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Later, when they’d finally gained the strength to dress, she noticed the box still on the floor near the broken boards. “We should open that.”
She pushed at it with her bare foot and it tumbled over, lid flying open and spilling its contents all over the hardwood planks. Letters. Ten or twenty of them, old and fragile, with spidery pale blue handwriting looping across the yellowed pages.
Picking one up, she squinted at it but in the low light of the still musty bedroom, it was too hard to read. She flipped it over to see more of the same faded writing.
“What are they?” James peered over her shoulder, breath warm and inviting across her neck. “Front and back. Looks like someone had a lot to say.”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head and moved out of his reach with a laugh that came out a lot less amused than she’d intended. “You are banned from coming up behind me from now on.”
She was far too raw inside to let him open her up again. Not so soon.
“What?” His wicked grin belied the innocent spread of his hands. “I was curious. I can’t help it if breathing the same air as me gets you all hot and bothered.”
It was a perfectly legitimate thing to say. They flirted and teased each other all the time. All the time, and she normally loved it.
He was just so beautiful standing there against the backdrop of the bed where he’d made her feel amazing and whole, made her feel as if she could do anything as long as he was by her side, holding her hand.
Suddenly, her throat closed and she barely caught a sob that welled up from nowhere. This was supposed to be a fun-filled, magnificently hot getaway from the world. When had everything gotten so complicated?
“I, um... Tía Isabella will want these.” Bella held up the letters in one hand with false cheer. “I’m just going to go put them in my bag so I don’t forget them.”
She turned away from James and left the room as quickly as she could without alerting him to her distress. Apparently she’d succeeded.
And now she was completely messed up because she’d hoped he would follow her and demand to know why she was crying.
* * *
They slept in the servant’s quarters again because they hadn’t gotten nearly enough accomplished upstairs due to the detour Bella had sprung on James.
Not that he minded. She could detour like that all day long.
When he awoke, he missed Bella’s warmth instantly. She wasn’t in the bed. Sitting up, he sought a glimpse of her through the open bathroom door, but nada.
Shame. He liked waking up with her hair across his chest and her legs tangled with his. Surprisingly. This was officially the longest stretch he’d spent with a woman in...ages. Not since Chelsea. And even then, he hadn’t been happy in their relationship, not for a long time. When she’d broken up with him because she’d met someone else, he’d been relieved.
Wondering where Bella had taken off to, James vaulted from the bed and dressed, whistling aimlessly as he stuck his shirt over his head. He felt a twinge in his back at the site of an old football injury. Probably because he’d spent the past few days using a different muscle group than the ones he normally engaged while strength training and keeping his footwork honed. Cleaning decades of grime from a place was hard work. But he liked the result—both in the appearance of the house and the gratitude Bella expressed.
Strolling out into the newly-scrubbed kitchen, he reached for the teapot he’d purchased, along with a slew of other absolute necessities, and saw Bella in his peripheral vision sitting outside on the back stoop. She was staring off into the distance as if something was troubling her.
He had a suspicion he knew what it was. Today they were supposed to drive into Playa Del Onda. Should he pretend he’d forgotten and not bring it up so they didn’t have to go? He hated that she’d worked the whole confrontation over the engagement announcement up in her mind into something unpleasant. It really shouldn’t be so complicated.
Demand a retraction. Done. Of course, getting her father to agree wouldn’t necessarily be easy, but it certainly wouldn’t be complicated.
In the end, he opted to join her on the stoop without comment, drawing her into his arms to watch the sun burst from behind the clouds to light up the back acreage. She snuggled into his torso and they sat companionably, soaking up the natural beauty of the wild overgrowth.
A horn blasted from the front of the house, startling them both. “Expecting someone?” he asked and she shook her head. “Stay here. I’ll see what it is.”
“You can’t.” Her mouth turned down. “I have to be the one. It’s Montoro property.”
