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Cristiano’s brow furrowed and he looked down the lane where the blue car had gone and then back to Sam. “But you trust Mrs. Bishop?”
“Oh, yes.” Sam mustered a smile, knowing she was being silly and yet old habits were so hard to break. “Mrs. Bishop was like a surrogate mother to me when I lived here—she’d do anything for me, and I know she’ll take good care of Gabby. She’s a very kind woman.”
“So why are you so uneasy?”
Because I’m stuck with you, that’s why.
He made her uneasy. There was no other way to put it. And she didn’t want him here in the small cottage. She didn’t want to be alone with him. He was too big, too intense, too different.
Her eyes met his, and as if he could read her mind, his lips curved in a faint sardonic smile. Heat exploded in Sam’s middle, her face flaming, her limbs going weak.
She didn’t like him. Didn’t want to like him. Didn’t want him anywhere near her, but somehow she knew he wasn’t going away, and he wasn’t going to be leaving her—or Gabby—alone.
“It’s hard being back here,” she said, as much as she could, or would say. If there’s anything she’d learned it was the value of silence, of avoiding conflict and controversy. As a child she’d waited years to be adopted, hoping against hope that she’d someday be placed with a real family, praying she’d eventually be wanted somewhere. It never happened. But the years of trying so hard to please, the years of waiting to be accepted, wanted, adopted, had left a lasting impression. Don’t make waves. Avoid conflict. Try to keep peace. Make others happy.
No wonder she became a professional nanny. The only thing she was good at was making others happy.
Sam squeezed her hand inside her pocket, the Rookery’s key ring now warm in her palm. Again she wondered why she thought this was the right place to go. Again she regretted her decision to return.
“I would have thought you’d be anxious to leave this morning,” she added, aware of Cristiano’s scrutiny, knowing he was watching her, measuring, evaluating.
“I am. But there are things we should discuss, things Gabriela shouldn’t hear. Now would be a good time for us to talk.”
Sam nodded, doing her best to ignore the sense of trepidation weighting her limbs. Immediately she flashed to Johann and Mercedes, or was it Cristiano and Mercedes? Is that what Cristiano wanted to tell her? That he and Mercedes had been lovers? And if Gabby was his child, then what would happen next?
What would happen to her? Why had he bought her?
Cristiano suggested they drive into Chester, have breakfast and buy some groceries in case they stayed one more night.
“If we’re to stay another night, shouldn’t we stay in a hotel here in town?” Sam asked as they settled into a booth at a Chester restaurant, the ceiling low in the historic half-timbered building, the interior dark, the booths hard and high, uncomfortably like church pews.
Cristiano barely glanced at the menu before setting it aside. “And give you another chance to run away? I don’t think so.”
“You couldn’t have been comfortable last night.”
“That’s kind of you to worry about me,” he drawled, leaning back in the booth. “But it’s not necessary. I may look delicate, but I’m surprisingly tough. And no, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep, but at least I knew where you were.”
Sam felt heat creep up her neck, into her cheeks. “What if I promised you I wouldn’t go anywhere—”
“Wouldn’t believe you.” He smiled at her but the smile was hard, fixed. “I don’t trust you.”
Her hands twisted beneath the table. “Anything I’ve done—”
“Yes, I know, you’ve done for Gabriela. But I don’t buy that, Samantha. This is about you. You don’t want to lose Gabriela. You don’t want to be without her.”
“And why should I be? I’ve spent years with her, years loving her.”
“But you’re not her mother, or her father. You’re not her family—”
“Neither are you!”
His dark gaze held hers in a long, timeless moment. “Are you sure?”
