Anaïs. Until his mother’s death.
After that even sex hadn’t mattered.
Nothing had mattered. Nothing but duty.
Feeling the bitterness encroach, Reyes whirled and stalked towards his study. ‘See Armando. He’ll show you where the phone is. But one call is all you get. Make it count.’
* * *
Jasmine ended the call to her mother and put the phone down in the seriously gorgeous solarium Armando had shown her into. She took a calming breath and looked around her. Outside, a carpet of rich green grass rolled away towards a stand of cypress trees at the bottom of the valley they’d climbed out of. To the right, a more cultivated garden, hedged with roses, bougainvillea and hyacinths grew beyond a sun-washed terrace. She stood for a moment, letting the sun and stunning surroundings wash over her.
As prisons went, this one wasn’t so bad, she mused. Although if she had to compare jailors, she would’ve preferred one who didn’t make her pulse jump, who didn’t make her wish her path to this place had been different.
In the car earlier, she’d refused to give Joaquin’s name, partly because of what it would mean for her stepfather. But she’d also shied away from the conversation because she’d been afraid Reyes would find out about her past. That he’d discover that the woman he’d taken to bed had grown up in a council estate and been nearly initiated into a drug-dealing gang. That she had a juvenile record she’d never be able to erase.
He might detest her now, but that was far better than his repulsion, his scorn.
The chirp of a bird steered her from another unwanted trip down memory lane. She’d been taking those trips far too often these last weeks. Ever since that night in Rio, in fact. She needed to snap out of it. Put it behind her.
She would face whatever punishment Reyes chose to dole out on her, but the past belonged in the past.
A sound from behind her made her turn.
Armando entered, pushing a trolley laden with food. ‘I do not know the señorita’s preference, so I have brought a selection.’
She’d missed breakfast again because she hadn’t been able to stomach any of the food the embassy had laid out for them this morning. Lately, any thought of food made her stomach roil. So she approached the trolley cautiously. And breathed easier once she could look at the mouthwatering selection of tapas without turning green.
Perhaps telling the doctor she was fine this morning had been a mistake...
Thanking Armando, she heaped her plate with bread, ham, and a green salad and took a seat at the dining area near the window. She polished off the food in record time and went back for seconds, adding plump olives marinated in chilli oil.
She was about to pick up her cutlery when Reyes strolled in. Without a word, he selected his own food, then pulled up a chair opposite her.
In low tones, he dismissed Armando and shook out his napkin.
‘So,’ he started conversationally, ‘you told your mother I was your boyfriend.’ It wasn’t a question. It was an observation, marred with thick layers of distaste.
Jasmine’s appetite fled. Her cutlery dropped noisily onto the table. ‘How did you know that?’
One sleek brow arched. ‘Did I not mention it? All incoming and outgoing calls from San Estrela are monitored. And yes, I have a zero-trust policy where you’re concerned.’
Despite the heat engulfing her face at the pointed remark, she met his gaze head-on. ‘If you were listening then you would’ve heard that my mother assumed you were my boyfriend. I didn’t—’
‘Correct that assumption. You’ve been caught in yet another lie, Miss Nichols. It’s quite astonishing how they trip so easily from your lips.’ His gaze dropped to her lips and she felt a guilty tingle as if he’d branded her mouth with just that one look.
‘I could hardly tell her I was being held prisoner somewhere in Northern Spain!’
He ripped a piece of bread in half, dipped it in his olive oil and took a healthy bite. ‘Maybe you should have. For her own good, she needs to know she doesn’t have the perfect daughter she seems to think she does.’
‘You don’t know me and you don’t know my mother, so don’t presume to judge us. Besides, what makes you think she believes I’m perfect?’
‘She must do. She seemed to eat up all the lies you fed her without question.’
Jasmine was tempted to tell Reyes of her mother’s one fatal flaw—she refused to see the bad in anyone. Her blindly trusting nature had seen her duped out of her money over and over by ruthless men. It was that nature that had landed them where Jasmine had been forced down a path of near permanent ruin.
It was a place Jasmine didn’t like to remind her mother of, or ever revisit herself, if she could help it.
‘It’s easier for my mother to take things at face value.’ Her words emerged with much more bitter introspection than she’d intended. Aware of just how much she’d let slip, Jasmine clamped her jaw shut and tried not to even breathe. But it was too late.
Reyes’s head cocked to the side in the now oh-so-familiar way. ‘Interesting. She knows and she accepts you just the way you are?’ The way he said it, almost wistfully, drew her gaze to him.
He was staring at her and yet she got the feeling his mind was somewhere else altogether. Somewhere he didn’t want to relive, but couldn’t seem to help.
She picked up her fork and speared an olive. A quick whiff of it had her setting it down again. She tried a piece of ham and chewed that instead. After swallowing, she answered, ‘Yes, she does. She likes to think that people change. So do I, incidentally.’
As if snapping out of whatever place he’d been, he sharpened his gaze. ‘No, they don’t. They like to pretend they do. Some do their best to present a different face to the world, but people inherently remain the same underneath.’
‘I don’t believe that.’
‘Why, because you’ve changed? You’ve somehow seen some mystic light and repented all your sins?’
She swallowed. ‘Yes.’
‘We both know that’s not true, don’t we, Jasmine? Otherwise you wouldn’t have stolen from me.’
‘I had no choice.’
His jaw tightened. ‘You had a choice. You made the wrong one.’
After a moment, she nodded. ‘Yes, maybe you’re right.’
Her answer silenced him for several moments, his speculative gaze on her face. ‘And how many times have you made the wrong choice in the past?’
‘My past is none of your business.’ And not a place she chose to willingly visit. The stigma of being judged was one she’d learned from when her college boyfriend had treated her like a pariah when she’d confessed her past. ‘I’m more concerned about the future.
