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“Because you don’t pay any attention to gossip,” Granda snapped. “She’s been cozying up to Stephano Sierra for the last year.”
All amusement dropped from Ian’s face. “Sierra is no joke.”
“I wasn’t kidding. When have you known your little cousin to be sensible? Do you see why I want her tied up with one of you? Better than floating face down in some garbage-ridden canal.”
“Good God!” I protested. “I’ll have you know I’m smarter in my choices than you think. And that’s an awfully precise way to go. Which canal?”
“The same one his last girlfriend was found in,” Granda said triumphantly. “Did you break it off or did he?”
“It was mutual,” I said, hoping I was right. “He has nothing to do with anything.”
“Then marry Marcus next week.”
“No!” We were glaring at each other, until I finally noticed that Granda was struggling for breath despite his flashing eyes.
“Calm down, the two of you,” Ian said in a bored tone. “I’m taking Bella away from you, Granda, so you can both work on your tempers. I must say, Bella, I don’t remember you being so argumentative.”
I hadn’t been. Neither had Bella, so I was relatively safe at this point. She’d always managed to manipulate to get her own way I managed an edgy smile. “Sorry, Granda.”
“We can talk about this later,” he said, waving a fragile hand in dismissal, and I bit back my demurral. Not even for Granda would I go through a fake wedding. If I’d had any sense, I would have said yes to Ian, just to watch him squirm.
A moment later, I was ushered out of the sickroom, Ian’s hand on my arm. “It’s not good to rile the old man up like that,” he said evenly.
“It’s not good to expect me to get married to suit his whims,” I replied.
“You already agreed to it. Why the delay?”
I looked up at him, knowing he had no idea that it was Kitty looking at him through the green-tinted contact lenses. Wondering what he would feel if he knew. Disgust, most likely.
The words came out of my mouth...not Bella’s...as I looked deep into his eyes. “Do you want me to marry him?”
The hallway was quiet, the silence almost another person with us, and I saw him hesitate, saw the sudden intensity in his dark eyes. He had loved Bella, long, long ago. Maybe he still had some of that jealousy left behind.
And then the moment passed. “It’s up to you, sweetheart. You and my brother are made for each other—you’ll make gorgeous children. And I learned long ago not to covet my brother’s belongings.”
“I don’t belong to him.” I said quietly, firmly.
“Sure you do, Bella. You belong wherever the grass is greenest, and trust me, so does Marcus. Neither of you will have to face any kind of adversity, everything will go your way. I hope you’re very happy together.”
It was a perfect exit line and he made full use of it, walking away so quickly I couldn’t even come up with a response until he was out of sight.
I spent the rest of the day avoiding Marcus, who seemed determined to get me alone in a corner. Keeping away from him was easy enough—I simply walked in the olive groves, breathing in the deep rich smell of the earth, the sweetness of the trees, the fresh breeze carrying the scent of salt up from the deep blue ocean far below.
In the cities, Spain had moved away from the mandatory siesta, but at Mariposa and the small town of Santa Maria de Fe, the old ways ruled, and I stretched my afternoon nap to a solid four hours, determined to resist if anyone came to roust me out of my comfortable perch. I had a blisteringly sexual historical romance to read, a stack of fashion magazines that Bella insisted I carry and which interested me not one whit. It would have been a perfect time to get some work done, but of course I hadn’t dared bring any of Katharine Whitehead’s academic work. Settling into my comfortable bed, I dove into the story of Kit and Bryony, only to find their searing kisses were making me uncommonly edgy. Once they got into bed, I had to throw the book across the room. Instead of golden-haired Kit I kept picturing Ian, imaging his hands, his mouth...
No, fashion magazines were a safer choice. The clothes were exquisitely beautiful, the sort of thing Bella would wear, the sort of thing I was wearing. I wanted my worn jeans and T-shirts.
At last I slept, and I awoke with a start, the room pitch-black with only the very faintest glow lighting the inky darkness. Moving to the window, I could see the acres and acres of olive groves covering the hills around Mariposa, and far away, I could see past the white buildings of the small town to the dark blue of the night-time sea. Fumbling for my iPhone, I groaned when I saw the time. It was almost nine o’clock, and dinner would be ready unless Mary Alice had once again ordained that it would be early.
Shoving myself from the bed, I stripped off the rumpled linen sundress and went looking for something more appropriate. I took the fastest shower on record, throwing on one of the simple silk dresses that had cost a fortune. I twisted my hair into a knot at the base of my neck and scrambled downstairs.
There was only one place set in the huge dining room, and I viewed it with relief and annoyance. At least I wouldn’t be fighting off Marcus’s advances this evening, and I wouldn’t have to think about anyone else. The moment I entered the vast room, Maldonado appeared, ushering me in and holding my chair for me, pouring me a glass of Spanish wine with silent deference before disappearing back into the kitchens. I looked around, down the long expanse of empty table, and a weight settled over me.
I scooped up my plate and headed upstairs, arriving at Granda’s room a little breathless and a little annoyed. Neither of those were improved when I pushed open the door and saw Ian seated by Granda’s side.
“Bella!” Granda greeted me cheerfully enough. “Come to join us for dinner?”
I glanced at the empty dishes on the tray. “Apparently, I’m too late.” I took the seat on the opposite side of the bed, carefully not meeting Ian’s dark, cynical eyes. “Where’s Marcus?”
