Marisala started toward the kitchen. “I have a leash—”
“That’s okay, I brought one.” Ron drew a leather-and-chain leash from his jacket pocket. “Come on, girls.”
The two blond cherubs stood up, and the puppy, ever playful, ran in circles around them. She took a spin around Liam, too, then skittered into the kitchen.
“Fluffy, come back!” the smaller girl started after her.
“I’ll get her,” Marisala told the child. She went into the kitchen, calling the puppy to her in Spanish.
The older girl’s eyes were wide. “Does Fluffy speak French?” she asked her father.
“That’s Spanish, Ashley. And yeah, after a couple of weeks she probably understands quite a bit.”
Marisala came out of the kitchen, Evita—Fluffy—in her arms. As Liam watched she kissed the top of the puppy’s head before setting her on the floor and helping Ron attach the leash to her collar.
She looked up at the two girls. “You take care of…Fluffy for me, okay?”
They nodded.
“Treat her nicely and give her lots of hugs. I know you will, right?”
Another nod.
“Good.” Marisala straightened up.
“Thanks again,” Ron told them both as he led the puppy and his daughters out into the hall.
The door closed behind them, and they were gone.
Marisala looked at Liam and forced a smile. “What a nice family.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You told me this would happen, and…I’m fine.”
Santiago wouldn’t have recognized her. She was wearing one of her pretty cotton dresses again today. Liam hadn’t seen her in her trademark shorts and tank top in days. Not since the night of the ball—the night they’d first made love.
She’d spent every night since then in his bed, and some long, delicious mornings too. It was funny, but Marisala was more shy than he would have imagined, more restrained than he would have thought when it came to making love. But her only other lover had been a man from San Salustiano. It was possible Enrique had been controlling. Perhaps she’d learned to be so passive from him.
But it didn’t matter. She was going to marry Liam. They had all the time in the world to truly learn to please each other in bed. They had a lifetime.
He reached for her. “We could get another puppy.”
“No. Thank you, but no.” She stood for a moment in his embrace, but then pulled away.
This was weird. He’d expected tears and an out-pouring of emotion and pain, not this cool, much too mature acceptance of the situation. It was as if someone had kidnapped Marisala and replaced her with one of the Stepford Wives.
She smiled at him again and he realized she was wearing makeup and her hair was neatly combed and pulled back from her face. “I’ll be upstairs. I have some letters to write.”
Liam watched her go up the stairs, watched her hips swaying gently beneath the fabric of her dress. He heard the door to her room close, heard her switch on the radio he’d bought for her. That, at least, was still tuned to the rhythmic sounds of the local Spanish station.
He stood there for a long time, unable to shake his feeling of unease.
Marisala held the jeweler’s box, knowing well what was inside.
An engagement ring.
Liam was watching her, expectation and anticipation simmering in his eyes.
She didn’t want an engagement ring. She didn’t want a diamond. She didn’t want to wear a ring on her finger, a symbol of love, yes, but a symbol of imprisonment too.
“Open it,” Liam urged her. He was leaning back, propped up on one elbow, his hair a disheveled jumble of waves and curls, messed from their recent lovemaking.
She knelt on the bed, leaning forward slightly as she opened the box, so that her hair fell over her face. She didn’t want him to see her first reaction to the ring. Although she was getting quite good at hiding her feelings, she didn’t think she could handle this.
But he reached for her, sweeping her hair back from her face with one hand.
Marisala steeled herself and…
It wasn’t a diamond.
It wasn’t a traditional engagement ring at all.
It was silver and handcrafted. And in the center of the band was a roughly cut and only partially polished, very small ocean-colored stone.
“It’s turquoise,” Liam told her. “It was made by a guy I know from Montana—a Native American artisan, a Navajo.”
“It’s beautiful,” Marisala breathed.
“I figured you wouldn’t want to wear a ring all the time, but I did want to get you an engagement gift, and I thought—”
Marisala threw her arms around him and kissed him.
He laughed. “Does that mean you like it?”
“I love it.” She took it from the box and put it on her finger. It fit perfectly. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, feel emotion crowding the back of her throat. “How did you know?”
His eyes were almost the exact same shade of blue as the stone in the ring. “Oh, come on, Mara, it wasn’t that hard. You’ve got to figure I know you pretty well by now.”
“Do you?”
Something shifted in his eyes. “Why, don’t you think I do?”
“I don’t know.”
He shifted, sitting up to look at her. “My God, are you crying?”
“No.” She turned away.
He caught her arm. “You are. Marisala, what’s the matter?”
“I’m crying because I’m so happy,” she lied. She reached for him. “Liam, make love to me again.”
Sex was the only thing she was certain of. She knew that she turned him on, even though she was still careful to let him lead. She knew he couldn’t resist the sweet invitation of her body.
She could feel his immediate response to her as he drew her into his arms and kissed her.
“Inez will wonder why we’ve spent all day upstairs.”
Marisala had to laugh at that as she wiped her tears away. “Inez won’t wonder at all. She sees the way I look at you.”
“And the way I look at you.” He kissed her again, pulling her on top of him as he lay on his back. “Don’t you have a class or something this afternoon?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Marisala told him. “It’s all foolishness anyway.”
“Whereas making love is very serious business,” he teased.
Marisala kissed him, shifting her hips so that they melted into one, and just like that his teasing stopped.
Marisala sat with Liam at Ricardo Montoya’s Thursday-night meeting at the Refugee Center.
This was the second meeting they had come to, and like the first time, Liam sat near the back and did little more than listen.
Listening was good, but what Liam had to do was talk.
Halfway through the session, he excused himself quietly and disappeared.
After fifteen minutes passed, Marisala went looking for him.
She found him sitting on the steps out in front of the Refugee Center, watching the people walk by in the cool evening air.
“You’ve been out here for a while,” she said.
Liam nodded, turning to smile up at her as if he hadn’t a care in the world. God, he was good at doing that. “Yeah.”
“Maybe you should try coming back inside.”
He didn’t move. “I know. I should.”
Marisala sat down next to him, smoothing the skirt of her dress over her knees.
“I like it when you wear dresses,” he said, slipping his arm around her shoulder.
“I know.”
He nuzzled her neck. “You wear them for me, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I like knowing that too. It turns me on.” He pulled her chin toward him, covering her mouth in a long, slow kiss.
Marisala knew what he was doing. He was trying his best to distract them both. It was working. She took a deep breath as she pulled away from him. “Co
me back inside.”
He made circles with his thumb on the palm of her hand as he gave her his best bedroom smile. “I’d rather go home and make love to you.”
It was impossible to resist him. She closed her eyes as he kissed her neck again. “I would too.”
But he didn’t stand up to go back inside, or to go home. “I’m not doing very well with these meetings, am I?”
Marisala opened her eyes to find him still smiling at her. His smile had a touch of chagrin, but everything else he was feeling was very neatly concealed.
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’m not doing fine. I’m sitting outside.” He paused. “Why aren’t you yelling at me for copping out?”
She hesitated. “Because…you’re trying your best?”
He laughed and said something extremely obscene. “This isn’t my best.” And just like that, he wasn’t laughing any longer. Just like that, the easygoing, laid-back front he always wore was stripped away, exposing the very uncertain, very frustrated, very angry and frightened man underneath. “This is just sitting on the stairs because I’m scared to death of—”
He stopped himself. “I’m sorry.” As Marisala watched he took a deep breath and hid nearly all of his fear and frustration behind a smile.
It was all she could do to keep from grabbing him and shaking him. Don’t stop, she wanted to shout at him. Keep going, keep talking! But instead, she kept her voice calm. “Don’t apologize for being honest.”
He was silent, just staring out at the street.
“Come back inside,” she finally said again.
Liam managed another smile, but shook his head. “I…can’t.”
She stood up. “All right. Then let’s go home. Maybe next week—”
“No, Mara, I need…” Liam rubbed his forehead in frustration. He needed her to shout at him. Some things needed to be shouted about, she’d told him. Why couldn’t she see that this was one of them? He didn’t need her gentle understanding. He needed her outrage, her scorn. He’d told her he would attend these meetings. He’d told her he wanted to try to talk about everything he’d been through. He needed her to throw that in his face, to toss out a challenge, to fight for him—even if the enemy was his own self, his own weakness.
But she was backing away from him again, tiptoeing around him the way she had been for weeks now.
At the same time what was he doing, blaming her for his own shortcomings? He knew he and he alone had to take responsibility for his life. If he wanted changes, he had to stand up and face the darkness he’d hidden from for so long. Marisala couldn’t do that for him.
And maybe that’s why she was pulling away from him. Maybe after two weeks of watching him come to these group sessions and still be unable to talk, she was doubting his ability to change. Maybe she was realizing he’d never be the man he was before he’d been thrown into hell. Maybe she dreaded the thought of a lifetime filled with nightmares.
Although, the nightmares weren’t as bad with Marisala in his bed. He still woke up far too often with his heart pounding and his mouth dry. But his need to light every corner of his condo when he awoke in the night had let up.
She was still watching him. He wanted to take her into his arms and beg her never to let him go. But he knew he’d sound pathetic and that could very well drive her further away.
She held out her hand. “Let’s go home,” she said again.
“No.” Liam stood up, straightening his shoulders and back. “I’m going back inside.” He knew he wasn’t going to talk. He knew he was just going to listen, but that was better than nothing, right?
He hoped Marisala would think so too.
Marisala made tea while Inez sat at the kitchen table, her baby to her breast.
“I hope William’s crying didn’t wake you,” Inez said.
“It didn’t.” Marisala pulled all the boxes of herbal tea down from the shelf, unable to decide which blend to have. “Liam fell asleep early, but I was still up.”
He’d come home from Rico’s group session exhausted, even though he hadn’t said a single word all night long. Despite his smiling exterior, she knew this was so hard for him, she was starting to wonder if it was, in fact, worth it.
“Have you bought a dress for your wedding?” Inez asked.
A wedding dress. God. That was the last thing on her mind.
“I can picture you in one of those long gowns.” Inez smiled dreamily. “With a long train trailing after you. You’ll look so beautiful—Liam will think he’s marrying a princess.”
Marisala turned away, struck by Inez’s innocent words. Liam already thought he was marrying some kind of princess. She’d fooled him into thinking she was something more than what she really was that night of the charity ball.
Ever since then, she’d been working to maintain the masquerade, but every day she could feel herself slipping.
Marisala poured hot water over her tea bag, fighting back her tears. She had been crazy to agree to marry Liam. Had she honestly expected to be able to spend the entire rest of her life pretending to be someone she was not?
And she was not this person that Liam wanted to marry. She was not refined and elegant and calm and cool. She was no longer able to stand back and wait for him to take the lead in their conversations, in their life, in their lovemaking.
Mother of God, she sometimes thought she’d go mad if she had to wait, passively, for him to touch her one more time. Sometimes she thought she’d go mad if she had to keep herself from talking to him—really talking to him. Do you love me? She wanted to ask him, but she didn’t dare.
Because a quiet, humble, civilized woman was the kind of woman Liam wanted. Marisala was afraid if she acted otherwise, if she spoke out whenever she wanted, then he wouldn’t want her anymore.
So he wanted her. Maybe he even loved her. But even if he did, it wasn’t really her that he loved.
Marisala was as unhappy as she’d ever been. And the guilt of what she’d done, of how she had tricked him—was still tricking him—churned in her stomach, making her feel queasy and ill.
And Liam was unhappy too. She’d seen him watching her intently, frowning slightly when he thought she wasn’t looking. Clearly, he saw through her facade, and he was wondering where that woman who had come to the ball in the black dress had gone.
She loved him more than she’d ever dreamed possible. She loved him enough to know that she couldn’t keep lying to him.
She turned and smiled at Inez, trying to hide all of her pain and sorrow, just the way Liam always did. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”
Inez blinked. “But your tea…”
Marisala was already out the door. “Good night.”
She went up the stairs, moving quickly past the temptation of Liam’s bedroom. She went into the room where she still kept her clothes, and in a deceptively calm voice—Liam and Santiago both would have been very proud—she called for a taxi to come and pick her up.
And then she began to pack her clothes.
Her clothes only.
If she never saw those dresses Liam had bought for her again, it wouldn’t be soon enough.
Liam, however, would be much, much harder to forget.
ELEVEN
THE LIGHT WAS on downstairs.
Liam had awoken from a nightmare to find himself alone in his bed, and his first thought had been that Marisala was finally gone.
He’d known something big was coming for at least a week now. Marisala had been acting so oddly. And now he knew the reason why. She hadn’t been happy. She’d wanted to leave.
But then he saw the light and he heard voices, and he realized he was mistaken. It was barely even midnight, and Marisala was in the kitchen, talking as Inez fed the baby.
Liam pulled on his robe and went down the stairs, trying to calm his pounding heart. Everything was fine. Marisala was fine. It was simply his overactive imagination going paranoid on him. It was merely an extension of his bad dreams and…
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Marisala stood in the entryway. She was dressed for going out into the cool autumn night, her suitcase at her side.
Liam froze halfway down the stairs, his worst fears realized as he stared at that suitcase. She was leaving.
From the corner of his eye he saw Inez fade back into the kitchen. He looked up from that suitcase and saw the truth echoed in Marisala’s eyes. She was leaving.
Somehow, Liam managed to remain standing. Somehow he remained alive, and astonishingly able to function. He forced his voice to sound light. “What, no farewell note?”
Her voice shook. “I was going to call you in the morning. To explain.”
“I guess this means you don’t want to marry me.”
She shook her head, fighting her tears. “No.”
Liam nodded. He didn’t blame her. He’d failed her, and himself as well, and now she was going to leave. This was his fault. He’d seen it coming, and yet he’d done nothing to prevent it. He hadn’t even had the courage to confront her, to talk about it. “I’m sorry,” he said, but his voice sounded empty and emotionless—as if he were commenting on the weather.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she told him, emotion making her voice tremble. “I can’t wear the clothes you want me to wear. I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not for the entire rest of my life!”
Her words didn’t make sense. “Clothes?”
“I feel like such a liar!” With a sob, Marisala yanked open the door. Grabbing her suitcase, she headed for the elevators.
Liam followed, bare feet, bathrobe, and all. “Mara, what are you talking about?”
She savagely punched the elevator’s call button. The doors slid open almost immediately.
“I was a fool,” she told him as she stepped into the elevator. “I knew from the start that I wouldn’t be a good wife for you, still I tried to pretend it would work. But I can’t bear to wear those clothes anymore, or to act as if I don’t have any kind of opinion. I know you liked me that way, and I tried, I really tried to be the woman you wanted. But I can’t do it anymore.”
Liam followed her. “Mara—”
She pressed the button that held the doors open. “Get out, Liam. You don’t ride in elevators, remember?”
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