Carrying the Spaniard's Child

by Jennie Lucas

  His jaw set. “Once the decision is made, it’s best to get it over with. You deserve better than me. A good man who can actually love you back.”

  “You could be that man,” she whispered. She struggled to smile, to find a trace of her old spirit, even as her eyes were wet with tears. “I know you could.”

  Emotion flashed across his handsome face, but before she could identify it, it was gone. He looked away.

  “I am doing the best I can,” he said in a low voice. “By letting you go.”

  It was a civilized ending to their engagement. They could both go forward as partners raising their baby, telling friends that the breakup had been “mutual” and their engagement had ended “amicably.”

  But Belle couldn’t end it like that.

  She couldn’t just leave quietly, with dignity. Her heart rebelled. She couldn’t hold back her real feelings. Not anymore.

  “I know I can’t compete with Nadia,” she choked out, “not in a million years. I’m not beautiful like her. I can’t offer you the dukedom you’ve craved all your life. There’s only one thing I can give you better than anyone else. My love. Love that will last for the rest of my life.” She looked up at him through her tears. “Choose me, Santiago,” she whispered. “Love me.”

  For a moment, blood rushed in her ears. She felt like she was going to faint in the moonlit garden. The image of the looming castle swirled above her. She swayed on her feet, holding her breath.

  Then she saw his answer, by the grim tightening of his jaw.

  “That’s why I’m ending this, Belle,” he said in a low, rough voice. “I care for you too much to let you stay and waste your life—your light—on me.”

  The brief hope in her heart died. Her shoulders sagged. “All right,” she said, feeling like she’d aged fifty years. “I’ll go pack.”

  But as she started to turn, he grabbed her wrist. “Unless...”

  “Unless?” she breathed.

  “You tell me you don’t love me after all. Tell me you were lying. We could still be married, like we planned. If you don’t ask for more than I can give.”

  He was willing to still marry her?

  For a moment, desperate hope pounded through her.

  Then she went still.

  Seven years ago, when Justin had first proposed to her, she’d known even then, deep down, that he didn’t love her. When he’d demanded Belle have the medical procedure to permanently prevent pregnancy—a monstrous demand, when she’d been only a twenty-one-year-old virgin—barely more than a kid herself—Belle had deluded herself into thinking she had to accept any sacrifice as the price of her love for him.

  No longer. She looked up at Santiago in the moonlit garden.

  “No,” she said quietly.

  He looked incredulous. “No?”

  Belle lifted her chin. “I might not be a movie star, I might not have a title or fortune, but I’ve realized I’m worth something too. Just as I am.” She took a deep breath. “I want to be loved. And I will be, someday.” She gave him a wistful smile. “I just wish it could have been by you.”

  “Belle...”

  Her belly suddenly became taut. Her lower back was hurting. She was still weeks from her due date so she knew it couldn’t be labor. It was her body reacting, she thought, to her heart breaking.

  “I will always love you, Santiago,” she whispered. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she reached up to cradle his rough chin with her hand one last time. “And think that we could have been happy together. Really happy.”

  Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed one cheek, then the other, then finally his lips. She kissed him truly, tenderly, with all her love, to try to keep this last memory of him locked forever in her heart.

  Then, with desperate grief, she pulled away at last.

  “Goodbye,” she choked, and fled into the castle, blinded by tears. She went up to her room in the tower and packed quickly. It was easy, since she left all of the expensive, uncomfortable new clothes behind. When she came downstairs, she saw a limo in the courtyard waiting for her.

  “I’ll take your bag, miss,” the driver said.

  Belle climbed in to the limo, looking back at the castle one last time. She had a glimpse of Santiago in the library window, alone in the cold castle, the future Duke of Sangovia, the future husband of a marquesa, a self-made billionaire, sleek and handsome with cold, dead eyes staring after her.

  Then, like a dream, he was gone.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SANTIAGO STOOD AT the library window, watching Belle’s limo disappear into the dark night. He felt sick at heart. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, letting her go.

  “Finally. She’s gone.”

  Nadia’s voice was a purr behind him. Furious, Santiago turned to face her with a glare. She smiled at him, with a hand on her tilted hip, in front of the dark wood paneling and wall of old leather-bound books. She looked like a spoiled Persian cat, he thought irritably. He bared his teeth into a smile.

  “You did your part to get rid of her, didn’t you? Sticking her in the tower, undercutting her with the staff, telling her the engagement ring had once been yours?”

  “She didn’t belong here,” she said lazily. “Better for her to just go.”

  Yes, Santiago thought dully. It would be better. That was the only reason he’d let Belle go. He couldn’t bear to be loved by her, and she refused to marry him without it.

  Belle, of all women on earth, deserved to be happy. She deserved to be loved.

  The truth was, he had no idea what she’d seen to love in him. He’d taken her from her Texas hometown against her will, and yet she hadn’t just gone back with him to New York: she’d done her best to fit into his life and play the role of society wife. He remembered how scared she’d been, but she’d done it anyway. Because he’d asked her to.

  She’d redecorated his Upper East Side mansion, turning it from a cold showplace to a warm, cozy home. She’d reorganized his staff, removing the arrogant butler, making the household happier.

  Belle had been unbelievably understanding when he’d canceled their wedding hours before the ceremony. She’d even insisted on coming to Spain with him.

  “I can’t let you face it alone,” she’d told him.

  But now he was alone, in this cold place.

  “It was unpleasant, having her always hovering around us. Such a pushy girl,” Nadia said, then gave him a bright smile. “Your father sent me to find you. He wants to discuss how soon you might take over the family’s business interests.” She gave a hard laugh. “You’ll do better than Otilio did, that’s for sure.”

  Santiago turned to her abruptly. “Did you love my brother?”

  She blinked. “Love him?”

  “Did you?”

  Nadia laughed mirthlessly. “Otilio spent most of his time getting drunk and chasing one-night stands. You heard he died from a heart attack?”

  “Yes...”

  She shook her head. “He was drunk, and crashed his car into the window of a children’s charity shop. It was night and the shop was empty, or else he might have taken out a bunch of mothers and their babies, too. That would have been awful...for our family’s reputation.” She sighed. “But he wanted a beautiful, famous wife, and I wanted a title. We were partners, promoting the brand of our marriage.” She shrugged. “We tried not to spend too much time together.”

  Partners, Santiago thought dully. Just like he’d suggested to Belle. As if it would be remotely appealing to anyone with a beating heart to accept marriage as a business arrangement, as a brand, as a cheap imitation for what was supposed to be the main relationship of
one’s life.

  He could hardly blame her for refusing.

  I love you, Belle had whispered in the shadowy light of that threadbare little attic room. Could you ever love me?

  And he, who was afraid of nothing, had been afraid.

  Santiago told himself that he was glad Belle was gone, so he didn’t have to see her big eyes tugging at his heart, pulling him to...what?

  “The duke wants you to be on a conference call regarding the Cebela merger.”

  “Right.” He hadn’t been listening. He followed Nadia out of the library toward his father’s study, feeling numb. He liked feeling numb. It was easy. It was safe.

  But late that night, he tossed and turned, imagining Belle on his private jet, flying alone across the dark ocean. What if the plane crashed? And she was so close to her due date. What if she went into labor on the plane? Why hadn’t he sent a doctor with her?

  Because he’d been so eager to get her away from him.

  Not eager. Desperate.

  “I love you. Could you ever love me?”

  When Santiago finally rose at dawn, he felt bleary-eyed, more exhausted than he’d been the night before. It was the middle of the night in New York, but he didn’t care. He phoned the pilot. The man politely let him know that they’d arrived safely in New York, and Miss Langtry had been picked up at the airport by his usual driver and the bodyguard.

  “Is there a problem?” the pilot asked.

  “No problem,” Santiago said abruptly and hung up.

  He pushed down his emotions, determined to stay numb. He went downstairs in the castle and ate breakfast, reading newspapers, just as Nadia and his father did. Three people silently reading newspapers at a long table in an elegant room filled with flowers, the only sound the rustle of paper and the metallic clank of silverware against china.

  Santiago went numbly through the motions of the day, speaking to his father’s lawyers, skipping lunch for a long conference call with a Tokyo firm in the process of being sold to Santiago’s New York-based conglomerate.

  He didn’t contact Belle. He tried not to think about her. He was careful not to feel, or let himself think about anything deeper than business. He felt utterly alone. Correction: he didn’t feel anything at all.

  Exactly as he’d wanted.

  At dinner that night in the great hall, both his father and his sister-in-law were lavish in their abuse of the woman who’d left them the previous night.

  “Nothing but a gold digger,” Nadia said with a smirk. “As soon as I told her you’d always support the baby she left, didn’t she?”

  Santiago stared at his crystal goblet with the red wine. Red, like blood, which he no longer could feel beating through his heart.

  “You did the right thing, mi hijo,” the old man cackled, then started talking about a potential business acquisition. “But these money-grubbing peasants refuse to sell. Do they not know their place? They refused my generous offer!” He drank more wine. “So we’ll just take the company. Have our lawyers send a letter, say we already own the technology. Check the status of the patents. We can ruin him then take his company for almost nothing.”

  “Clever,” Nadia said approvingly.

  Santiago didn’t say anything. He just stared down at his plate, at the elegant china edged with twenty-four-carat gold. At the solid silver knife beside it. He took a drink of the cool water, closing his eyes.

  All he could think of was Belle, who’d tried to save him from the cold reality of his world. From the cold reality of who he’d become, as dead as the steak on this plate.

  Belle had tried to be his sunshine, his warmth, his light. She’d loved him. And for that, he’d sent her away forever. Both her and his unborn daughter.

  “You are very quiet, mi hijo.”

  “I’m not very hungry. Excuse me,” Santiago muttered and left the dinner table with a noisy scrape of his hard wooden chair. In the darkened hallway, he leaned back against the oak-paneled wall and took a deep breath, trying to contain the acid-like feeling in his chest. In his heart.

  Tomorrow, his father intended to hold a press conference to announce that Santiago would be taking the Zoya name as rightfully his, along with the Zoya companies, eventually folding his own companies into the conglomerate. The duke also would start the process of getting Santiago recognized as the heir to his dukedom.

  He was going to be the rightful heir, as he’d dreamed of all his life. He was about to have everything he’d ever wanted. Everything he’d ever dreamed of.

  And he’d never felt so miserable.

  If he closed his eyes in the hallway, he could almost imagine he could smell the light scent of Belle’s fragrance, tangerine and soap and sunshine.

  Suddenly, he had to know she was doing all right. It was early afternoon in New York. Reaching for his phone, he dialed the number of the kitchen in his Upper East Side mansion.

  Mrs. Green answered. “Velazquez residence.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Green,” Santiago said tightly. “I was just wondering if my wife—” Then he remembered Belle was not his wife, not even his fiancée, and never would be again. He cleared his throat. “Please don’t disturb Belle. I just wanted to make sure she is doing well after her trip home.”

  There was a long pause. Her voice sounded half surprised, half sad. “Mr. Velazquez, I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “Miss Langtry is at the hospital... She’s in labor.”

  He gripped the phone. “But it’s too soon—”

  “The doctors are concerned. Didn’t she call you?”

  No, of course Belle hadn’t. Why would she now, when he’d made it so clear he wanted nothing to do with her? Or their baby girl?

  “Thank you, Mrs. Green,” he said quietly and hung up. He felt sick, dizzy.

  “Something wrong?”

  Nadia found him in the hallway. He didn’t like having her so close, blocking the sunshine and soap with her heavy smell of exotic flowers and musk.

  She frowned, looking at the phone still clasped tightly in his hand. “Bad news?”

  “Belle’s in the hospital.”

  “She was hurt?”

  “She’s gone into labor early.”

  Nadia shrugged. “Maybe things will go badly. Otherwise you’re on the hook for the next eighteen years. If you’re lucky, they’ll both conveniently die and... Stop, you’re hurting me!” she suddenly cried.

  Looking down, Santiago saw he’d grabbed her by the shoulder in fury, and his fingers were digging into her skin. He abruptly let her go. The skin on his hand still crawled from touching her.

  “You are a snake.”

  Rubbing her shoulder, she said, “We both are. That’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

  He ground his teeth. “My brother is barely in his grave.”

  “It was always you I wanted, Santiago.”

  “You had a funny way of showing it.”

  Nadia shrugged, smiling, still certain of her charm. “I had to be practical, darling. I didn’t know then that you would turn out to be worth so much.” She tilted her head, fluttering her long eyelashes. “And what can I say? I wanted to be a duchess.”

  His lip curled. “You disgust me.”

  Nadia frowned in confusion. “Then why did you send that girl away? Wait. Oh, no.” Her lips spread in a shark-like smile. “You love her,” she taunted. “Sweet, true, tender love.”

  His voice was tight. “I don’t.”

 
“You do. And that baby as well. You wanted to kill me just now, for speaking as I did. You love them both.”

  Santiago stared down blindly at Nadia in the castle hallway.

  Love Belle?

  Love her?

  He’d let her go because it was better for her. That was all. Because she deserved to be happy. And because his family needed him here in Spain.

  But he suddenly realized that wasn’t the whole reason.

  For months now, he’d been fighting his feelings for Belle. Because since he was a boy, every time he’d loved someone, they’d stabbed him in the back. He’d vowed to never play the sucker again.

  But with Belle, he’d been tempted more than he could resist. He’d come to care about her too much. He’d started feeling that her happiness was more important than his own.

  He hadn’t sent Belle away so he could be with his family, but because he was fleeing from them.

  Belle was his real family. Belle and the baby.

  And that fact terrified him.

  Santiago’s knees trembled beneath him. He felt a wave rip through his soul, cracking it open.

  He’d let her go because he was afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable. Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of what would happen, who he would become, if he let her love him.

  If he loved her back.

  “So it’s really true.” Nadia looked stunned. Her violet eyes narrowed with rage. “You’d choose that little nobody over me?”

  Santiago thought of Belle’s many joys, her tart honesty, her silliness, her kindness. He thought of her luminous eyes and trembling pink lips as she’d whispered, “There’s only one thing I can give you better than anyone else. My love.”

  For the first time, he saw the truth.

  When he was a boy, he’d dreamed of being loved by his father, who was rich and powerful and able to command people from a palace. He’d thought if he could just get the duke to call him son, he’d be happy.

  As a young man, he’d dreamed of being loved by Nadia, with all her cold beauty and utter lack of pity. He’d thought he’d be happy if he could just win her. Like a trophy.