“It’s my fault.” Pulling off his John Deere cap, her father rubbed his gray head with the heel of his hand. “I never should have written that nasty letter, chewing you out. It was just your Mom kept weeping, and you know I can’t think straight when she’s crying. I don’t blame you for the silent treatment.” His voice caught. “I wouldn’t have written me back, either …”
Callie had no idea what he was talking about, but it felt so good to be with her family and have them clearly happy to see her and the baby. Marisol, looking at all the crying adults around her, gave a little worried whimper, looking up at Callie for reassurance. “It’s all right,” she told her, smiling. “It’s finally all right.”
As Jane Woodville held out her arms, tears were streaming down her plump cheeks and she looked like a slightly more wrinkled version of her granddaughter. “Can I hold her?”
The baby looked uncertain at first, but within sixty seconds, Jane had won her trust. Ten minutes later, Sami and then Grandpa Walter held her, and they heard Marisol’s sweet baby giggle. Callie looked at her family, and could hardly believe that she’d been apart from them for seven months. They were the best, kindest people in the world.
Except for her husband. She looked at Eduardo adoringly, but he remained back in the shadows across the room.
“Mari-Marisol?” her father asked uncertainly.
Callie turned back, smiling through her tears. “Marisol Samantha Cruz.”
“You named her after me?” Sami blurted out, her face screwed up with tears. “How could you forgive me? I was so selfish. I told myself calling your old boss was the right thing to do, but the truth is I didn’t want you to marry Brandon.” She sniffled. “How can you stand to look at me?”
“It was the right thing,” Callie said through her tears. “Eduardo and I were meant to be together, and thanks to you we are. We’re happy. Really happy …”
Callie looked back at Eduardo. He was still standing by the door, his arms folded as he watched the family reunion. Why didn’t he come over to join them? It was strange. Any normal person would have come over to be part of the group. But Eduardo chose to be standoffish, to watch from a distance.
Her mother, standing beside her, followed her gaze.
“He loves you,” Jane said softly.
Callie looked at her wistfully. “How can you tell?”
Jane smiled. “I see it in the way he looks at you. Like his heart’s nigh about to break.” Reaching out, she squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I still can’t believe we’re in Morocco. I always told your father that someday we’d travel and see the world. He said he’d do it as soon as it was free.” She chuckled mischievously. “Eduardo’s jet was the answer to my prayer.”
The two women laughed, hugging each other, and for the rest of the afternoon, the family talked and giggled as Kasimir Xendzov’s well-trained servants served refreshments and drinks. Eduardo continued to remain out of the circle, out of the group, until he finally disappeared all afternoon with his assistants to work on the deal. His behavior bewildered Callie. Was he just trying to give her some space with her family? But didn’t he realize that he, too, was part of the family now?
After a delicious dinner of couscous and lamb, Callie said good-night to her jet-lagged parents and sister as they turned in to their luxurious bedrooms. After giving Marisol a bottle, she tucked her into a crib next door to their own large bedroom on the other side of the riad from the rest of her family. For the first time all day, Callie was alone. She looked at the large bed, covered with dark blue pillows. Fading sunlight fell upon the blanket in a pattern from the carved lattice window. She touched the bed. The mattress felt soft.
She heard a noise behind her. Jumping, she turned around.
Eduardo stood in the doorway. His eyes were dark, his expression set, as if braced for bad news.
“There you are,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Where have you been? Why didn’t you come talk to my family?”
“I didn’t want to intrude.”
Callie frowned, feeling puzzled by the strangeness of his tone. She shook her head. “But you’re part of our family now.”
The door closed behind him as he came toward her in the bedroom. His voice was stilted. “Your family isn’t rich.”
She drew back, confused at the turn in conversation. “No. Especially not these days. My parents’ farm has had a rough couple years….”
He came closer, something strangely intense in his dark eyes. “But you all still love each other.”
“Of course we do,” she said, bewildered. “Like you said—we’re family.”
His jaw twitched as he rubbed his wrist. In the shadowy bedroom, she saw the flash of his platinum watch. “Growing up, I thought money made a family. That it made people actually love each other enough to stay.”
Callie’s breath suddenly caught in her throat. “Money has nothing to do with it. Don’t you know that?”
Eduardo gave her a tight smile.
“I’m glad you spent time with your family today. I have work to do before I meet with Xendzov tomorrow. Get some rest.”
As he turned away, Callie stared after him, shocked. It was the first night she could remember when he hadn’t wanted to accompany her to bed at night, to make love to her, to hold her until she slept.
He stopped at the door. “We need to talk,” he said heavily. “Tomorrow. Then we’ll see.” He took a deep breath. “Afterward, I hope you will still …”
His voice trailed off. For a long moment, he stared at her, his eyes glittering in the shadows. Then he turned away, closing the bedroom door between them.
Callie was hardly able to sleep that night without him beside her. In the morning, she hurried down for breakfast, but he never appeared. She found out he’d left at dawn with his team of administrators and lawyers to work on the business deal with their invisible host, the mysterious Kasimir Xendzov. She thought it was strange, because Eduardo had seemed so determined to talk to her. About what?
And then she knew.
Was Eduardo finally going to tell her he loved her?
Joy filled her, followed by certainty. What else could it be? She was filled with happiness, counting down the moments until she’d see him again. She spent an enjoyable morning with her baby and family, sharing breakfast in the courtyard garden, walking around the estate, swimming in the pool. After lunch, as her parents took an afternoon nap with their grandbaby, Callie and Sami decided to explore the souks of Marrakech.
As the two sisters wandered the narrow, mazelike streets of the medina, Callie’s heart was light. They walked through the outdoor markets, investigating booth after booth of copper lanterns, terra-cotta pots, embroidered jellabas and coral beads. She constantly checked her new cell phone in her handbag, just to make sure Eduardo hadn’t called for her, but in the meantime, she was happy. Wearing a floppy pink hat, a billowy blouse and long skirt, with her wide-eyed sister at her side, Callie felt almost like a child again, when she and Sami went on “expeditions” across the wide fields and brooks of their family farm.
She suddenly froze in the middle of the outdoor market. Feeling prickles on her neck, as if someone was watching her, she whirled around.
But she only saw her bodyguard, Sergio Garcia, following at a discreet distance through the crowded medina. Eduardo never let her go anywhere without a bodyguard, and often more than one. Still, even as the afternoon passed and the hot Moroccan sun lowered to the west, the cold prickles on her neck didn’t go away.
“So you really forgive me?” Sami asked softly.
Kneeling as she looked through a selection of copper lanterns, Callie smiled up at her sister. “I forgave you long ago—the day I named my daughter.”
Sami’s young face was dubious. “But if you forgave me, why didn’t you write back?”
Callie straightened, frowning. “You wrote? When?”
“Lots of times! I even sent flowers! But other than the day Marisol was born, when you called us,
we never heard a word. Not me, not Brandon, not even Mom and Dad!”
Callie gaped at her. “I wrote you letters every week! I sent hundreds of pictures!”
“We never got anything.”
A shiver of ice went down Callie’s spine. “Strange,” she said faintly then tried to push it away with a smile. “But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
“We were worried about you,” Sami said softly, clawing back her hair. “I’m glad you at least called us from the hospital when Marisol was born. Brandon arrived two days later and was so upset. He made it sound as if you’d been, well—” she bit her lip “—kidnapped.”
Callie looked at her. “Have you been spending a lot of time with Brandon?”
Sami’s cheeks turned pink. “Yeah.”
“You’re in love with him.” It was a statement, not a question.
Sami stared at her then burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “I’ve loved him for years.” She tried to smile. “All the time that he loved you.”
Callie shook her head. “I keep telling people—Brandon and I are just friends!”
Sami gave a hoarse laugh. “Man, you’re dumb. Just as dumb as he was.”
“Was? Have you told Brandon how you feel?”
“Not yet.” Sami looked away. “I’m scared. We’ve spent a lot of time together lately, ice skating, looking at the stars, running errands. Whatever.” She shivered beneath the fading afternoon sun of the Marrakech market. “Once, I almost thought he was going to kiss me. Then he turned away and started talking about you.”
“He did?” Guilt went through Callie. “He must hate me.”
“He hates Eduardo. Not you.”
“Then why didn’t he ever write me?” Callie whispered.
Sami looked at her as if she were crazy. “He did. I know he did. He showed me the letters.”
The strange feeling went through Callie again, a dark cloud like a shadow over the sun. How was it possible that her family hadn’t gotten any of her letters? Or that Callie hadn’t gotten any of theirs?
Pushing the thought away, she turned back to Sami, putting her hand on her shoulder. She said firmly, “You should tell him how you feel.”
Sami’s eyes lit up then faded. “But what if he’s not interested? What if he just laughs at me?”
“He won’t.”
“Yeah, but what if he does?”
“Life is short. Don’t waste another day. Call him. Call him now.”
“You’re right.” Sami stared at her then suddenly hugged her tight. “Thank you, Callie.” Pulling away, she wiped her eyes. “I’ll go back to the house. And call him in private. Oh,” she breathed, wiping her shaking hands on her jeans, “am I really going to do this?”
“Sergio!” Callie called, wiping tears from her own eyes as she waved the bodyguard over. “Please take my sister back to the house.”
“And you, Mrs. Cruz,” Sergio Garcia said, his expression a smooth mask.
“I haven’t finished my shopping.”
“I can’t leave you alone here, señora.”
“I’ll be fine,” Callie said impatiently. She motioned to the busy souk. “There’s no danger here!”
The bodyguard lifted an eyebrow. Turning away, he used his cell phone and spoke in low, rapid Spanish. Hanging up, he turned to Sami with a broad smile. “Sí. I can take you home, señorita.”
“Thank you,” Callie said, surprised. He’d never been so reasonable before. “Would you mind taking these bags back with you?”
“Por supuesto, señora.” Garcia took her purchases, gifts for her parents, clothes and toys for Marisol, even a silver koumaya dagger for Eduardo. “Stay right here, Mrs. Cruz, in the open market.”
“I will.” Callie hugged her sister and whispered, “I think you and Brandon are perfect for each other.”
“Thank you,” Sami breathed fervently. “I love you, Callie.” Then she was gone.
Callie was alone. She took deep breaths of the exotic, spicy scent of the air, of the distant leather tannery, of flowers and musky oriental perfumes. No bodyguard. No baby. Not even her husband. Callie was alone in this exotic foreign market. After so many months, the sudden freedom felt both disorienting and intoxicating.
Smiling to herself, she ignored the shouts of sellers trying to get her attention and walked through the market, feeling light as a feather on air as she continued to shop for gifts. Who knew if she’d ever return to Morocco again?
Her eye fell upon a tiny star carved in wood. It reminded her of Brandon’s hobby that Callie found intolerably boring—astronomy. Thinking of him, a pang went through her.
Why didn’t he ever write me?
He did. I know he did. He showed me the letters.
With a ragged breath, Callie lifted her gaze to the sky, turning toward the fading warmth of the sun. Above the busy, crowded, chaotic souk, a bird flew toward the distant Atlas Mountains. The setting sun had turned the snowcapped peaks a deep violet-pink.
“Callie.”
She sucked in her breath. Slowly she turned.
Brandon McLinn stood in front of her.
Time slowed as he came toward her, tall and thin, standing out from the rest of the crowd in his cowboy hat, plaid flannel shirt and work-worn jeans. He stopped in front of her.
“At last,” Brandon breathed, his eyes wet with tears. “I’ve found you.”
“Brandon?” she whispered, her throat choking. “Is this a dream?”
“No.” Smiling through his tears, he put a skinny hand on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
“But what are you doing in Morocco?”
His hand tightened. “It took a miracle, all right,” he said grimly. His eyes narrowed beneath his black-framed glasses. “No thanks to that Spanish bastard.”
Callie gasped. “Don’t call him that!”
He blinked, frowning. “But you hate him. Don’t you? You said he was a playboy, that he had coal instead of a heart … that he couldn’t be loyal to anything but his own fat bank account!”
Hearing her own words thrown back at her hurt. She closed her eyes against her own cruelty. “He’s not like that,” she said over the lump in her throat. “Not really. He’s—changed.”
“Must be Stockholm Syndrome,” Brandon snorted then his voice grew serious. “I’ve been so worried about you, Callie. I just let him take you away. I didn’t save you.”
Callie opened her eyes in shock. “You felt guilty?”
“I swore I’d leave no stone unturned, until you and your baby were back home. Safe, and free.”
Smiling through sudden tears, she put her hand over his. “But we are safe. And free. I know our marriage had a rocky start, but he’s been nothing but good to us.”
“Good?” Brandon’s jaw hardened. “He’s had me followed for months.”
“Followed?” she echoed.
“When Sami told me she was leaving for Marrakech, I skipped out in the middle of the night, slipping past the man watching my house. I drove to Denver and booked a flight. I’ve been staying at a hotel off this square, following your movements through Sami’s messages.”
“You knew I’d be at the market.” Callie stared at him. “It was you I felt, watching me. Following us.”
“Hoping to get you alone.” He looked down at her, his eyes owl-like beneath his glasses. “I tried to contact you. Letters, phone calls. I tried everything short of a singing telegram. Last December, he called me in the middle of the night, warning me off. I threatened to call the police in New York. So he spirited you overseas. For the last four months, I had no idea where you even were!”
Callie remembered the night she’d caught Eduardo talking on the phone to a rival, he’d said, who lived far away. That very same night, he’d suddenly suggested they go to Spain. Once there, he’d never let her out of his sight, or even let her drive her own car, without a bodyguard. He’d said it was to keep her safe.
But safe from whom?
“I p
romised myself I wouldn’t abandon you,” Brandon said. “I’ve been waiting … praying … desperate. All the time he kept you prisoner.”
Prisoner. Callie stared at him with a sick feeling in her belly. She was starting to think that Eduardo’s planned talk later didn’t involve him taking her in his arms and declaring his eternal love.
“I always knew the man was bad news.” Brandon narrowed his eyes. “From the moment I first heard you talk about him. When he leased you that apartment in the Village, I knew he wanted you.” His voice became bitter. “And from the sound of your voice, I knew you would let him.”
“So you told Eduardo we were engaged,” she said slowly. “The night he stopped by the apartment, you said …”
“I just told him the truth,” he said stubbornly. “We were engaged. We said, if neither of us were married by the time we were thirty …”
“That was a joke!”
“It was never a joke to me.” He looked down. “But I guess it was to you.”
She stared at him, her cheeks aflame, unable to speak.
“I loved you, Callie,” he said gruffly. “Since we were kids, I loved you.”
She felt a lump in her throat, remembering their childhood. Chasing fireflies on warm summer nights. Watching fireworks on the Fourth. Christmas dinner with her cousins, aunts and uncles, turkey and stuffing and homemade pumpkin pie, sledding with her sister down McGillicuddy’s hill. Even going out with Brandon’s telescope at night and looking at stars until she wanted to claw her eyes out. It had been wonderful.
Her throat hurt. “I should have known. I’m sorry. But … I don’t feel that way about you.”
“Yeah. I figured that out.” He took a deep breath then gave her a sudden crooked smile. “I’ve started to think that maybe I should look for someone who can love me. Who can see me. As more than a goofy, dependable friend.”
Her heart broke a little in her chest. She tilted back her floppy pink hat. “Brandon—”
“But first I’m taking you and the baby home. We’ll get you a good divorce lawyer. I don’t care how much money Cruz has, the courts will see that you are in the right.”
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