Thanksgiving was strange, for sure.
But in some ways, it wasn’t strange at all. It was exactly how Rodrigo had imagined it might be, when he was a child left on his own in Madrid to eat arroz con pollo with the nanny and the cook, as his mother flew off to ski in Aspen with her latest lover, and his cold, distant father disappeared to quietly rage at a film set.
Now, as Rodrigo sat at the table, listening to all of the people around him laugh and joke and tease each other, he felt like he was on a film set himself. A scene for a Thanksgiving movie, or an advertisement for any holiday that brought family and friends together for a meal. He ate the butter-basted turkey and cornbread stuffing, the mashed potatoes and gravy and fresh cranberry sauce, and it was all so delicious. After eating a huge plateful of food, he’d gone back for a second—having been told it was tradition to eat until one was utterly stuffed—and afterward, he found himself relaxing into warmth and pleasure, smiling as Lola and her friends good-naturedly fought over who got the wishbone.
“It’s mine,” Lola said ferociously, holding one side of the wishbone.
“No way, mine,” Hallie retorted, gripping the other.
“Let Lola have it,” Tess whispered to Hallie. “She needs it.”
The brunette instantly released it. “You win.”
Rodrigo looked between them in confusion. “Why does Lola need it?”
His wife flashed him a look he couldn’t read. Fear? Regret? Hope? But before he could analyze it, it was gone. She shrugged. “It’s good luck, that’s all.”
“But why do you need luck more than anyone else?” he persisted.
She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m married to you, aren’t I?”
“And I’m married to you,” he pointed out, returning her grin.
“So maybe you’re the one who needs it, then.” She held out the wishbone. “We’re supposed to wait until it dries, but I’m not that patient. Grab a side, make a wish and pull.”
As ordered, he grabbed the other side of the wishbone and pulled it, hard and fast, at the same time she did. There was a loud crack.
Rodrigo lifted his bigger piece of the wishbone. “What does this mean?”
Lola looked disconsolately at her smaller piece, then sighed. “It means you win.” She gave him a strange look. “What did you wish for?”
“I didn’t wish for anything,” he said honestly. He looked around them. “I have everything any man could want.”
Applause and approval went around the table. But he again saw that flash of emotion cross his wife’s face. An emotion that he didn’t understand. Emotion that was quickly veiled as she turned away. “It’s time for dessert.”
She was hiding something.
The insidious thought went through him like a hissing snake, twisting and curling from the base of his skull down the length of his spine.
His wife had a secret. Something she didn’t want him to know.
What?
Lola, Tess and Hallie returned from the kitchen with six pies—two each of pumpkin, pecan and apple. With a flourish, Lola cut him a slice of each kind, covered them with whipped cream and slid the plate in front of him.
“Three slices?” he said, bemused.
“Try them all, then decide which one you like best.” Kissing his temple, she said, “I want your first Thanksgiving to be perfect.”
Rodrigo lifted his fork, to do as commanded. But as he tasted each slice of pie, all the buttery, sweet, creamy, crunchy goodness he’d anticipated tasted like ash in his mouth. As he looked at her veiled eyes, a panicked, animal suspicion skittered down his spine.
What was she hiding?
Against his will, he was flooded by memories of those other women who’d hidden secrets. Secrets that inevitably ended with Rodrigo looking at pictures of them naked in bed with other men.
He still wondered who’d sent the photographs. One of his rivals? One of his friends? Whoever it was, they’d hovered in the shadows for a decade, looking out for him. He was grateful to them.
But he also hated them.
“So which one do you like best?” said one of Tess’s cousins anxiously.
“Yes, which?” said the other.
Standing beside him at the table, Lola looked down at Rodrigo with inscrutable hazel eyes.
There was no question which woman he liked best.
His wife.
He could not bear to lose Lola. Not at any price. They were married now. A family—
Stop, Rodrigo told himself angrily. He was no longer a weak boy, lonely and desperate to be loved. He’d realized the truth long ago. Anyone he loved, he lost. That was the reality, or at least his reality.
But he didn’t love Lola. Therefore, he told himself firmly, he had nothing to worry about. His investigator had already assured him she wasn’t in contact with Sergei Morozov, or any other man. And having a home and financial security for Jett meant too much to her. She’d never cheat, not when it would leave her without a penny.
His shoulders slowly relaxed.
“Well?” Lola said softly, “What is your answer?”
“Kiss me,” he said huskily, “and I’ll tell you my favorite.”
Putting her hand gently on his cheek, Lola lowered her head to his, and softly kissed him, in front of everyone. Her lips were tender and burned through his body. Through his soul. Finally, she pulled away.
“Pecan,” he said, because it was closest.
“I knew it.” One of Tess’s cousins looked at the other triumphantly. “I told you it was the best, Natalie.”
But Rodrigo wasn’t thinking about pie. He looked up at his wife.
No other woman had ever been so important to him before. His life had become better from the moment Lola had come into it. He had the sudden disquieting thought that she could destroy that happiness, if she chose.
No, he told himself fiercely. She doesn’t own me. As long as I don’t love her, I can trust her.
But he saw the evasion of Lola’s gaze, the wistfulness of her smile. And all the warmth and happiness of the day melted away.
Rodrigo suddenly knew one thing. He had to find out her secret. Before it was too late.
Before he got another anonymous photograph in the mail.
* * *
“Thank
