of the woman whose intellect kept him on his toes by day and whose body thrilled his by night fractionally allayed the bitter memories of his childhood. Unlike his past liaisons, she hadn’t been an easy conquest, her reluctance even to give him the time of day beyond the boardroom was a challenge that had fired his blood in the months before she’d even agreed to have dinner with him.
In his quiet moments, Emiliano still silently reeled at the changes he’d made in his life in order to accommodate his lover. The few who presumed to know him would agree—rightly, in this instance—that this behaviour wasn’t like him at all. His own disquiet in the face of the reservation he sometimes felt from Sienna made him question himself. But not enough to disrupt the status quo. Not yet, anyway. Although, like everything in life, it, too, had a finite shelf life. It was that ticking clock which made him even more impatient to be done with whatever this summons was all about and get out of this place.
He stared at his parents with a raised eyebrow, letting the silent censure bounce off him. He’d long ago learned that nothing he said or did would ever change their attitude towards him. He was the spare they’d sired but never needed. His place would be on a shelf, fed, clothed, but collecting dust and nothing else. So he’d left home and stopped trying.
‘When was the last time you visited your brother?’ his mother enquired, her fixed expression breaking momentarily to allow a touch of humanity to filter through at the mention of Matias.
The question brought to mind his brother’s current state. Comatose in a hospital bed in Switzerland with worryingly low signs of brain activity.
Emiliano weathered the punch of sadness and brushed a speck of lint off his cuff. ‘Two weeks ago. And every two weeks before that since his accident four months ago,’ he replied.
His parents exchanged surprised glances. He curbed the urge to laugh. ‘If this is all you needed to know, you could’ve sent me an email.’
‘It isn’t. But we find it...reassuring that family still means something to you, seeing as you abandoned it without a backward glance,’ Benito stated.
The fine hairs on Emiliano’s nape lifted. ‘Reassuring? I guess it should be celebrated that I’ve done something right at last, then? But, at the risk of straying into falsehoods and hyperbole, perhaps let’s stick to the subject of why you asked me here.’
Benito picked up his glass and stared into the contents for a few seconds before he knocked it back and swallowed with a gulp. The action was so alien—his father’s outward poise a thing so ingrained it seemed part of his genetic make-up—that Emiliano’s jaw threatened to drop before he caught himself.
Setting the glass down with a brisk snap, another first, Benito eyed him with fresh censure. Nothing new there.
‘We’re broke. Completely destitute. Up the proverbial creek without a paddle.’
‘Excuse me?’ Emiliano wasn’t sure whether it was the bald language that alarmed him or his father’s continued acting out of character.
‘You wish me to repeat myself? Why? So you can gloat?’ his father snapped. ‘Very well. The polo business, the horse breeding. Everything has failed. The estate has been sliding into the red for the past three years, ever since Rodrigo Cabrera started his competing outfit here in Cordoba. We approached Cabrera and he bought the debt. Now he’s calling in the loans. If we don’t pay up by the end of next month, we will be thrown out of our home.’
Emiliano realised his jaw was clenched so tight he had to force it apart to speak. ‘How can that be? Cabrera doesn’t know the first thing about horse breeding. The last I heard he was dabbling in real estate. Besides, Castillo is the foremost polo-training and horse-breeding establishment in South America. How can you be on the brink of bankruptcy?’ he demanded.
His mother’s colour receded and her fingers twisted the white lace handkerchief in her hand. ‘Watch your tone, young man.’
Emiliano inhaled sharply, stopped the sharper words that threatened to spill and chose his words carefully. ‘Explain to me how these circumstances have occurred.’
His father shrugged. ‘You are a man of business...you know how these things go. A few bad investments here and there...’
Emiliano shook his head. ‘Matias was...is...a shrewd businessman. He would never have let things slide to the point of bankruptcy without mitigating the losses or finding a way to reverse the business’s fortunes. At the very least, he would’ve told me...’ He stopped when his parents exchanged another glance. ‘I think you should tell me what’s really going on. I’m assuming you asked me here because you need my help?’
Pride flared in his father’s eyes for a blinding moment before he glanced away and nodded. ‘Sí.’ The word was one Emiliano was sure he didn’t want to utter.
‘Then let’s have it.’
They remained stoically silent for several heartbeats before his father rose. He strode to a cabinet on the far side of the room, poured himself another drink and returned to his chair. Setting the glass down, he picked up a tablet Emiliano hadn’t spotted before and activated it.
‘Your brother left a message for you. Perhaps it would explain things better.’
He frowned. ‘A message? How? Matias is in a coma.’
Valentina’s lips compressed, distress marring her features for a brief second. ‘You don’t need to remind us. He recorded it before his brain operation, once the doctors gave him the possible prognosis.’
Emiliano couldn’t fault the pain in her voice or the sadness in her eyes. And, not for the first time in his life, he wondered why that depth of feeling for his brother had never spilt over for him.
Pushing the fruitless thought aside, he focused on the present. On what he could control.
‘That was two months ago. Why are you only telling me about this message now?’
‘We didn’t think it would be needed before now.’
‘And by it, you mean me?’
His mother shrugged. Knowing the iron control he’d locked down on his feelings where his parents were concerned was in danger of breaking free and exploding, he jerked to his feet. Crossing the room to his father, he held out his hand for the tablet.
Benito handed it over.
Seeing his brother’s face frozen on the screen, the bandage around his head and the stark hospital furniture and machines around him, Emiliano felt his breath strangle in his chest. Matias was the one person who hadn’t dismissed him for being born second. His brother’s support was the primary reason Emiliano had broken away from the glaringly apathetic environment into which he’d been born. He knew deep down that he would’ve made it, no matter what, but Matias’s unwavering encouragement had bolstered him in the early, daunting years when he’d been floundering alone on the other side of the world.
He stemmed the tremor moving through him as his gaze moved over his brother’s pale, gaunt face. Returning to his seat, he pressed the play button.
The message was ten minutes long.
With each second of footage that passed, with each word his brother uttered, Emiliano sank further into shock and disbelief. When it was
