A huff of surprise erupted from his mouth, followed by mutterings in Spanish that she couldn’t understand. That made her angry. It made her feel inadequate and even more of an outsider, and she was tired of that feeling.
“Why were we not notified of the cancellation, then?” She pressed on, annoyed.
“I don’t know.” His brow furrowed. “Maria handles all the reservations and business. I can’t imagine her making a mistake.”
“Someone did. I’m here, aren’t I?”
And so she was. She had to convince him to let her stay. Antoine had thrown in her face how he’d not bought travel insurance and her breaking their engagement would cost him thousands of dollars. She’d told herself she had nothing to feel guilty about—after all, he was the one who’d been caught redhanded. She’d also spent money on a wedding that had never happened. The dress. The deposits for the printer, the reception, flowers, cake—all the trappings of a society wedding. His protests about the honeymoon money had fallen on deaf ears. It was only money. It would take a long time to replace it, but it would take longer to erase the pain of his betrayal. It was the betrayal that had hit her deep in her soul. She had been blind, had not recognized the signs. She had been left wondering if she could ever trust her own judgment again.
And now she was in Argentina with no place to stay.
She could go back to Buenos Aires. She could try to change her ticket and go home with her tail between her legs. Or she could book herself in somewhere and stay for the duration. It would mean taking most of her savings to pay for the hotel and food, but she’d have her dignity.
Wouldn’t Antoine have a laugh about that? And she could already hear her mother chiding, I told you it was a mistake to take that trip alone.
That hurt. At a time when she’d most wanted her mother’s support, it hadn’t been there. Margaret Hollingsworth had thought she was crazy to call off the wedding and a life of security. Sometimes Sophia wondered why she kept trying to gain her mother’s approval. Once, as a child, sad and missing her dad, she’d hidden in a cellar, not wanting her mother to see her tears. But she’d ended up locked in by accident, unable to get back out again. It had been hours before she’d been found, crying and terrified. Even now, she could still feel the dark, damp chill and hear her mother’s furious words when what she’d wanted was a hug and reassurance. It was a hurt that had scarred her heart that day, and she’d never forgotten it.
But she couldn’t spend her whole life seeking approval from someone else. She knew that now. It was time for her to stand up for herself. To make her own happiness. She straightened her shoulders. She’d make the best of it and move forward.
“I insist on staying the week,” she said clearly. “I did not receive notification that our booking was cancelled, and I have flown all the way from Ottawa. I have no intention of going back.” She leveled a gaze at him, hoping that she appeared to mean business when inside she was trembling. He had to let her stay. The savings she had put aside were what she had been planning to use as a security deposit for a new, cheaper apartment, necessary now that she no longer had her well-paid job with Antoine. But there was pride at stake here and she relaxed her shoulders, determined to see it through.
The man’s jaw hardened and his dark eyes glittered at her sharp command. “I am sorry, but we simply are not prepared for guests. I can arrange for you to go back to San Antonio de Areco. There is a hotel there. Or perhaps back to Buenos Aires.”
Which sounded lovely, she supposed. Her gaze caught the strange tree again. It gave her a strong yet peaceful feeling. This place wouldn’t be so bad. She would have time to relax and recharge. Besides, there was something in his dismissive tone that put her on edge. He was telling her what to do, and at some point she had to take charge of her own life. She’d been a people pleaser for years, always trying to do the right thing, not to create waves. This time it was up to her.
“But I want to stay here,” she insisted firmly.
“No, you don’t,” he replied, calling her bluff. “I could see it on your face from the first moment. It is fine. Estancia life is not for everyone.” He cast a disdainful look at her handbag and shoes. “Obviously.”
Sophia gritted her teeth. He didn’t think she could handle it? Obviously he hadn’t ever been mobbed by the press at Parliament Hill or been surprised by a photographer shoving a camera in her face outside a downtown club and taunting her about political scandal.
“I insist,” she replied. She looked around her at the plain surroundings. “Unless you can provide proof of the refund. In which case I am happy to pay the going rate if I am wrong.”
Consternation showed on the man’s face. She couldn’t bring herself to back down an inch even though the prospect of spending her savings made her blanch. She was doing all she could just to keep it together. She wanted him to let her stay. Not just to prove something to Antoine, who probably couldn’t care less. No, to prove something to herself. And most of all at this moment she wanted to be shown to her room, so she could close the door and decompress. Her legs suddenly felt weary—was it jet lag? And she had the oddest urge to cry. She was so tired. Tired of everything. Something had to give sooner or later and she really hoped that when it did, it would be in private. The past months seemed to catch up to her all at once, and she refused to cry in public.
The man stared at her for a moment, making her squirm inside. “I will try to get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, you’d better come in.”
It wasn’t exactly gracious, but Sophia felt weak with relief. Surely there was someone inside who could help her with her bags while this … man went back to work. If they were running an estancia, someone must be here to cook and clean and make sure the amenities were looked after. It didn’t have to be fancy. A simple glass of wine and a hot meal would be most welcome.
Sophia held out her hand. “I’m Sophia Hollingsworth.”
“Tomas Mendoza.”
He took her hand in his and something twisted inside her, something delicious and unexpected. His hand was indeed firm, with slight callouses along the pads of his fingers. It was also warm and strong, and it enveloped her smaller, perfectly manicured one completely. It was a working man’s hand, she realized. Honest. Capable.
“Miss Hollingsworth, I do not know if you realize what you’re asking. Since we are shut down for another few weeks, the regular hosts of the estancia are away.”
She waited, not exactly sure what he meant.
He pulled his hand away from hers. “Maria and Carlos Rodriguez normally run the place,” he explained. “While I finish overseeing the repairs, they’ve gone to CÓrdoba to visit their son, Miguel. I will have to check the paperwork in the office for your reservation. At the same time, I need to make it clear that while they are away the full amenities are not available.”
Dear Lord. So she was stuck here with a handyman? And who was to blame? Herself. Why hadn’t she followed up before coming all this way? Another mistake to add to the list.
“And your job?”
He nodded at her. “I do what needs doing. I work with Carlos with the stock. Fix things. Do the trail rides.”
Trail rides? Would he expect her to do that?
“One of our selling points is an authentic estancia experience.
