across as being someone she could talk to with the ease and openness that came so naturally to her.
All through her nightmare journey she’d been counting on him as head of the family to intercede on her behalf, to perhaps persuade Lucenzo that she wasn’t as downright bad as he thought she was.
Portia shuddered, immediately hating herself for such selfish, unworthy thoughts. If the poor old man was ill then the most she could hope for was that seeing and holding his new little grandson would make him feel a whole lot better!
She could stand up for herself where Lucenzo was concerned, of course she could. And one day, if he stayed around, she would force him to listen to her side of the story—even if, as he’d clearly demonstrated, he had no wish to hear it.
And when she met Eduardo she would do nothing, say nothing to upset or tire him. Of course she wouldn’t.
Annoyingly, her eyes pickled with compassionate tears. She blinked them rapidly away and forced herself to carry her now restless Sam over the threshold and into the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever seen.
No time to take stock, except to note that her luggage, looking even tattier against a backdrop of unnerving opulence, was in an ungainly heap at the foot of a four-poster which was trigged out with the most fantastic cream-coloured gauzy drapes.
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