She trusted him. To. Come. Back.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she fought to hold onto the tiny glimmer of hope that emerged inside. He wouldn’t leave, not permanently. He loved her. Maybe not the same way she loved him, but he cared about her deeply. He would work through whatever he needed to work through and return to her.
Unlike her father, Rafe would fight to be with her. Always. And whatever it was he did today, she knew he did it for them.
But he had to trust her, too. Trust her in the same way he asked her to trust him. With everything he had. Everything he was. Even if he couldn’t say the words, he still had to share the good stuff and the bad.
His pain. His fear. His difficult past.
For better or for worse.
And she would fight for him to share those feelings with her. Fight for him. But in order to do that, she had to be with him. Needed to be with him.
She picked up the phone again and dialed another number. When Santo picked up, she wasted no time.
“Where is he?”
* * *
Rafe stood in the dark on the balcony of his suite listening to the waves crashing below against the rugged coves and sandy beaches of Oak Harbor on Whidbey Island, located in the Puget Sound about thirty miles north of Seattle. He’d arrived with Santo at a private airfield late that afternoon and they’d made their way past towering trees and stunning shoreline views to an Inn that sat atop a cliff overlooking the harbor. The sun had now set and the small city twinkled around him.
But Rafe couldn’t enjoy the myriad of sensations – not the breeze through his hair as he listened to people laughing on the beach below, or the salty smell of the ocean, or the lights of the stars in the sky. Instead, his thoughts raced chaotically through his head. What would happen tomorrow? Would he receive the outcome he sought? Could he heal this wound from his childhood?
Most importantly, was Sarika all right?
The sight of her face begging him not to leave had haunted him all day. He knew he’d broken her heart, but this was something he had to do. He was no good to her as he was; he needed some kind of closure on his past.
Sighing, he pressed his fingers into his temples, trying to relieve the headache that had steadily built since he’d woken. He suspected nothing would fix it but holding his wife in his arms again – if he ever did. She might very well go ahead with her threat and divorce him. Not that he would blame her. He shouldn’t have rushed the marriage. He should have taken his time and become the man she deserved.
The man he may never be.
He’d go to this meeting tomorrow, and if nothing changed, he’d release Sarika from her wedding vows. Walk completely away this time, so she could get on with her life. Find a good man and have a family.
Be happy.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked over his shoulder across the living room expecting Santo to enter. When the knock sounded again, Rafe frowned, stepped inside, and crossed the plush, cream-colored carpet to open the door.
Sarika.
She stood in front of him with a small suitcase beside her, hair in a messy pony tail, face wan, and eyes tired. Her jeans and white tee-shirt were crumpled.
She’d never looked more beautiful.
Heart racing, he wanted to sweep her into his arms, but instead he took a step back, wary of touching her and never letting go. She’d followed him despite her words, cared enough to put her own demands aside to be with him.
A gift of love. But one he couldn’t accept. He had to know he was worthy of her first.
She raised a trembling hand. “Don’t say anything. Just understand that I’m here because I trust you. You’re doing this – whatever this is – for us. I get it. But now you have to trust me, and let me be here for you.”
“Sarika, I –”
“Not a word, Rafe. Unless you’ve decided to tell me where you’re going?” Her eyes searched his face.
She must have seen the anxiety that ricocheted through him because she closed her eyes, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around his waist. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me until you’re ready. I’ve been pushing you from the beginning. But wherever you’re going, I’m coming with you. I’ll stay in the car if you want, but I’m coming with you.”
He released the breath he’d been holding and slowly allowed himself to embrace her. God, it felt good. Like coming home. The dread in his heart lightened a little. “Did Santo tell you where I was?”
“Yes. And don’t be mad at him. That’s what you get for hiring friends. They care more about you than their job. He arranged my flight. In coach, I might add. You have no idea how spoiled I am.”
Rafe couldn’t help it. He smiled against her hair. She truly was his Princess.
But after tomorrow could he still call her that? His Princess. She would probably fight to stay with him, but if he couldn’t give her what she needed, he’d have to let her go. His arms tightened around her at the thought.
She raised her cheek from his chest and gazed at him. “I need you to be with me tonight. Just to hold me. I’m too tired to think straight, but if you’re not beside me, I won’t be able to sleep. And you have to promise not to leave without me in the morning. Whatever happens, wake me first.”
He stared down at her, too selfish to walk away. If this was their last night together, he wanted it to be in her arms. “I promise.”
* * *
It was late. Rafe lay beside Sarika on the bed watching her sleep. Her dreams had been troubled the last few hours, and she’d cried out a few times. He’d soothed her with gentle strokes, whispered that he wasn’t going anywhere.
He hoped it was the truth.
Only their second night together as husband and wife, and he’d already made her cry. God, he was a bastard. She deserved better than that.
Than him.
For now, though, she was still his. For the rest of the night he wanted to lose himself in her arms. Wanted to be welcomed into her body. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and he’d be faced with the demons of his childhood.
He trailed his hands down her spine, needing her now more than ever. If this was the final time they were together, he would make it last a lifetime.
* * *
“She lives about ten minutes out of town. Just let me get through traffic, then I’ll tell you everything,” Rafe said.
Sarika smoothed her hands nervously down the skirt of her silky, yellow dress as she settled into the car’s passenger seat. They were going to see a woman. Who? And what did she mean to Rafe?
Slipping her sunglasses on, she watched as he pulled a note from his pocket and inputted an address into the GPS unit on the dash of the high-end silver sports car he drove. She still felt dazed after last night – and this morning. No talking, just lovemaking so intense she was physically and emotionally exhausted.
Rafe’s need for her had been palpable.
Now, hours later, he looked remote and contained, wearing a black button-down shirt and dark pants with a black belt and shoes. Night to her day.
When traffic eased after a few minutes, he expelled a heavy breath. “We’re going to see my father’s mistress. She made my childhood hell, and I need to…to see her…confront her, I guess.”
Shock flooded through Sarika but also relief that he wasn’t seeing a former lover, someone he’d cared about. She reached across and squeezed his thigh. “Does she know we’re coming?”
“Yes. Santo arranged it. I’ve met her once before – after my parents died. I came to tell her the news. It was a brief meeting. I don’t know how she’ll receive us.”
A fine tremor ran through his muscles, and her heart broke. This was what he’d wanted to do by himself. Find some kind of closure on his past, so he could move forward with her.
He lifted his hand from the wheel and wrapped it around hers. “Despite how I’ve pushed you away, I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me, too.”
They
slowed and turned onto a long, winding driveway that led to a cottage on a cliff overlooking the water. The surrounding gardens were spectacular. Roses, hydrangeas, and rhododendrons. A wooden arbor sat above the cliff covered in artfully placed Trumpet and Clematis vines.
Rafe parked and peered through the windshield. “I would have thought she’d build a bigger house. Or buy a new one. My father left her this land and lots of money. The property is worth millions.”
There was a bitter edge to his voice, and Sarika reached up to stroke his neck, running her fingers through his hair. “Maybe there were too many memories. It’s hard to let go of someone you love.”
“If she’d truly loved him, she would have let him return to his family and end the conflict. Or not gotten involved with a married man in the first place.” He turned abruptly and exited the vehicle.
Her hand dropped to the empty seat, and she watched him through the window, his back straight, shoulders stiff. Then she got out of the car, hoping it was the right thing to do, and walked to his side. His fists were shoved into his pockets, making it impossible for her to take his hand. Instead, she leaned into him and curved her arm around his waist.
“Do you know how they met?” she asked.
“He bought a hotel here. It was one of his favorite places. She worked for him I think – you know the story – boss, secretary – that kind of thing. I sold the hotel after he died. It lost money hand over fist. A lot of his ventures did. He’d stopped paying attention to anything but her. It took me a few years to get the business into the black again.”
“Ana Lisa told me he loved her, wanted to marry her, but your mother wouldn’t consent.”
“She was a strict Catholic. They’d married before God. Divorce was sacrilege.”
The breath caught in her throat. “Is that how you feel?”
He gazed down at her, eyes intent on her face, then pulled his hand from his pocket and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “No. I think if people are unhappy, have grown apart, or circumstances have changed, they should be able to go their separate ways.” He looked back at the cottage and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Divorce hurts everyone, especially the kids, but it was chaos in my house. My mother was either weeping because he wasn’t there, or yelling at him when he was. I escaped whenever I could – back to school or to the chalet at Big Bear on holiday with you and Nonna. And I spent a lot of time with Santo and his family.” He faced her, a sudden grin lightening his face. “Did I tell you he has three younger sisters who love to torture him?”
A gasp sounded to their right and Sarika spun around to see an attractive woman in her late-forties staring at Rafe. She wore a beige skirt and white blouse with…purple gumboots. Then Sarika saw the gloves and shears in the woman’s hands. She’d been in the garden.
Her fine, blonde hair was cut in a bob, and she had soft blue eyes that were filled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said to Rafe, hastily wiping her wet cheeks. “It’s just…you have his smile. You look just like Antonio when I first met him.”
Rafe’s grin evaporated. “You don’t need to apologize. Everyone says I resemble him, although I don’t remember him smiling.” He grasped Sarika’s hand. “This is my wife, Sarika. Sarika, this is Marianne Robertson.”
Sarika extended her hand in greeting. “Hello.”
Marianne’s eyes warmed as she squeezed it. “Ana Lisa’s Goddaughter. Antonio told me about you. He said your mother had died. I’m so sorry.” She gazed at Rafe. “And you, too, Rafael. I am truly sorry for your loss. I’ve always regretted that I never said so when you came to see me that day.”
If Sarika hadn’t felt the tremor in his body, she never would have known how Marianne’s words had affected him.
“Thank you, but…I lost my father, my mother, too, a long time before that.”
Marianne paled, then dropped her head and nodded. “Yes. I’m also sorry about that. Let’s go into the house, I made some iced tea and scones. Antonio used to love my scones.”
She walked in front of them, looking silly in her purple gumboots, and Sarika realized Marianne must be the creator of the beautiful gardens around them. Not exactly the kind of home-wrecking witch Sarika had dredged up in her mind.
They settled on a comfortable, flowered couch in a sitting room as Marianne went to get the tea. The place felt well-lived in, in a good way. Gardening books were on the shelves as well as a number of romance novels and the Harry Potter series. On the end table was a large, framed photo of a much younger Marianne and Antonio. Marianne laughed at the camera while Antonio gazed at her lovingly. Sarika was struck by the resemblance to Rafe and glanced up to find him staring at the picture, too.
“Look at him,” he said, voice raw. “She truly was his everything. No wonder he couldn’t come back to us.”
“He loved me very much,” Marianne said from the doorway, tea tray in her hands, “and I loved him, but you always held his heart, Rafael. You were his child. Nothing could replace what he felt for you.”
She settled on a chair and poured the tea into tall glasses. The purple gumboots had been replaced by cream pumps with a kitten heel. “I know you have questions. Maybe even some things you want to say to me. Please don’t hold back, I took responsibility for my actions long ago. I’ll be as honest with you as I can.”
His hand tightened on Sarika’s again. He looked so composed, but she sensed that inside he was overwhelmed, so she asked the first question. “How did you meet? Rafe said you worked at the hotel?”
“No, not at all. We met at the beach and chatted for a while. He was very charming. Later that afternoon, he came to my office. I was a real estate agent, and he told me he was looking for property in the area.”
“Why would he want to buy a house when he owned the hotel?” Rafe asked skeptically.
Marianne met his gaze. “Why do you think?”
A pause ensued, then Rafe flexed his free hand on his thigh. “He wanted to spend time with you.”
“Yes. We had an instant connection that never dissipated, no matter how long or how often we were apart.”
“Did you know he was married, had a family?”
Marianne sighed and furrowed her brow. “Not at first. It was the only time he ever lied to me. Not that he said he wasn’t married, but…it was the same thing.”
“Yet you continued to be with him.”
“No, actually. We broke-up for about six months. The first of many separations. As much as we loved each other, it wasn’t a good situation. Antonio left me a few times to try and work things out with your mother, and other times I ended it.”
“But you kept going back.”
“Yes. I was selfish and lonely without him. Like I had lost a part of myself. I didn’t know how to live without him, and he felt the same way. But it killed him that it broke your family apart. That it hurt you so badly – and your mother. I don’t know if it’s any consolation, but I would never again have that kind of relationship. Especially with a man who had children. Please forgive me…and forgive your father. He loved you so much. Was so proud of you.”
Her voice broke and a heaviness filled the air. Sarika leaned forward to pass out the glasses of tea to give Marianne a moment of privacy. Rafe took a long swallow then grasped Sarika’s hand again. She squeezed his fingers. Some of the tension eased away, and he relaxed against the couch.
“You’re not what I thought you would be,” he said to Marianne. “You seem like a nice woman. Not some…”
“Whore?” she filled in the blank.
Rafe put his glass down and looked at her. “That’s a strong word, and not one I would use.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “You always seemed bigger than life to me – like some kind of evil fairy who had bewitched my father and taken him away, leaving chaos in your wake. It was…distressing.”
Marianne smiled sadly. “I’m sorry it felt that way to you. Believe it or not, my life with your father was relatively peaceful. We gardened, to
ok walks on the beach, enjoyed dinners and movies. Once you were in boarding school, we lived together here for most of the year. It was a betrayal of his wedding vows, yes, but your father married your mother at nineteen and stayed married to her because of her religious convictions. He met me at thirty-two. That’s a big change in who you are as a person. He always said that she was his duty, but I was his love. Eventually I came to accept the situation for what it was.”
Her words resonated within Sarika, making her heart stutter. Duty versus love. What was she to Rafe? He’d married her out of duty. To please Ana Lisa. But was she also his love?
“It didn’t bother you he couldn’t marry you? Have your own family?” he asked.
“Of course it did. It bothered him, too. As for family…well, your father didn’t want to bring a child into this world out of wedlock, and at the time, he was enough for me.” She picked a piece of non-existent lint from her blouse, then met his gaze. “I’m sorry, but that’s one area I’m not comfortable discussing.”
Rafe nodded his head and abruptly rose from the couch, pulling Sarika with him. “Thank you for the tea. It was…kind of you to see me. I don’t mean to be rude, but…”
Marianne smiled sadly and stood. “You’re overwhelmed, and you need to process. Your father was the same.”
“I…yes.”
She led them to the door. Rafe hovered on the other side, still holding Sarika’s hand. “Maybe we could see you another night. There’s a lot I’d like to know about my father. I was so angry with him as a teenager, I never talked to him. Asked him about things.”
Marianne reached out and squeezed his arm, tears in her eyes. “I’d be happy to.”
They said goodbye then walked toward the car. When they were almost there, Marianne called out.
“Rafael!”
Turning, they saw her running toward them down the path. She stopped, then reached into her pocket and handed him something.
Sarika gazed at it curiously, brow furrowed. It looked like a school picture of Rafe when he was about nine years old, but it didn’t seem dated.
“It’s my son, Tony,” Marianne said.
Sarika gasped as Rafe swayed in shock beside her.
The Fabrizio Bride Page 16
