by Kim Lawrence
Roman placed the glass down with a bang that sloshed the contents over the polished surface. ‘Rio, like Father?’ He had to have misheard.
‘I know... I know, so stupid of me. You are both your own men, and you always were.’
‘Rio?’
‘Are you all right, Roman?’
‘People used to say that I was like Father.’
His mother’s merry laughter echoed down the line. ‘What people?’ she scoffed. ‘Heavens, are you serious? You?
‘You are nothing like your father at all. In fact, you are the total antithesis of him, which is why I never worried about you as much as I did Rio. You are moody and emotional, and your father was a very cold and calculating man. Oh, he spoke a lot about love, but the truth was he was incapable of feeling the emotion, because he was all about control and revenge. The only thing you inherited from your father was your head for business! Roman, are you still there?’
‘Yes, Mother, but I have to go now.’
Could it be true?
Was it possible that he was so afraid of becoming the very thing he’d most despised and feared, he had created a scenario that did not exist, and he had seen monsters in him that were not there?
He picked up the framed drawing from the desk before the spreading brandy reached it, and stared at the childish drawing, feeling as if his heart would burst.
He ached for Marisa.
He ached for their son too, yet his suffering was of his own making. He’d thought he was being noble, doing the right thing for them...but what if all he was actually being was a coward?
He had sent them away! A sound of disgust was wrenched from his throat. He was sitting here alone, being a martyr, when actually he was simply a fool—a coward and a fool.
A sense of calm settled over him as he brushed the mess off the desk with his forearm and placed the picture back carefully centre stage, which was where his family should be.
He reached for his phone to call his pilot.
‘Santiago, I have a favour to ask.’
The ‘staying cheerful’ thing was taking its toll. Marisa already felt exhausted after a journey from hell to the private airport, during which Jamie had loudly demanded to take his pony and Roman, not necessarily in that order, back home with him.
All she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry, but crying was not a luxury that mums always had.
And now, just when she’d thought the worst was over, the flight, for some reason that was too technical for her to grasp, was delayed. At least they were delayed in luxury and the on-board staff were keeping Jamie amused playing games. She glanced towards her son, who was crying out, ‘I win, I win,’ after he had carefully counted out six on the dice.
‘Excuse me.’
She turned to see the pilot standing beside her.
‘Not more delay?’ She sighed.
‘Everything is moving along nicely,’ he soothed. ‘But there is an issue with some of the luggage. If you could just come outside for a moment?’
‘Luggage?’
He shrugged and smiled. ‘These officials can be persistent.’
Which told her nothing at all. She glanced over at Jamie.
‘He’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him myself.’
She recognised the sleek supercar before she even saw the driver.
‘Hello, Marisa.’
She spun around, her blonde hair flying around her face. Brushing the shiny strands from her face gave her time to think, except of course she couldn’t. Thoughts were firing off at wild tangents in her head, not making any sense, the processes of logic completely overwhelmed by the surge of raw emotion that blocked out everything else... There was just her heartbeat and the sensation of deep longing.
‘I like your hair loose.’ His caressing glance drifted over her pale hair before coming to rest on her face, his own settling into an expression that hinted at an aching loneliness inside him.
She cleared her throat and looked away, refusing to see things that were not there. She had to deal with the real world, not fantasies, which were lovely while they lasted but so, so painful when you woke up.
‘What are you doing here, Roman?’
Her chin lifted as she added silently, Besides compounding my misery. She hadn’t asked to fall in love but she had, and as she looked up at his perfectly gorgeous face she could not imagine a time when he did not make her ache with longing.
With a tiny groan she squeezed her eyes closed and begged huskily, ‘Will you just go away and leave me in peace?’
‘No.’
Her eyes opened in response to the thumb under her chin.
He was there standing right in front of her, his body blocking out everything else, but then when he was around there was nothing else for her to see.
‘Not yet.’ His lips were warm as they moved across her own. ‘Not ever,’ he added on a throaty murmur as he kissed her again, this time with a ferocity that matched the possessive intent etched on his dark features.
Hands clenched at her sides, she fought against the surge of passion that made her want to cling to him, and with a small cry she stepped backwards, her pallor highlighted by the two patches of colour on her cheeks as she panted like someone who had just run a marathon.
‘What is this all about, Roman? Because...’ She glanced at the stationary jet, its metallic paint glinting in the sun. ‘You arranged this delay, didn’t you?’
‘Yes. I needed to talk to you.’
She touched her lips. ‘That wasn’t talking.’
Roman sketched a smile that did not reach his dark eyes, which remained desperate and determined. ‘Your mouth always distracts me. The castillo felt empty when you left.’
Empty, sterile, safe...very safe—just like his life. People called him reckless and a risk-taker when he pitted himself against an unclimbable peak, but he wasn’t a risk-taker, he was a coward, he thought with a fresh surge of self-contempt. What he was about to do, now that was real risk-taking.
Giving something of himself.
The cost of moving on was high, but he needed to let her see him as he really was.
‘Yes, I did order that dossier on you to be compiled, but I hadn’t ever opened it. I had no idea what was in it until you told me.’
She planted her hands on her hips, an effect spoilt by the fact she had to brush away the tears that were trickling down her cheeks. ‘You’ve driven all this way just to tell me that? You expect me to believe you?’
‘No, but it happens to be true.’ His chest lifted in a deep sigh. His future, his soul depended on him convincing her.
‘I had every intention of deleting it from my computer, I really did.’
‘Because you were not interested in my skeletons,’ she said dryly.
‘I’m interested in everything about you,’ he said honestly. ‘And I was very tempted to access that material, but I didn’t because... I think I wanted you to tell me yourself, when you were ready.’
‘Because you are so patient.’
He conceded her jab with a shrug. ‘Maybe it was arrogant of me, but I wanted you to trust me.’ His lips quirked in a bitter little smile. ‘Dios, this is not easy.’
‘And flying away from you is?’ she yelled back.
‘Then don’t go,’ he pushed out fiercely through clenched teeth before continuing in the same driven tone. ‘I wanted, I needed you to trust me enough to tell me. I genuinely had no idea about your mother and half-sister until you told me. For the record, it is not your fault, it is hers, and not having you in her life is definitely her loss. I am speaking here as someone who has lost you once and, while I am so glad Rupert was there to save you, I just wish it had been me instead, mi vida.’
She blinked and he took encouragement from the doubt that he saw creep into her golden eyes.
‘I don’t believe you.’ But he didn’t think she sounded completely sure and he pressed home the only advantage he had left.
‘It is true. What is also true is that I love you. You are the only woman in the world I have ever said that to. The last time you threw it back in my face and walked away with a chunk of me that I’ve never got back.’
She took a step towards him, her eyes scanning his face. ‘You love me...?’
‘From that very first moment I saw you.’
She looked utterly shocked.
‘I have always been afraid that if I let myself care about someone, allowed myself to fall in love, I would become just like him and destroy the very thing that I loved most.’
‘Your father?’
He nodded. ‘The anger, the rage inside me when you told me you were already married...it was...’ He closed his eyes, the sinews in his neck standing out as he fought against the tidal wave of black memories. ‘I walked away from my life, and I rebuilt those walls you knocked down around my heart, but I added a few more feet for good measure, as much to keep my anger in as to keep love out. I shouldn’t be telling you this.’
‘You should be telling me,’ Marisa contradicted, stepping in and framing his face with loving hands and sharing a watery smile when he opened his eyes.
‘You believe me.’
‘I do.’ She felt lighter for just saying it. ‘I love you, Roman, so much it scares me, because loving you feels like I’m stepping into moving traffic with my eyes closed.’ She gave a wild little laugh. ‘They say the best cure for fears and secrets is fresh air. You can’t keep everything in, and I can’t any more,’ she admitted.
‘If it ever gets too heavy for you to bear, you need to share—you need to share with me. You really are incredible, you know.’ Unable to resist the soft invitation of her lips, he kissed her with a tenderness bordering on reverence.
‘You’ll make me cry,’ she warned thickly.
‘If I ever hurt you, Marisa, it would kill me—’ he groaned out fiercely.
‘You are nothing like him,’ she cut in fiercely. ‘Do you hear me, Roman Bardales? Nothing! There is a massive difference between wanting to protect someone because you love them and wanting to control them because you don’t know what love really is. You love our son and I know that you will always protect him. That makes me feel...safe. You make me feel safe.’
‘Marisa.’ He swallowed, his voice cracking with emotion as he stroked a finger down her smooth cheek.
‘I want to be Superman for our son.’
‘He doesn’t need a superhero, he just needs a dad. He needs you.’ Her lashes dipped over her eyes as she gazed at him through them. ‘We both do, Roman.’
‘You have me, you have had me from that moment in the rain when you looked up at me and the rest of the world went away.’
‘You and Jamie are my entire world,’ she whispered against his mouth.
He sighed in contentment. ‘Let’s go home.’
EPILOGUE
‘WHY ARE WE HERE? I have a table at the restaurant booked for—’ Roman turned his wrist, pushed up the cuff of the fine black cashmere sweater he wore over black jeans and glanced at the metal-banded watch ‘—half an hour ago.’ He sighed. The famous Michelin-starred restaurant was the only thing that would normally have made the journey to this quiet south coast seaside town worthwhile.
When he had acquiesced to Marisa’s surprise request to spend the weekend here he had assumed that the place had some special significance for her, maybe from childhood, but no, she seemed as unfamiliar with the place as he was.
The mystery remained but he was content to let it play out.
‘I am not dressed for the beach.’ He looked around at the empty stretch of sand lined with beach huts, but it did not surprise him it was empty; the wind was blowing up a positive sandstorm. ‘Sand gets everywhere.’
‘Don’t be such a grouch,’ she retorted. ‘We are nearly there.’ She was studying the brightly painted beach huts they were passing and was, he realised, counting under her breath. ‘This is it!’ she exclaimed.
He shook his head. He could see someone jogging along a deserted promenade and a dog walker who was a mere dot in the distance.
‘You have bought me a beach hut?’
It was a joke, but then she went to knock on the door of the candy-striped wooden box they were standing beside.
‘Marisa!’
She shook her head, suddenly looking nervous. ‘You will thank me, I promise you,’ she said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. She tapped on the door, which opened immediately.
A slim figure wearing large sunglasses and a loose hooded sweat top that concealed her hair stepped out, nodding at Marisa, who turned to him with a plea in her golden eyes.
‘Just please go inside, Roman, and then you’ll understand.’
He would have stepped inside a burning building if she had asked him, so this request did not require much thought. He ducked to go through the door and heard a key click in the lock behind him.
‘I’ll come back for you in half an hour!’ Marisa yelled through the door.
As he had already seen through the disguise of the woman in the hoodie he was not surprised by the identity of the solo occupant of the beach hut, who was sitting on an unfolded deckchair.
The figure got to his feet. ‘It would seem you are late.’
‘If I’d known where I was going, I wouldn’t be here at all,’ Roman said, staring with distaste around the hut’s interior, lit by a single bulb suspended from the ceiling. ‘I am assuming that we are meant to sort out our differences in half an hour, and then emerge as friends?’
‘That appears,’ Rio agreed dryly, ‘to be the general idea. Or I could even the scales and put you on the floor this time,’ he added, rubbing his clean-shaven jaw.
‘You could try,’ Roman retorted.
The brothers stood staring at one another for a moment, then in unison they grinned and, stepping forward into one another, embraced.
‘So who do you suppose had this cunning little idea?’ Rio asked. ‘Gwen or Marisa?’
‘I think I know when they made contact, because a couple of weeks ago Marisa was looking really guilty.’
Rio nodded. ‘Yes, that time frame works for my end too,’ he admitted with a laugh. ‘Well, are we going to tell them this little charade was not actually necessary, that we’d already met, shook hands and made up?’
‘How about we leave them thinking they have knocked our stubborn heads together and saved the day?’
Rio grinned. ‘Shall we throw a few things around too to make it look authentic?’
‘What is this place anyway?’
‘I think we might find our other halves bid for it in an online auction—but it could have been worse,’ Rio said.
‘How so?’
‘They could be leaving us in here for an hour.’
Roman laughed. ‘And in the meantime do you have those dates?’ he asked, digging in a pocket for his phone.
‘You spoke to Mum?’
Roman nodded. ‘She is willing to come back to the castillo for the big day, as long as she can bring her significant other.’
‘He really is all right, you know.’
‘So long as he makes her happy,’ Roman said simply.
‘Wow, you really have changed your tune—is that Marisa’s influence?’
Roman slung him a look. ‘So the venue is sorted, it’s just a matter of when suits us all.’
‘The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned...’ Rio paused. ‘Before Gwen starts showing.’
Roman’s eyes widened. ‘Congratulations... I don’t suppose that this is a spring baby?’
‘End of—’ Rio stopped dead. ‘You too?’
Roman nodded, looking proud. ‘Well, not me per
sonally, but Marisa found out last week. Jamie is going to have a brother or sister, maybe both if we’re really lucky.’
‘Twins?’ Rio released a low chuckle. ‘This is going to be one hell of a wedding, brother, in a good way.’
‘I have a feeling it’s going to be one hell of a life, in the very best way,’ Roman countered.
Not just a society wedding, but a joint wedding of the most eligible bachelors in Europe, held in the incredible setting of the Bardales estate.
The world’s media only had one complaint: that they were not allowed inside. The rich and famous were invited and, so it was said, most of the locals for miles around too. They took comfort in the knowledge that someone would have smuggled in a phone, that someone would be tempted by a fat wedge of cash.
They would get their story.
What they did get was a snapshot made publicly available that showed both couples sitting on a bale of hay looking happy, and the world’s media spent a full week furiously speculating on who was responsible for this naturalistic shot.
A week later, sprawled on the cushions of the daybed beside his wife, Roman watched Jamie swim-splashing in the new addition to the landscaping, a baby pool filled with inflatable toys, while he read aloud an article in the paper.
‘“It seems that the truth is out: the wedding photo, it has been definitively decided, was taken by famous photographer Sir Robert Chambers, who is refusing to confirm the rumours, but a source close to him apparently says”—’
A protective hand on the gentle swell of her belly, Marisa broke into peels of musical laughter.
‘Imagine,’ Roman said, leaning over to remove her hand and kiss the small bump before he placed it back and covered the pale fingers with his own big hand. ‘If our son has a talent worthy of such a towering artistic icon at only four.’
‘Five next,’ Marisa corrected with a grin.
‘Five next, but imagine what he will be capable of by the time he is eighteen.’
‘If he is anything like his father, he’ll be breaking hearts, I would think.’
