by Eva Charles
“Don’t you have a cook to prepare lunch?” I ask, following her into the spacious kitchen.
“And let an opportunity pass to fuss over my handsome son? If you had given me more notice that you were coming, I would have prepared all your favorite dishes.”
“I didn’t come to eat. I came to see you. How’s Samantha and her family?” I ask, glancing at the photograph of my mother with Lexie, my stepsister’s child. Samantha is two years older than me, the daughter my mother happily inherited when she married Edward.
“They’re doing well. Lexie is getting to be a young woman. As much as I love having a son, it’s fun to have the girls.” She sighs. “I miss girl time.”
I know she’s thinking about my aunt Vera, and maybe Daniela’s mother too. My stomach is starting to rebel at the thought of breaking the news.
“I heard cargo was missing,” she says, glancing over her shoulder at me from the stove.
I glare at her, trying to keep my anger in check. “Sonia told you?”
“I speak with Sonia regularly. But I speak to a lot of people regularly.”
Fucking Sonia. “I allow you some leeway into my personal life, because you’re my mother. But you will stay out of my business matters.” I say it pointedly and firmly, and even Lydia Huntsman knows not to cross me about this. “The cargo doesn’t concern you—missing or not. And if Sonia doesn’t learn to keep her mouth shut, I’ll cut her loose fast enough to make your head spin.”
She starts to say something, and I hold up my hand. “Not one more word about it.”
“You can get more honey if you’re nice to the bees, Antonio.”
“Or you can get stung. And the saying is ‘more flies with honey.’”
“Flies are dirty little creatures. I’m not a fly, and neither is Sonia.”
It’s hard not to laugh, because she means well. “I don’t see you anywhere near enough, and I didn’t come all this way to argue. Besides, whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
She smiles. “Pour some wine, please. It’s a nice day. We’ll sit on the terrace and catch up until lunch is ready.”
She grabs a small dish of olives and another of nuts, and I carry the wine outside. The apartment is at the top of a steep hill, and the view of London from the terrace is beautiful, especially on a day like today.
My mother is barely seated before she starts. “Why are you here?” she asks, plopping an olive in her mouth.
“I’m traveling in Europe this week, representing the foundation. I don’t have appointments in London, but I wanted to see you.”
“A visit, out of the blue, in the middle of the week. Antonio, don’t lie to your mother. It’s a sin that will send you straight to hell.”
I’m already going. But I don’t say that because I know it’ll upset her.
“Monday isn’t the middle of the week.” I hedge for a minute, thinking about how I want to start. “I’m planning to add to your security detail. I don’t want the change to alarm you.”
“Why?” she asks warily, her body tightening.
As much as I’d prefer to focus on the snacks, I meet her gaze. “I’m getting married.”
She’s startled for a long moment, and then a smile blooms on her face. “Oh, Antonio, another girl in the family. I wasn’t sure you’d ever settle down. Every time I see you in the paper with some starlet”—she shakes her head—“I’ve always wished for something better for you.” Her brow furrows. “Is it one of those women?”
I scoff. “Those women aren’t so bad. But no. She’s not an actress or a model—if that’s what you mean.”
She narrows her eyes. “Tell me about your future bride. Do I know her? Why haven’t I met her? I was just in Porto. Is she pregnant?”
“Are you expecting answers, or are you just going to ask questions?”
My mother eyes me like she’s beginning to think that this isn’t the happily ever after she wants for her son.
“To answer your questions, in no specific order: She’s not pregnant. You didn’t meet her when you were in Porto, because she was not there at the time. No, it wasn’t sudden. Yes, you know her.”
Her shoulders ease with every answer I provide.
“Sonia?” she asks hopefully.
I roll my eyes.
“Am I supposed to guess?”
59
Antonio
“Daniela D’Sousa.” I just lay it out there. I don’t put a shine on it or provide an explanation of any sort. I won’t lie to her.
“Daniela D’Sousa,” she repeats, blanching. The wheels are turning, and I see the confusion swirling in her eyes. “Maria Rosa and Manuel’s daughter?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“What’s this about, Antonio?” she asks in a tone not much different than she used to question my behavior as a teenager. “Surely not love.” Her mouth puckers like she’s tasted something sour, because she already knows the answer to the question.
“Not love. But perhaps we’ll grow fond of one another as the years pass.” I shrug. “It happens.” Although right now I don’t see it.
“Why would you do this?” Her voice is as tortured as her expression. “The vineyards? You don’t have enough money? Or power? I want to know how this happened.” She bangs her index finger on the table. “Everything.”
“I didn’t go to Manuel. He came to me about an arrangement.”
“A betrothal contract?” She gasps in horror.
As much as I’d like to assure her it’s not the case, I nod.
My mother jumps out of her chair and wraps her arms around her midsection, moving across the terrace with her head down.
When she gets to the edge, she slams her hand on the railing and scowls at me. “How could you do this? Maria Rosa was my best friend, like a sister. When Vera went missing, she was the one who risked everything to help me find her. Do you know how many times I cried on her shoulder because the man I was married to was a monster? She saved my life. And this is what you do to her daughter?”
I’m willing to take my lumps—to a point. “We both know that arranged marriages are not some unique phenomenon in our culture. As I said earlier, Manuel approached me. I didn’t go to him.”
“You couldn’t say no? Is there something wrong with your tongue too? Because clearly your brain isn’t firing on all cylinders.”
“I couldn’t say no.”
“It’s not that you couldn’t.” She marches over to the table, an arm’s length from me. “It’s that you wanted those vineyards. And you were willing to sell your soul for them. Don’t treat me like I’m a fool.”
“The vineyards were part of it. I don’t deny it.” Although it makes the agreement more despicable in her eyes. “But Manuel treated me like a son. You know this. He steered me to the top on a path that Hugo would have never taken.” And he saved my life.
“I’m begging you not to do this.”
“It’s done.”
“You’re married?” She pulls her sweater tighter, as if the temperature plummeted suddenly.
“Less than two weeks.”
“I want to talk to her. I’m going back to Porto with you.”
No fucking way. That’s all I need.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not. You can speak to her after we’re married. Not before. It will only make matters worse.”
“Let me tell you something, big man,” she says, inching closer to the table. “I’ve been in her shoes. My sister was in her shoes. I assure you there is nothing that could make matters worse. But since you don’t want me to speak with her, I assume she’s not thrilled with the arrangement. Imagine that?”
“She’ll get comfortable. I won’t give her a choice.” My tone is far more flippant than it should be, and her eyes widen, flaring with a rage I haven’t seen in years. Not since my father died.
She takes a long stride in my direction and raises her arm.
I see it coming. I can catch her wrist and prevent the impact. But I let her
land the swing.
The slap across the face isn’t hard enough to make me flinch, but the significance isn’t lost on me. I expected her to be upset by the news, but it’s worse than I anticipated.
My mother took endless beatings for me. When I was a young boy, she stepped between my father and me more times than I could count.
“You’re going to get his,” my father would yell when she intervened, “and then I’m going to turn you black and blue for interfering.”
When I was nine, I forbade her from intervening. I warned her over and over. But she didn’t listen. Shortly after I turned eleven, after Hugo fractured her jaw in a drunken rage, I told her that the next time she stepped between my father and me, I would run away, and she’d never see me again. It worked, but it caused her great anguish to sit back and do nothing.
My mother never once raised her hand to me before today. Not even when I deserved it. No, the significance of that slap is not lost on me.
“I am your mother. And no matter how important and powerful you become, you will show me respect. What you’re doing to that young woman is an atrocity.”
Church bells ring in the distance. It seems to go on forever, like the silence between us, growing louder with each chime.
“I love you, Antonio—with all my heart and soul. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Bar none. I would go back and relive it all over again, because it meant having you. But what you’re doing—it’s beyond what I can understand. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“It does,” I say calmly. “We signed in blood.”
“So what? You might lose your position on the foundation? Maybe some euros. A woman’s life is worth more than any of that. Surely something can be done to make this right.”
“Manuel made me promise to protect her. He was worried about her safety for reasons he refused to share with me. I promised him I would marry her and protect her with my life, if necessary. I will keep that promise.”
“Like they protected me,” she says softly, sitting on the edge of her chair.
They were there for her when I wasn’t. I reach for her hand. “This has nothing to do with you.”
She presses her lips together. I know she doesn’t believe a word of it.
“I came today because I wanted to tell you myself, before you heard rumors. I’m keeping the news under wraps, for the most part, until after Camellia Weekend. That’s when everything will become public.”
“You expect problems when it’s announced?” she asks before pulling her lips into a thin line.
“I always expect problems. But this will come as a huge surprise to everyone. That’s why I’m asking you to take the extra security without an argument, and not to come to the wedding.” I don’t know why I even waste my breath with the last part.
She sits back and folds her arms. “Put that idea right out of your head. My only son is marrying my best friend’s daughter, even under these circumstances, and you think I won’t be there? Pfft.”
I think you’ll be there, trying to help the bride escape before she gets anywhere near the altar. But that’s not my real concern. “It’s not safe for you.”
“I’m an adult, and I decide what’s safe for me. And what risks I’m willing to take. Not my son. Or any other man.”
She lifts her chin, and I swallow my plea. No sense arguing with her right now. I’ll co-op Edward and Samantha in helping me to convince her to stay home. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll ground every goddamn plane out of London for a week, if I have to.
“Tell me about Daniela. I haven’t seen or talked to her since shortly after her mother died.”
Why didn’t I know this? Why would you have known? Daniela was a little girl, not even a blip on your radar. I assumed they’d stayed in touch until my mother remarried and moved to London. “I’m surprised you didn’t stay in contact with her after Maria Rosa died.”
She sighs. “I kept in touch with Manuel—for years. He would visit when he was in London. But he only let me see Daniela once after her mother died. He believed that spending time with me made it more difficult for Daniela, because I reminded her of her mother. She had some kind of breakdown a few months after the funeral. He was worried she would commit suicide to be with her mother, so he sent her away to recover, and rest. I never saw her when she got back.”
“Where did he send her?”
“Somewhere up north, and then she stayed at the ocean for a while. They had a cottage there.”
“He didn’t go with her?”
“Manuel had a lot of responsibilities. He couldn’t leave everything behind. That’s how men are. He visited her.”
He sent his young princesa up north and then to the beach, right after her mother was murdered. Not a chance. He sent her away to protect her.
“Daniela seems afraid of Abel and Tomas. Do you know anything about that?”
She shrugs. “Nothing you don’t know. Manuel was worried because Maria Rosa and I were searching for Vera. Even though we suspected she’d been murdered—we had to try. Daniela might have overheard something between her parents.”
“Would they have killed Maria Rosa?” I’m not sure why I ask. Something doesn’t feel right to me. But I can’t put my finger on it.
She shakes her head. “No. They found the man who did it. Besides, Abel has always been too calculating to do something so brazen. If they were caught—it would have been war. Remember, your uncle was never as powerful as your father, and Manuel had lots of power. Killing Maria Rosa would have been the end of Abel and of Premier. Even your father couldn’t have protected him.”
“Why was she without a guard?” I ask, gauging her reaction to see if this feels as strange to her as it does to me.
“Why are you asking now?” she asks defensively.
“I’m about to marry her daughter. Humor me.”
She rolls the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. “Manuel did business in the city on Wednesdays. He always spent the night.” Her voice is soft, mired in sorrow, as she tells the story. “Maria Rosa and Daniela would picnic when he was gone. In the living room, when it was cold, and when the weather turned, there’s a meadow just off the property where wildflowers grow. It’s such a beautiful spot. Like a private oasis.”
“You’ve been there?”
“I went with them while I was staying at Quinta Rosa do Vale.”
“Did you ever tell Hugo about it?”
“Of course not.”
She says it like I’m crazy. But just because she didn’t tell him doesn’t mean he didn’t know. I’m sure he tracked her every move while they were separated.
“Why wasn’t Daniela with her that day?”
“She was sick.”
Nothing about this adds up. “Maria Rosa left her sick daughter home to go have a picnic in the meadow? Does that make sense to you?”
“Daniela had cramps. She wasn’t bedridden with a fever.”
“Did Manuel tell you that?”
She glares at me. “Do you actually think Manuel talked to me about his daughter’s menstrual cramps? He was much too old-fashioned and proper for that. Isabel, Daniela’s governess, told me. And yes, for your information, it makes sense to me that she would steal an afternoon alone. It doesn’t make sense to you, because you’ve never been a woman who isn’t permitted to come and go as she pleases. He wasn’t anything like your father, but even in Manuel’s house there were rules.”
I want to know more about Isabel, but I’ve already asked too many questions. She’ll get suspicious.
I nod. “Everyone lives by rules. It’s the life we were born into. But I agree. It’s infinitely worse for women.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that. But things will never change for women until powerful men like you say enough. Until then, every girl born into that world is vulnerable to the nightmare I lived. You have the power to make it right, Antonio.”
“You have an inflated sense of my power. More than me,
even,” I tease, before catching her eye for a more serious discussion. “I hope you don’t think I’ll treat Daniela the way Hugo treated you.”
The words give me pause when they reach my ears. In many ways, I’ve already behaved a lot like Hugo Huntsman.
“You’re not your father.”
I used to think that, too, but I’m not so sure anymore.
60
Antonio
Lightning delayed my flight home for several hours last night, and when the phone vibrates on the nightstand before dawn, I groan. Cristiano. Not a name I want to see on the screen at 5:37.
“Yeah.”
“We have a situation with your car.”
My car. Today is the camellia race. I can’t afford a problem with my car. I’m wide awake now, sitting up in bed. “What kind of situation?”
“When Roberto got to the track this morning, he noticed that the workbench where he keeps his equipment was moved, and some of the tools were not as he left them. The lock doesn’t appear to have been tampered with, but we have a guy looking at it.”
Roberto has been the head of the pit crew since right after I started racing. He’s meticulous about the car and his tools. It’s almost an obsession. If he says something is out of place, it is.
“The entire crew has been with me a long time.”
“I don’t suspect them either. But I’m talking to everyone, just to be sure—including the guard, Joaquim, who was on duty last night.”
He’s been around forever too. “What about the cameras inside the place?”
“They were hacked. Entire segments have disappeared.”
Fuck. We don’t have any of our own surveillance inside the track. It would violate the rules, and we’d be disqualified from today’s race, and I’d be banned from ever entering another. We comply with the rules because I’m not ready to say goodbye to racing yet.
“So we’ve got nothing.”
“Not exactly. Lucas and his team are combing through the feeds we set up outside the track. But we might not have a solid lead until after the race. You might want to consider sitting this one out.”
