‘I knew it would, though,’ he says, his black eyes full of even blacker shadows. ‘She was making good progress and this will put her back.’
‘You couldn’t have hidden it,’ I say. ‘Like you said, she would have found out at some point.’
A muscle flicks in his jaw. ‘Nothing is ever enough for her. Nothing I do was ever good enough for either of them.’
The words are a needle sliding under my skin, bringing hurt with it. Because I know what it’s like to want to be good enough for someone. I tried to be good enough for that foster family who wanted to adopt me and Lisa. I tried so hard to be good, not throw any temper tantrums, and to obey their house rules, but in the end it wasn’t enough.Iwasn’t enough.
‘You’re doing what you can for her.’ I press my fingers against the warmth of his chest, wanting him to feel how much sympathy I have for him. ‘And what you’re doing is more than enough. More than a lot of people would do, actually. But her feelings aren’t your responsibility, Santiago. Just as Antonio’s weren’t. They chose their own paths, and that’s on them, not you.’
He stares down at me for a long moment, the shadows moving in his gaze. ‘If I hadn’t told them the truth, maybe they—’
‘No,’ I say fiercely, because he needs to understand this. ‘You can’t take responsibility for that, either. You were a child and you did what you thought was right. It’s not on you that your parents chose to blame you instead of taking responsibility for themselves.’
Santiago’s gaze bores into mine, a fierce heat glowing there all of a sudden. ‘Why are you being so…kind to me,’ he demands, ‘after everything I did to you?’
‘Because I know what it’s like to feel as if you’re not enough,’ I tell him, spreading my fingers out on his skin. ‘To question yourself. To try so hard for someone and it’s still not enough, and you don’t know what more you can do.’
For a moment, something springs between us. A current that for a change has nothing to do with chemistry or sex, and everything to do with mutual understanding. With knowing the experience the other person has had because you’ve been there too, and you feel the same way about it.
He doesn’t speak, only bends his head and kisses me suddenly and fiercely. A kiss that tells me he recognises this moment too, and wants it just as much as I do.
But before I can deepen the kiss, he lifts his mouth from mine, then releases me. He steps back, the expression on his face unreadable. ‘This means we’ll need to talk about our marriage sooner rather than later,’ he says. ‘About all the things you mentioned yesterday. She’ll be coming to live here at some point and it’s best if we have all of that sorted out by then.’
His abrupt withdrawal feels almost painful, but I ignore it. If he doesn’t want to talk more, then he doesn’t want to talk. I’m his wife, but not in the romantic sense. We don’t have that kind of relationship. Ours is practical, legal, and the fact that we’re sleeping together is by the by.
So whyareyou hurt, then?
I decide to ignore that thought, too.
‘Come,’ he says, moving past me. ‘Helene is preparing a tray. I’ll bring it up to the bedroom and we can discuss everything there.’
He’s gone hard, I can hear it in his voice. Perhaps he doesn’t like that he was so vulnerable with me, and now wants to pretend that moment never happened.
I want to challenge him on his abrupt withdrawal, but I can’t face it right now. I feel as if I’ve given too much of myself away to him already, and being hurt about this will only give him even more.
So, while he gets the tray, I go slowly back up to the bedroom. I need to armour myself again, protect myself, not let him get to me so intensely that every little thing he does takes on a deeper meaning. I’m not a teenage girl with her first crush. I’m an adult woman, pregnant with my first child, and, while he’s my husband in a legal sense, he’s nothing more than that. I can’t let him be.
I move into the bedroom and go over to the bed, sitting down on it cross-legged to wait for him. What I need to think about is what I want out of this marriage. What sureties and certainties I can get for myself and for my child.
But what about him? What do you want from him?
I don’t want anything from him, nothing at all. Yet as soon as I think that, it feels like a lie. It’s almost as if Idowant something from him, and not only pleasure. I want more of that understanding we shared downstairs, more of that look in his eyes when he turned around and found me standing behind him. More of that sense of…connection.
I’ve never had that before, not with anyone, but there’s a reason for that. I never let my guard down, never let anyone in, because I don’t want to be vulnerable to anyone. I don’t have anyone to protect me, so I have to do it all myself.
But, as I told Santiago yesterday in the jewellery showroom, that makes for a lonely life, a bleak life. And I’m tired of being lonely. I’m tired of being afraid. I want a home and I want someone to share it with, I want to have a family, and the logical person to have that home and family with is Santiago.
I’ve told him more than I’ve ever told anyone about myself, and so far he’s been nothing but understanding. But…do I let my guard down even more? And if I do, where will it lead? Do I want the chance of a real relationship with this man I thought I hated?
I’m still thinking about it as he comes into the room, carrying a breakfast tray laden with all sorts of delicious things. Fresh croissants and jam and honey. A coffee pot. Glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.
He puts the tray down on the mattress next to me, then sits on the end of the bed. ‘Would you like honey on your croissant or jam?’ he asks, picking up one of the flaky pastries.
‘Jam, please,’ I say.
He begins preparing the croissant for me, but I can tell from the look on his face that he’s thinking about something else. And it’s not something that’s making him happy, not given the fury sparking and crackling off him even as his expression remains like granite.
‘I can spread my own jam,’ I offer, unsure of what to say.
