthed, her hands clammy, she propelled her legs forward and made her way over.
Maxwell stayed on his feet, hands by his sides, waiting until Emily had seated herself before taking his chair again.
‘You look well, Emily.’
‘So do you.’
She couldn’t hide her surprise. There were no hollows carved into his cheeks, no dark shadows beneath his eyes. His complexion was healthy, and the whites of his eyes weren’t bloodshot. He looked as if he’d spent a month at an exclusive health spa.
‘I’ve been in Switzerland,’ he said, as if her expression had broadcasted her thoughts.
‘For two months?’ The query came out more sharply than she’d intended. But she’d not had a scrap of communication from him until his recent message. It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear for weeks on end, but two months was the longest he’d ever gone incommunicado.
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I was at a private rehab clinic. For gambling and...other addictions.’
Shock suspended Emily’s breath. Her gaze went automatically to the table top. There was no whisky tumbler, she realised. No bottle of expensive wine. Just a carafe of water and two glasses.
A waiter approached and Maxwell raised a hand. ‘Could we have ten minutes, please?’
When they were alone again, she said, ‘I don’t know what to say, Maxwell.’
A Night, A Consequence, A Vow Page 15
