Anne put distance between herself and Julia's comforting arms. She shook her head, rubbing her nose. The back of her throat burned, but she wouldn't weep.
Tony raced inside the room, and Anne welcomed his interruption. Julia would leave, and with her, the constant reminder of what Anne had lost.
But when Anne's gaze landed on Tony, the boy's condition struck her. The always cheerful, unflappable explorer-to-be was distraught, his eyes glassy and unblinking.
Anne held his shoulders. "What is it?"
"I promise it wasn't my fault. I took James outside, and then… he lay down, so still—"
"Take me to him," Anne croaked, her words coming out as if from another’s chest.
Tony clasped her hand, and she held it like a lifeline. They exited the house into the shadowy garden. A breeze from the river rustled the flower bed, waving the greens stalks and raining white petals over James. Anne stumbled to her knees.
His chest did not move.
Carefully, she hugged his furry body, rocking back and forth.
Pedro had lied. He had asked James to take care of her, and James had left. She was alone. Pain spread through her heart and radiated to her lungs, limbs, and soul, pulling her into its vortex. A torrent of tears flooded her, and she was helpless to avoid them.
Julia was wrong. This wasn't a broken heart. It was grief, the grief of abandoning a future. Their future. Her plans were swallowed by the swirl, never to return. She wouldn’t see Pedro's children, wouldn’t witness the gruff shows of love he would shower them with, and she wouldn’t grow old with him. Her vision hazed, and then shadows engulfed it. There was only now, and the yesterdays they had shared. She couldn't bear a tomorrow.
Without Pedro, her tomorrows were dead.
Chapter 49
Theyachtbobbedinthe marina's calm waters. Gabriel grabbed the railings, staring at the quarterdeck. The crew hastened to hoist sails, their boisterous voices ringing above the gulls' screeches. He would not look back. The Mosteiro dos Jerônimos, Saint George's Castle, the closed Siren club, the places that had played a part in his lies would stay behind. He stared at his hands. The smooth kid of his gloves gave him a new sensibility. Adapting to civilian clothes would take time.
Cris sauntered close, inhaling the brine. "A fine day to sail."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Gabriel’s place in Fontes’s house had vanished. While Pedro forgave him and even Cris had decided to abandon Portuguese shores in his company, his father had loftier ideals. Wherever this journey took him, Gabriel hoped there would be no standards to achieve, impossible rules to follow, or fathers to please.
"Better leave before this epidemic catches us, don't you think?"
"Epidemic?"
Cris grimaced. "Love."
Gabriel chuckled. "I mean it. Now that you are officially a duke's son…"
Cris slipped away from his devil-may-care attitude. "I've never had a father. And I didn't ask Pedro to force the duke to recognize me. He did it on his own."
One would think the removal of the bastard stigma would leave Cris satisfied. But Gabriel wouldn't judge. Some subjects were best left buried. If Pedro's brother was willing to accompany him into this escape wrapped in a grand tour, he wouldn't complain.
"I thought Pedro would want to confront Titano. I still cannot believe the duke betrayed us in Mozambique."
Cris sighed. "Take his revenge on what? A bedridden, babbling old man? The duke has been senile for a few weeks. Pedro got the news from his solicitor."
Gabriel whistled. "I'm sorry. I—"
"Pedro did what he had to. He conquered the duke's voice inside his head, where it hurt him the most."
"I'm glad. You have a generous brother." Gabriel touched Pedro's expensive gift. The loaned yacht could take them to every corner of the world.
"Pedro has his reasons to be happy," Cris said under his breath, his voice pensive. "And your sister?"
Gabriel filled his cheeks with air and blew, racing his hands through his hair. "Honestly?"
Cris raised his palms, flashing his amiable smile. "If we are doing this, there’d best be no more lies."
