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‘Did the solicitor say anything to you about Max?’ she asked.
Rafe’s fingers clenched once more. ‘He told me that he was my son, and the paternity test verified that. Is there more I need to know?’ From the sardonic note in his voice Freya knew he was being sarcastic, and she felt a lick of anger, which she suppressed. Losing her temper would not help her in this situation.
‘Actually, there is. Max has just lost his mother—’
‘I’m well aware.’
‘And is in a fragile state,’ Freya continued, ignoring him. ‘He needs consistency, stability.’ He needs me. She barely kept from saying the words. ‘Rushing him off to a foreign country is not the best thing for him now.’
‘Being without his father for three years wasn’t the best thing either,’ Rafe returned, an edge to his voice.
‘True, but there is no point adding one hardship on top of another.’
Rafe stared at her, his gaze icily assessing. ‘What do you suggest, Miss Clark?’ he finally asked, his tone as cold as his look.
Freya took a deep breath. ‘I have been the one consistent element in Max’s life,’ she began evenly. I love him. She swallowed down the words, knowing they wouldn’t help. They might even hurt. They certainly wouldn’t sway a man like Rafe—a man who, according to his ex-wife, had no interest in love at all. A man who was staring at her with cold impatience. ‘I think I should stay with Max as he makes the transition—’
‘I intend finding a suitable carer in Spain,’ Rafe returned flatly.
‘There’s no need,’ Freya argued, her voice calm. She felt as if her heart were flinging itself against her chest, but she’d never let Rafe Sandoval see how much this meant to her—how much she’d come to love Max over the last three years. He was the only person she’d let into her heart in ten years. Since—
No. She would not think about that. She lifted her chin. ‘You have a suitable carer right here.’
Rafe let out a slow breath, studying her. Freya waited, knowing judgement could come swiftly, in seconds. ‘I would prefer,’ he said finally, ‘to have a completely fresh start.’
‘Understandable,’ Freya countered, knowing how acrimonious the Sandovals’ divorce must have been. ‘But fresh starts are not always good for children. Max was happy here.’
Rafe glanced around the little parlour, which Freya knew was a bit…worn. ‘Really?’
Scepticism dripped from his voice, and Freya stiffened. ‘You don’t need a mansion or a flashy car to make a child happy.’
‘How about a father?’
‘Yes, exactly. Someone to—’ Once again she swallowed down that dangerous L-word.
Rafe narrowed his eyes. ‘I will give you severance pay,’ he said, his look and tone both assessing. Suspicious. ‘A generous package. So if it’s money you’re concerned about—’
‘It’s not money,’ Freya replied sharply. Colour flashed into her face. ‘It’s Max.’
Rafe arched an eyebrow. ‘You care for him?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘Enough to travel to a foreign country?’
‘I’m familiar with Spain,’ Freya admitted, trying not to show how reluctant she was to reveal that fact. She didn’t want to think about the last time she’d been to Spain, or the mistakes she’d made. The loss she’d endured. She never thought about that. She met Rafe’s speculative gaze clearly, refusing to al low even the faintest flicker of emotion to cross her face.
‘I’d prefer,’ he said, ‘to have someone care for Max who speaks Spanish.’
Freya could not keep the triumph from her voice as she told him, ‘I’m fluent in Spanish.’
Rafe smiled faintly as he conceded the point in their power struggle. ‘You are full of surprises, Miss Clark.’
‘I don’t mean to be. But Ro— Max’s mother wanted me to speak both Spanish and English to Max.’
‘I’m glad,’ Rafe said, in a voice that was carefully, painfully bland, ‘that she did not keep Max from his Spanish heritage.’ His mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘Only his Spanish father.’
Freya said nothing. She’d had no great affection for Rosalia Sandoval, but she’d felt sorry for her. The woman had been clearly unhappy, and underneath the anger Freya had thought she’d seen hurt. At one point, Freya suspected, Rosalia had been deeply in love with her husband.
