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Dear Gabriel,
I’m so sorry. I can’t do this.
Leonora
His first instinct was to leave immediately and find Leo, track her down and make her say that to his face while that sensual satisfaction still lingered in her blood.
He walked over to the window and looked out at the view. A view he’d always taken for granted until Leo had come into his life and made him see things with new eyes. Unjaded eyes.
That unwelcome sense of helplessness was back. He’d broken through the ice last night but now he was being punished for it. He’d known Leo had been fighting some internal battle when they’d arrived back at the apartment. She’d wanted him but hadn’t wanted to articulate it. So he’d walked away. And then she’d said, ‘I want you.’
And he’d wanted to resist. Not to give in. To demand if she was just making the most of the arrangement she wanted to be set free from. But there had been something so raw on her face, in her eyes. And his need for her had been too great.
So he hadn’t resisted, even though he’d suspected that he would pay the price. And the price was this.
He looked at the note in his hand again and then crumpled it up.
She just needed space. She’d been through a lot. He would give her a few days and then he would go to her and tell her—Tell her what? interjected an inner voice.
Gabriel knew what he had to tell her. He’d known for some time now. But he wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear it.
* * *
A few days later, after no contact with Leonora, who had gone back to her family castillo, Gabriel’s assistant came in with a package from a courier. Gabriel opened it and took out a sheaf of papers.
Divorce papers from Leonora.
Something snapped inside Gabriel.
Enough.
He pulled out his cell phone and made a call, standing up and walking over to the window as he waited for the person at the other end to pick up.
If he didn’t answer—
But he did.
He heard Lazaro Sanchez drawl, ‘Gabriel Torres, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
Gabriel took a deep breath. ‘Can we meet, please?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘AND THIS PART of the castillo was built in the twelfth century—’
Leonora was used to gasps of awe at this point, but not gasps that loud, followed by excited whispers.
She turned around to see that a new visitor had joined the group. Gabriel. She put a hand on the wall beside her to steady herself. Maybe it was a hallucination.
But then he spoke. ‘Sorry I’m late. Please carry on.’
How on earth did he expect her to just ‘carry on’? But then she saw the far too innocent look on his face and a far steelier look in his eyes.
The divorce.
Leonora turned around again quickly, struggling to find her way back into the spiel which she could narrate in her sleep in three different languages.
Somehow she managed to conduct the rest of the tour without making eye contact with Gabriel or tripping over her words.
