“Harper decided Diablo was the key to it all. When I wouldn’t agree to allow her to stud him with Demeter, she lashed out, tried to hurt me. We were at a show in Barcelona when I discovered she was having an affair with your grandfather.”
With Hugo? The most honorable man he’d known?
“It was a mistake,” his grandmother acknowledged. “Harper was beautiful. Irresistible to men. And partly,” she conceded, “it was my fault. My mindless obsession with my sport hurt your grandfather—he felt I loved it more than him at times. And maybe I did.”
The remnants of a long-ago pain stained her dark eyes. “The affair was over by the time I confronted him about it. I think he knew she had been using him. But it nearly cost us our marriage.”
Alejandro attempted to absorb the chink in a relationship that had seemed bullet proof. “You forgave him.”
“I loved him, so yes I did. Marriage is never perfect, Alejandro. It’s messy and complex, but your grandfather and I built something strong enough that it withstood the difficult times. He was the love of my life.”
He took a sip of his coffee. Considered the message she was sending. He could have that with Cecily. He knew it in his heart. All he’d ever wanted from the beginning was to protect her—to take away the shadows. To keep her.
So why was it so hard to make that leap she was asking of him? Was the survival instinct that had driven him for so long simply too strong? And yet, he knew even as he thought it, that he loved her. That she’d found a way beneath those defenses of his from the very beginning until she’d crawled into the very heart of him.
He’d spent every minute since denying what he knew to be true because she made him feel so alive, so complete, he couldn’t contemplate ever losing her.
Except where had that gotten him? He would lose her now if he wasn’t careful.
His grandmother set a gnarled, weathered hand on his. “Go find Cecily. Tell her it’s over. I’ve spent far too much time and emotion chasing my pride, Alejandro. Enough is enough.”
He nodded. “I’ll go talk to Clayton.”
“No,” Adriana said, fixing her dark gaze on him. “Leave Clayton to me.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
ALEJANDRO RETURNED TO New York intent on finding Cecily and making things right. Except his fiancée had turned her phone off and wasn’t returning his calls.
She was not, according to her father, in Kentucky, apparently having followed through on her vow to achieve distance from both of them. Nor was she in Manhattan according to the private detective who’d worked on the Hargrove file for him. Which left him precisely nowhere—five days before his wedding.
The calls started then. First the wedding planner with one urgent item after another, then the contractors at the farm with some last minute snags on the finishing materials. With no capacity to sit on a phone all day advising them on things he couldn’t see, he moved up to the Cherry Hill and managed his business from there.
His fiancée would, he assumed, come talk to him when she was ready. Which needed to be soon.
He personally supervised the unloading of Cecily’s horses as they arrived from Kentucky—his other surprise for her. He even went out and bought a box of that crazy-looking American cereal for Bacchus who was now missing home as well as his mistress.
He could identify. A piece of Cecily haunted him everywhere he looked. Taunting him with his own stupidity—reminding him of what he stood to lose.
He woke the next morning to a text from Cecily saying she was fine. That she needed more time to think. No clue to her whereabouts. No time frame on the thinking.
He left another message for her. Told her he needed to talk to her. No reply.
Was she trying to make him sweat? Or was she reconsidering marrying him?
And then it was the day before his wedding. All the renovations complete, the main barn a gleaming masterpiece of wrought-iron and mahogany, he wrote a massive check to the construction manager and thanked him and his team for their hard work.
Watching them leave, a very real fear consumed him that Cecily wasn’t coming back. That he had hurt her so badly by not putting her first, by letting her down like everyone else, he’d ruined everything.
But she’d left him for God’s sake. How the hell was he supposed to fix it if he was talking to himself?
* * *
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Stavros drawled that evening in the Great Room at Cherry Hill, pool cue in hand, “a wedding does require a bride. You need to make a call on this, Salazar.”
Alejandro was well aware of that. It was a fact his groomsmen had been dancing around all evening, but with two hundred guests set to descend here tomorrow, it was a reality he could no longer ignore.
“How about this?” Stavros suggested, lifting the cue. “I sink this shot, you call it off. I miss—we keep it in play for another twenty-four hours and hope she shows up for a Concerto in E.”
Antonio grimaced. “This is no time for your warped sense of humor.”
“On the contrary,” the Greek drawled, “some humor is desperately needed here.”
“Not that kind,” Sebastien interjected. “Maybe we should determine what we’re going to tell the guests if we do call it off.”
“A permit issue with the renovations,” Antonio suggested.
“Not bad,” Sebastien pondered thoughtfully.
“Or you could call it off now,” Stavros said. “Before half of New York gets into their cars and drives up here.”
If he were smart, Alejandro conceded, that’s what he would do. But he had signed on for this future he and Cecily had built together. He had promised to never let her down. He wasn’t going to be the one to bail on her.
“I’ll make a decision in the morning.”
* * *
Cecily paced the veranda of the rustic cabin she’d rented in the Catskills as the sun made its way into the sky.
Her wedding day.
Her heart climbed into her mouth. She had to make a decision. She was supposed to marry Alejandro in hours. But nothing seemed clear.
This idyllic paradise, buried deep in the heart of the mountains had seemed the perfect place to think. To lick her wounds. Because both her father and Alejandro had cut her deeply.
She knew it was Alejandro’s sense of honor at work, knew her history was at play here too, but she wanted, needed that unconditional love from the man she married. She couldn’t settle for less.
And yet, she conceded, leaning against the pillar of the veranda and looking out at the splendor of the red and gold leaves, all this beautiful place had done was remind her of the home she and Alejandro were building—the place where her heart was.
And so—her impossible decision. Marry Alejandro and grow to hate him for what he was doing to her family. To her. Don’t marry him and deprive her child of a home and herself of the man she loved.
She watched the sun rise high above the trees. A long-ago conversation with her mother filtered through her head. “You don’t choose who you love, Cecily. How and when you love. You just do.”
Something unraveled inside her. And suddenly she knew.
* * *
The yard at Cherry Hill was a beehive of activity as Cecily pulled the car into the parking lot.
She sat in the car and watched it all flow by, fear gripping her bones. What if Alejandro hated her for doing this to him? What if he didn’t want to marry her now?
Paralyzed, she sat there until the wedding planner, Mariana, flew by in a panic. Pulse pounding in her throat, she stepped from the car.
The morning sunlight lit the façade of the main barn. Her vision come to life. But there was something new—a sign the crew had affixed above the main doors.
Hargrove-Salazar.
A knot tied i
tself in her throat. Her feet moved without conscious decision, carrying her through the massive mahogany doors. The whicker of a horse greeted her, then a frenzied whinny and a stamping of feet.
Bacchus. She flew across the cobblestoned floor, fumbled with the latch on the door of his box and stepped inside, throwing her arms around his neck.
Had her father relented?
Deciding he’d received enough love, Bacchus nuzzled her pockets. She laughed. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right now.”
“There’s a box of your scary-looking American cereal in the feed room,” Alejandro said quietly.
Her heart thumped against her chest. She turned to find him standing outside Bacchus’s box. He looked so gorgeous in dark jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair mussed beyond redemption, she ached to throw herself in his arms. But she didn’t because he also looked mad. Furious.
“I was coming to see you.”
“And you left it until now?” He shook his head, fire lighting his eyes. “You left the ball in my court, Cecily. How the hell was I supposed to respond if I couldn’t find you?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, stomach sinking. “I needed time to think. You are a force of nature. I was worried if I let you in, you would steamroll me into making a decision I wasn’t ready to make.”
He rested a palm against the stall door. “So have you?”
She stepped out of the box and latched the door. Braved all that suppressed male fury as she stepped into his space. “Yes,” she said, lifting her gaze to his. “I love you, Alejandro. We are going to find a way to make this work.”
A flicker of something in those dark eyes—the faintest softening she hoped might be a positive sign. He caught her hand in his and tugged her closer until all she could feel was the heat vibrating from him.
“I have some things to say to you too,” he said huskily, eyes on hers. “First of all, I let you down, Cecily. I promised you I would always be there for you—that I would make this right and I didn’t. That will never happen again.
“Secondly, Adriana went to Kentucky to see your father. It’s over, this feud between the Salazars and the Hargroves. Your father and Kay are here for the wedding.”
Her father was here? Adriana had gone to Kentucky? Her head spun. “What happened between them?”
“I have no idea and I don’t care. Thirdly,” he said eyes on hers, “I chose you the night I crossed the line and made love to you at Esmerelda. I chose you when I asked you to marry me. I chose you the night you gave me that damn speech about unconditional love.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek. “You break my heart, querida. You always have.”
Her breath caught in her chest. “What are you saying?”
“That I love you. I fell in love with you that night in Belgium, Cecily. That’s why I pulled away. Because nothing good in my life has ever lasted. I couldn’t stand for that to happen to us.”
Her heart leaped in her chest. “It won’t,” she said fiercely, cupping his jaw in her hands. “What we have is special, Alejandro. Powerful. Look what we’ve done...we’ve ended the longest-running feud in equine history.”
A smile curved his lips. “I want to chase this dream with you,” he said softly. “I want that unconditional love you talked about. But I am not perfect. I’m going to have my moments. Which doesn’t mean I won’t always be there for you because I will.”
That completely undid her. Throat too thick to speak, she grabbed a handful of his shirt, stood on tiptoe and kissed him—a sweet, shimmering, soul affirming kiss that promised forever.
The hint of uncertainty in his eyes as he drew back made her frown. “What is it?”
“I thought I might have ruined it.”
She melted. “You can’t ruin love, Alejandro. It just is.”
It wasn’t something he was going to accept overnight. It was going to take time. Luckily she had the rest of her life to prove it to him.
* * *
The afternoon dawned a picture-perfect, unseasonably warm, fall day in the Catskills—as if some higher power had decided Cecily and Alejandro had already defeated enough of the elements and today was reserved for the bright, shiny future they would have.
Her elegant chignon in place, the stylist slipped Cecily’s romantic, spaghetti-strapped, ballerina-style dress over her head, the gown settling over her hips in a whoosh of silk. With its elaborate, scalloped bodice, plunging back and floral embroidered lace overlay, the only adornment required were her mother’s drop sapphire earrings.
That final grounding element in place, she descended the central staircase of the ranch house to where her father stood waiting at the bottom.
A flash of emotion stained his gray eyes as she took his arm. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
He frowned. “Cecily—”
She shook her head. “This is the beginning of a new chapter, Daddy. We decide where it goes from here.”
He was silent for a moment, then nodded, walking her outside into the sunshine.
Somehow Alejandro had managed to keep the hordes of photographers circling the estate via helicopter away from the private affair they had wanted it to be. Cecily ignored the distraction as she entered the garden on her father’s arm, the fall blooms a riot of red and gold around them. Her focus was firmly on the man who waited for her at the end of the aisle, a look of pure possession on his face.
Alejandro’s three groomsmen, Stavros, Antonio and Sebastien all looked devastatingly handsome in dark suits and silver ties, but Alejandro was the only man who would ever make her heart beat this way—as if her whole world revolved around him.
* * *
Stavros gave a low whistle, eyes on Alejandro’s bride. “Well I’d say she’s worth the merry tune she has you dancing.”
Antonio eyed him. “And you aren’t dancing one yourself?”
Stavros lifted a shoulder as if to concede the point since everyone knew he was mad about his so called ‘convenient wife’. “Salazar, however, is love struck.”
Well, yes he was. But Alejandro wasn’t fighting it anymore. Not when he’d almost lost the woman who had come to mean everything to him. He kept his eyes on Cecily as she negotiated the long row of seats on her father’s arm to the strains of a classical Bach piece. And then suddenly she was there by his side, her father giving her away.
He brushed a kiss against her cheek. “You okay?” he murmured. “You look very focused.”
Her lips curved in a winsome smile. “Yes.”
“Marry me then.”
And so she did.
* * *
“Well that’s the last man down,” Stavros concluded, saluting Alejandro with his beer as the barn party moved into full swing. “You must be feeling good about yourself,” he said to Sebastien.
The Englishman lifted a shoulder. “It’s good to see you three happy.”
“A toast then,” Alejandro said, tipping his glass toward Sadie, Calli, Monika and Cecily who looked up to no good whispering at one of the tables. “To the women in our lives and our luck in finding them.”
The men lifted their glasses in a salute and drank, all of them, Alejandro was sure, aware of how lucky they were.
“Apologies,” Stavros said to Sebastien when he’d lowered his glass, “that Alejandro and I can’t make the press conference on Monday. It’s an admirable thing you’re doing, Sebastien, giving away half your net worth.”
“You’re forgiven,” Sebastien allowed, “since I’ve put you all on the Rapid Response board of directors.”
“Oh, no,” said Stavros, lifting his hands. “No bandwidth here.”
“Me neither,” said Alejandro.
Antonio frowned. “Yeah, I—”
“Excuse me.” Mariana arrived to pluck Alejandro out of the g
roup for the first dance. “I need him.”
“Saved by the wedding planner,” said Stavros.
* * *
“You have no capacity for that,” Cecily observed as they waited for the band—their band from that night in Kentucky—to finish up the upbeat tune they were playing. “You have no time as it is. We’re having a baby.”
“I know,” he said, lacing his fingers through hers. “But Sebastien tends to get what Sebastien wants.”
The band introduced them to the crowd with a flourish. Cecily took Alejandro’s hand and they walked onto the dance floor under the sparkling Murano chandeliers. A hand laced through his, the other on his shoulder, her head tucked under his chin, they danced to the same ballad they had that night in Kentucky.
Time fell away and suddenly she was back under that star-filled sky, dancing with the man she’d fallen madly in love with. Except this time, it wasn’t just for one night—it was for forever.
“Alejandro,” she murmured.
“Mmm?”
“It’s not my song anymore. I got everything I wanted. Well,” she added, a wistful note to her voice, “almost everything.”
He leaned down to kiss her. “You will have that too. Remember the rule?”
An unshakeable vision.
EPILOGUE
World Championships of Show Jumping, Normandy, France.
VIRGINIA NELISSEN GALLOPED out of the stadium having compiled four faults in a lightning-fast round that had the Dutch team sitting in first place with only the last American rider to go.
“Boo,” said Alejandro to his eighteen-month-old daughter, Zara Rose, sitting on his lap with a front row seat to the action. “We don’t like her. She was mean to Mama.”
“Boo,” said Zara, imitating his scowl.
“Excelente,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Now,” he whispered as Cecily cantered into the ring, “you have to cheer for team Hargrove-Salazar. Because this is going to make history.”
“Salazar-Hargrove,” Adriana corrected tartly. “And I really don’t like how nervous Cecily is. She was wrapping enough fences in the warm up to bring the whole course down.”
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