then, you can’t possibly have a problem with this.’
Living with him in his house…in such close proximity… her every move watched and monitored…
Rowan looked up at him. ‘I…don’t—I just…couldn’t I stay somewhere nearby?’
Isandro waved an impatient hand. ‘That is not practical. If you are serious about getting to know Zac it’s best to see him in his own environment. I won’t have you coming along, disrupting his routine, taking him out of his home. No way.’
Rowan wrung her hands. ‘Of course I wouldn’t do that. I didn’t mean that, I just…’
‘This is it, Rowan. Take it or leave it. You’re hardly in a position to negotiate.’
He watched the turmoil in her eyes. No wonder she was balking at his suggestion. It proved how false her intentions really were. To go from two years of hedonistic freedom to being holed up in his home in a small town outside Seville—she’d be climbing the walls within weeks, if not days. Not to mention spending time with a small toddler who had the smile of an angel but who would test the patience of a saint.
‘I’ll give you five minutes to think about it.’
Rowan watched, still slightly dumbstruck, as he turned and left the room. The door shut softly behind him, the sound incongruous in a room heavy-laden with atmosphere and tension.
Rowan paced up and down. She had to think fast. Isandro was not used to having to wait for anything or anyone. She knew what she should do was stay in London, meet her solicitor and see what her options were. But that would be next week now. In the meantime this tenuous connection would be broken. Isandro would be back in Spain with Zac. And with his obvious determination to divorce, who knew how hard he’d prove to be to contact once the matter was in his legal team’s hands? It could be months, even longer before she got to see Zac again. She had no doubt that Isandro would do whatever it took to make her look as bad as possible, and she had to concede that wouldn’t be hard at all… How would it look if it emerged that she’d turned down an offer to go and live with her son?
Perhaps that was what he was hoping? That she would shoot herself in the foot…
She had to put aside her feelings for Isandro. Her one priority was Zac. When she’d seen him, touched him yesterday, she’d known him—incredibly. That primal recognition and joy struck her again.
This was the moment she had to let go of the fantasy. The wish that somehow something of before could be salvaged. She’d irretrievably damaged everything. Fate and circumstance had led her down a difficult path. And she had to remind herself that no matter what she’d led herself to believe, to hope for in their marriage, she’d been living in a fantasy all along anyway.
She firmed her mouth. Now was not the time to indulge in old memories. Once she’d unwittingly overheard that conversation with his sister well into her pregnancy she’d known exactly where she stood, how he felt. Their marriage obviously hadn’t become for him what it had become for her, no matter what she’d thought at the time. Or hoped… She’d berated herself for her fanciful notions—what had she known, after all? She’d been a virgin when they’d first slept together. And he… She flushed hotly. Well, he certainly hadn’t. She pressed cool hands against her cheeks to try and stem the heat.
Zac was here. She’d seen him. There was no way she could walk away again. She didn’t have it in her. She didn’t want to be miles away, not knowing, missing even more of his life. She would prove herself to her husband if it was the last thing she did. And then he would have to acknowledge her role in their son’s life.
‘Well?’ Isandro stood at the door, dressed impeccably in jacket and tie again, every inch of him the banking giant whose influence induced fear and awe among adversaries and colleagues alike. Her eye caught that muscle twitching in his hard jaw. The fact that he wasn’t as controlled as he looked was no comfort.
Rowan looked at him steadily and said, very clearly, ‘I’m coming with you.’
After that things happened with scary swiftness. Isandro plucked a phone from his pocket and made a call, unleashing a stream of Spanish that Rowan only understood bits of. Her once fluent command of the language was rusty from lack of use.
He finished the conversation and pocketed the phone. He had an implacable expression on his face, but she could sense the underlying anger and impatience. He did not want her coming with him. She was quite sure that he had most likely been advised by someone that to offer to bring her back to Spain was a good idea. And he had expected her to say no. To be so unwelcome made her feel a little queasy.
‘Where do we need to go to get your things?’
Rowan shook her head. ‘Nowhere. I have everything with me.’
Isandro’s body stilled. He flicked a derisive glance to the tiny case by her side. ‘Everything?’
She nodded. ‘It’s all in there. And I have my passport in my handbag.’
‘You haven’t been living here?’
She shook her head, unbelievably stung by the evidence of his uninterest. He really had taken her note to heart. He hadn’t tried to find her. And while that had been her objective in leaving the provocative note…it still hurt.
He took a step closer as he straightened his cuffs. ‘Care to tell me where you have been living? Or do you expect me to believe you’ve been living out of a suitcase that size for two years?’
Rowan blinked and swallowed painfully. She had, actually. If he looked hard enough he might recognise that it was the case she’d had with her in the hospital, when she’d given birth to Zac…might even recognise that this, her one and only decent suit, was also two years old. But of course he wouldn’t. His questions were cutting far too close to the bone. Literally.
‘It doesn’t matter where I’ve been, Isandro. What matters is that I’m here now.’
His eyes were intensely blue on hers for a long moment. And then he shrugged. ‘Come. It’s time to leave.’
Rowan hitched her bag on her shoulder, and had caught the handle on her suitcase when he surprised her by coming back and leaning close, to take it out of her hand with a brusque movement. Their hands touched. She was so shocked at this contact that she snatched hers back, as if burnt. She could feel her eyes widening, her breath quicken, her heart race, and knew she looked shocked, but couldn’t hide her response.
He stood to his full height and, helpless, Rowan could only gaze up into his eyes. That small physical contact was unleashing a maelstrom of sensations, images, memories, and, as if Isandro knew exactly what was going on inside her, he looked her up and down with studied insolence. His look, when it came to rest on her face again, was remote, utterly cold, and Rowan was in no doubt that he had just read her perfectly and did not welcome her reaction. Rejection flowed from every line of his tautly held body, and she had never felt so humiliated in her life.
By some small miracle he said nothing, merely turned on his heel, carrying the case and walked out of the room, not even checking to see if she was following. She caught up with him at the lift. He was staring resolutely ahead. She still burned.
‘Where…?’ She hated the tentative sound of her voice. ‘Where is Zac?’
The
