for the sake of our child.
On the drive back home over the dusty road, back to the castle at the top of the hill, we didn’t speak in the open-air Jeep. Miguel was sleeping in the back. Finally, I smiled at Alejandro. “That went well, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
What could he possibly be mad about now? Biting my lip, I looked at the passing scenery. I was already starting to love Spain, especially Andalucía. The air was warm, dusty from our tires on the dirt road. The sun was starting to fade to the west, leaving a soft golden glow across the fields. I felt the warm breeze against my skin, the air scented by honeysuckle and bougainvillea and the jacaranda trees in bloom.
But Alejandro didn’t say a word. He pulled the truck in front of the garage. Getting out, he opened my door. When I stepped out of the Jeep, he pulled me into his arms. I looked up at him, biting my lip. “Alejandro, didn’t I do—all right?”
“All right?” he said huskily. I saw the warmth in his deep brown eyes. They held the same glow as the soft Andalucían morning. “I am proud of you beyond words, mi corazon. You made them love you. As...”
He cut himself off, but as I looked up at his face, my heart started to pound. “They loved me for your sake.”
“No.” He shook his head. “They loved you only for yourself. Your warmth, your smile, your...” Reaching down, he stroked my cheek. Something seemed to stretch tight between us, making me hold my breath. His hand trailed down my hair, down my back. “Come upstairs with me,” he whispered. “Right now...”
“But dinner...”
He lowered his head to mine in a deep, passionate kiss, taut and tender, slow and sweet. I clutched his shoulders, lost in his embrace.
Miguel gave a plaintive whine from the back of the Jeep, and Alejandro released me with a rueful laugh. “But Abuela will be expecting us for dinner.”
“Yes.” I shook my head with a snort. We’d been fed at literally every house we visited. “I won’t be able to eat a bite. I’m not the least bit hungry.”
“Funny. I’m starving.” He gave me a dark look that made my body burn, and I knew he wasn’t talking about food. He sighed grumpily. “But you’re right. Dinner has been arranged. We wouldn’t want to disappoint Abuela....”
“No. We wouldn’t.” I took our baby out of the truck, and we went upstairs to give Miguel his bath. Alejandro left to dress for dinner tonight, as Maurine had requested. I fed our baby, cuddling him in the rocking chair as he drifted off to sleep, plump and adorable in his footsie pajamas, holding his soft blanket against his cheek. I finally tucked him into his crib, then went to the master suite next door.
I felt dusty from the road, and was tempted to take a shower, but feared that would make me late, which would be rude. Especially since Maurine had insisted tonight’s dinner was special somehow. So I just brushed out my hair and put on a long slinky dress and high heels. She’d asked us to dress up for dinner tonight, though what made tonight different from the other nights, I had no idea. I put on some red lipstick and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked so different, I thought. I barely recognized myself. I tossed my hair, seeing the bold new gleam in my eye—and liking it.
Smiling, I went downstairs. But as I walked down the sweeping stairs, voices echoed from the shadows of the stairwell below.
“You should tell her the truth.” Maurine’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp.
“No,” Alejandro answered coldly.
“She’s your wife—”
“She cannot know. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. I don’t know if I can trust her.”
“But this is your life we’re talking about!”
“Not just my life. Also yours. And Miguel’s. She could destroy us all if she—”
Then they looked up and saw me. I shaped my mouth into a bright smile, as if I hadn’t heard anything, as if my heart wasn’t pounding.
“You look spectacular, mi esposa,” Alejandro murmured, and held out his arm. He was dressed in a dark tailored shirt and trousers. “May I escort you to dinner?”
I nodded. But as we walked down the hallway toward the banqueting hall, the happiness that had been building inside me all day had suddenly gone pfffft like a balloon.
What was he hiding?
It was growing harder to push the question from my mind. Even denial will carry you only so far. My recent happiness suddenly felt like a house of cards waiting to fall.
I’d felt such incandescent joy, being in his arms last night. Being by his side today, meeting his neighbors and the people who mattered to him. Being introduced, with pride, as his wife.
Every moment I spent with him, I was falling deeper and deeper into an emotion I’d sworn I’d never feel for him again. Especially since I knew he was lying to my face. I was walking straight into heartbreak, only this time, I’d have no one to blame but myself.
Abruptly, I stopped in the middle of the hallway.
He frowned down at me. “What, querida?”
I looked at him, my heart aching. “I need to know what you’re hiding from me.”
Setting his jaw, he shook his head.
“I wish I’d never told you,” he said harshly. Dropping my hand, he looked at me with cold eyes. “Should we spend dinner apart?”
He was ruthlessly ending the conversation. Swallowing back tears, I shook my head. He held out his arm again.
We walked, the only sound our footsteps against the flagstones. “I wonder why Maurine insisted that we dress up for dinner tonight,” I said over the awkward silence. “I just saw her wearing an old cardigan and jeans....”
We entered the banqueting hall, and my voice cut off.
It was completely empty of other people. The only light came from the blazing fire in the enormous stone fireplace. Tall tapered candles lit the table. Beneath the high, timbered ceilings, the shadows and fire made the room breathlessly romantic.
I blinked, bewildered. “This is why Maurine wanted us to dress for dinner...?” Then Alejandro gave me a sensual smile, and it all clicked into place. “You arranged this,” I breathed.
He shrugged. “I spoke with her before we left this morning, and she agreed newlyweds need time alone.”
“But what about dinner for everyone else?”
“They already ate.” He came closer, his dark eyes intent. “And I’m glad,” he said huskily. “I want you to myself.”
I stared at him, still conflicted about the way he’d coldly cut off my earlier question. Going to the table, he poured us each a glass of red wine that sparkled like a ruby in the firelight.
“Manzanilla wine. From my vineyard.”
As we sat
