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The house was empty when Salvador dropped me off—Mary Alice and Valerie must have been manning the reception as his grandchildren died in flames. There would be questions, there would be police, there would be the ungodly mess of identifying which granddaughter had actually died in the flames, and it was too much for me to even consider. I wanted to run away, to never think about this appalling tragedy that I had been instrumental in bringing about.
Ian would never forgive me, which was all right since I would never forgive myself. If only I hadn’t listened to Bella’s blandishments. If only I’d seen through her surface charm to the real danger beneath it. If only...
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next few days passed in a blur. The truth came out, as it was bound to, but no one had any particular interest in talking to me after my initial interview with the police.
Ian was encased in ice. He showed no grief, no distress about the horrendous scandal that spilled over us despite Mary Alice’s best efforts to stop the gossip, and he did his best to keep from looking at me, talking to me. I didn’t blame him—this was all my fault.
And then he was gone, disappearing from the villa without a word to anyone, and I realized there was finally no one to stop me. I could go now, and that was what Ian would want, to see the last of my deceitful, lying ass.
I left in the farm truck, leaving all of Bella’s clothes behind. Mary Alice agreed she would see them donated to the proper charity, and I finally left Mariposa for the last time, without green contact lenses or perfectly curled hair or heavy makeup. I was just me, Kitty, without all the artifice. I would never be Bella again.
My first stop was Mr. Fergell’s office on the way to the airport. He spent the entire time viewing me with strong disapproval until I explained to him what I wanted to do with the money.
“Half to Ian and Mariposa, the other half to be divided between Mary Alice and Valerie,” he’d repeated in something close to a harrumph. “What about you?”
“I don’t want anything.”
“You’ll change your mind,” he warned.
“No, I won’t.” I didn’t want Granda’s money, I didn’t want any more ties to Mariposa. I didn’t deserve it. I was letting go in the fairest possible way. Ian would have the house, the farms and groves and vineyards, and enough money to keep it in good heart for decades to come. Somehow, I’d figure out what was best for me.
I was wearing a sundress and sandals—clothes I’d purchased for myself—and could only hope New Hampshire was at least a little warmer than usual, though why I was going there was a question. The funding for my research project had run out, I had no place to live, and God only knew what Bella had done with my aging Subaru and all the detritus of my life. I didn’t know and I didn’t care. I only knew that I couldn’t spend another day waiting for Ian to come back to me when I knew he never would.
I was in love with him, and there was nothing I could do about it. I’d lied, even though he’d always known it was a lie. I’d cheated, and he’d lost the most important person in his life. If I just hadn’t been blinded by Bella’s blandishments, Marcus would still be alive, and Ian knew it. It was no wonder Ian couldn’t bring himself to look at me. I felt like a whipped dog, and all I could do was run home and hide.
I just managed to get the second to last spot on the small commuter plane that would take me to Madrid and transatlantic flights, and I settled into my seat, looking out over the bleached white villages that dotted the hills. I would never come here again, and a quiet pang filled my heart to join with the gut-wrenching pain of losing Ian. Not that I’d ever really had him. This was the home of my heart and always had been, but that time had passed. Ian was my heart, but he was gone as well.
Of course, with my current run of bad luck, the plane had mechanical trouble, leaving us sitting on the runway in the blinding sun for an hour and a half until they finally cancelled the flight. The next one would leave in four hours—four hours to doubt my choices, four hours to change my mind, four hours to sit in a corner and silently weep. I’d survived worse.
This time when I walked down the hallway in the terminal, there were no men salivating at the sight of me, no women casting jealous glances my way. In my sundress and sandals and long braided hair, I was just another tourist, not the princess of Mariposa. It would have felt good if I wasn’t so absolutely gutted.
I went back through security, heading toward the gate, when I saw him, leaning against the wall, still in work clothes, the chambray shirt rolled up to reveal strong forearms, his dark hair tumbled over his forehead as he watched me approach, no expression to give me a hint of what he was thinking.
I wanted to turn and run, I wanted to run into his arms.
I didn’t have a choice. He straightened up, crossed the area separating us and simply tossed me over his shoulder before he strode to the entrance of the tiny airport.
“Put me down!” I demanded, beating at his back. My small carry-on was abandoned, but I managed to hold on to my purse even as I banged away at him, kicking and struggling.
A sharp, stinging slap on my rear did nothing to quiet my outrage. What the hell did he think he was doing? People were watching us with amusement and a scattering of applause, and I pounded at his back.
The sun was brilliant overhead as we came out of the airport, but he made no effort to set me down, just kept carrying me over to the same damned farm truck he’d picked me up in. Sliding me off his shoulder, he pushed me back against it, glowering at me.
“Where did you think you were going?” he demanded.
“Getting out of here!” I shot back. “I don’t belong here, nobody wants me here, and I...”
“Bullshit! You’re running away.”
I didn’t answer that—it was obvious that I was. “Why are you here?”
“Why do you think? I came after you. I thought I was going to have to fly to Madrid to catch up with you.”
“Why?”
He made an impatient sound. “Don’t play games with me. You know why.”
