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Now she stopped inside the door and turned to him. Her hazel eyes were golden today, shining with moisture. Surprise rocked him. She was on the verge of tears? But for what? Jacques Fortier? Or the inevitability of this marriage?
“I am grateful for your help, Marcos. For Jacques. In spite of your reasons, or this marriage, or anything else, I am grateful you’ve gotten the best treatment for him. It’s more than I’d hoped, truly.” She laughed, the sound nearly breaking on a sob. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “God, I wasn’t going to do this. Not today.”
The sound was so plaintive he felt his heart constrict in sympathy. He skimmed a knuckle along her cheek because he could not stifle the impulse to do so. “I am not as cruel as you believe me to be, Francesca. No one should die because they cannot afford medical treatment. Jacques is lucky to have you fighting for him.”
“But if I hadn’t taken the Corazón del Diablo, we wouldn’t be here and—”
“These things happen for mysterious reasons.” He’d learned that particular truth on the streets and in the jungle. Sometimes there was no explanation for why things occurred as they did. Why good people suffered. Why children died.
Dios. There were things he didn’t want to remember either, not now.
She looked up at him. “Why do you have to be nice?”
Nice? He hadn’t quite thought of it that way, but if she did, he wouldn’t disabuse her of the noti
on. “I can cease this niceness if it pleases you.”
“Oh no,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “I want to see how long you can keep it up.”
“All night if necessary.”
She dropped her gaze, as if she were uncomfortable suddenly.
He tilted her chin up, forced her to look at him. “There is no need to pretend with me, Francesca.”
Tears glittered on her lashes like diamonds. He had to stifle the urge to kiss them away.
“I’m not pretending anything, Marcos.”
“Do you really expect me to believe you aren’t aware of how lovely you are?”
Her eyes widened, her smooth skin flushing pink. For the first time, he began to wonder if he was wrong, if she truly did believe she was still the awkward girl she used to be. Or maybe she was just manipulating him, trying to make him feel sympathy.
“Don’t,” she managed, her voice thready.
“As you wish, mi amor.” He dropped his hand away and she took a deep breath. Collected herself once more.
She’d grown tough in a way she’d not been when he’d first known her. It made him wonder what, besides her father’s tragic death and her family’s loss of status, had happened to make her this way.
Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps she’d simply grown cynical with the passage of years.
“Will anyone from your family be here?” she asked.
“No. Magdalena and her husband are staying at their winery in Mendoza. They could not get away.”
“Magdalena is your sister, right?”
“Sí, she is my younger sister. She has just had her third child and could not get away.”
Francesca’s eyes dropped and she swallowed. Her knuckles, he noticed, were white where she clasped her hands together. “I see.”
“You will meet her soon enough. We must go to Mendoza for a visit now that the baby is here.”
If he’d thought that statement would soothe her, he was surprised to see that it seemed to have the opposite effect. She seemed agitated. And she did everything in her power not to look at him again. Her throat worked, as if she were swallowing back tears.
“You are afraid to meet my sister?” he asked.
She looked up again. “No, not at all. But what’s the point, Marcos? This marriage will be over soon. Why introduce me to your family, make them think this is real when we both know it’s not?”
