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Stop. It was no use traveling that road. She’d been down it before, and there were no answers. Only heartache and pain.
Ingrid put a palm to her temple. “I have so much to do today, and no idea how it will all get done when I must watch this little one here.”
“Why don’t I take him?” Francesca said, shocking b
oth herself and Ingrid if the look on the other woman’s face was any indication.
“Oh no, señora, I cannot ask you to do that. This is your honeymoon! You must have fun, spend time with your husband. A baby would be a distraction.”
“Nonsense,” Francesca said. Marcos had told people it was their honeymoon? Her heart leapt just a little at that, before she reminded herself it meant nothing. “It’s not Armando’s fault, and I’m not doing anything anyway.”
“You’re certain?”
Hell no, she wasn’t certain, if the reckless pounding of her pulse was any indication. “Of course.”
Ingrid grabbed a rag and wiped Armando’s face, then lifted him from the chair and carried him over to her. For a moment, Francesca wondered if she’d made a mistake, if she knew what she was doing, but Armando smiled and spread his chubby little arms wide. She took him, tears springing to her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her neck.
He smelled like a baby. And like cereal and sunshine. She wanted to squeeze him close and kiss his little cheeks. Instead, she took him to the veranda and bounced him on her lap while she waited for breakfast to arrive.
Someone brought a play pen and popped it open. Francesca thanked the girl, though she was pretty certain by the frown on Armando’s face that he didn’t want to spend any time in it.
“It’s okay, Armando,” Francesca soothed. “You can sit right here with me if you’re a good boy.”
The baby burbled happily. Francesca gazed at him in wonder, her heart expanding so wide it hurt. Her own little girl would have been almost four. She’d stayed away from children because it hurt too much, but holding this little boy right now felt like the best thing she’d done in a long time. Besides making love with Marcos, of course.
As if thinking of him summoned him, he suddenly appeared in the doorway. The expression on his face, she noted, was thunderous. It cleared a little when he saw her, and he even managed a smile when Armando turned to look at him.
“Have you found her?” Francesca asked as he came over and pulled out a chair.
“No.”
Armando reached for Marcos. Oddly, she felt a little reluctant to let him go, but Marcos took him and tickled his belly. The baby laughed uproariously while Marcos made faces.
A pang of longing pierced her soul. She wanted this life. Wanted Marcos and a baby. Wanted nights like the last night, and days that were perfect and stretched endlessly before her like a sea of happiness. She wanted what was, essentially, a beautiful illusion. And she wanted it to be real.
“What will happen if you can’t find her?”
“Ah, Dios, I wish I knew.”
“What about Armando?”
Marcos looked at the little boy in his arms. “He will be taken care of.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know yet.”
It pierced her to think of this baby without his mother, but what could she say? She and Marcos weren’t in a real relationship, and thoughts of the two of them taking care of Armando if Ana didn’t come back were a pipe dream. “I’m sorry, Marcos. I know it hurts you to have her leave like this.”
His expression was controlled. “I told you I cannot save them all. And Ana has run away with a boy she met. She has not returned to the streets. Perhaps they will even marry.”
“What usually happens with the teens you employ here?” she asked, wishing to distract him just a little bit. To get him to focus on the positive results of what he did.
“Some of them go to university,” he said. “Others choose a trade.”
“Do many of them choose college?”
“Many do, yes. Navarre Industries hires them once they graduate, should they desire to work for us.”
