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“He must have been trying to protect me.”
“You may be blind to his true feelings. I am not.” His eyes narrowed. “You will never contact him again. Or your family.”
“What?” Callie’s mouth fell open. “What does my family have to do with anything?”
Eduardo couldn’t explain, or she would find out everything he’d been keeping from her—for her own good. “I am your husband. You will trust me and obey.”
“Obey?” Callie glared at him, folding her arms. “What century are you in? You might be my husband, but you are no longer my boss!”
“Am I not?” he said softly. He reached his hand to her cheek, stroking softly down her neck. She closed her eyes, and he felt her shudder beneath his touch. “I am trying to protect our family. I have my reasons. Believe me.”
But Callie stiffened, stepping back, out of his reach. “No.”
His eyes widened then his brows lowered. “No?”
“I want to be your wife, Eduardo. I do,” she whispered. “But I have to see my family. And Brandon.”
“I could take you to court. The prenuptial agreement—”
“So do it.” She looked at him evenly. “Take me to court.”
She was calling his bluff. He had no desire to sue his own wife, the mother of his baby. And now they both knew it. He exhaled, clenching his hands. “I will not allow you to—”
“It’s not a question of you allowing me. I’m telling you. I need a relationship with my family—including Brandon—and so does Marisol. I’m going home to visit my family. You can divorce me. But you can’t stop me.”
Checkmate, he thought, almost with despair.
He still couldn’t forget—or forgive—the way her parents h
ad treated Callie when she’d called them just two hours after the birth, anxious to tell them about the baby. She’d had every reason to relax and get some rest, but instead she’d tried to share the joyous news with her mother and father. She’d been left sobbing with grief. The memory still made his jaw clench.
Eduardo had always dreamed of having a family of his own. A family that was kind and loving, not cruel or harsh as his own had been.
He wouldn’t let anyone make Callie cry like that. Ever.
Staring at her, a thought took hold of his brain. Morally reprehensible—but then, he thought grimly, he was already in so deep he might as well go a little further.
It was for her own good, he repeated to himself. For her own good, and the safety of their little family.
“Have you considered, querida,” he said in a low voice, “that perhaps they might not want to see you?”
Callie looked at him with stricken eyes. “What?”
It was cold, it was cruel, it was wrong. But he pushed aside his twinges of conscience. He had to be ruthless. “Has McLinn contacted you once in the last three months?” He tilted his head. “Has anyone in your family tried to call you back, even once?”
Her folded arms fell, and she looked uncertain. “No.” Swallowing, she blinked fast. “But I can’t blame them. I let them down.”
“No,” he said sharply. “You had a baby. You got married. And when you tried to share that news with them, they ripped you apart.”
She took a deep breath. “I know it might seem that way …”
“They were cruel to you.” He could still remember the rasp of her father’s voice. You’ll never be a decent husband or father, and you know it. If you’re even half a man, you’ll send her and the baby home to people who are capable of loving them.
“I’ll make them forgive me.” Callie’s emerald eyes glittered suspiciously. “I have to try.”
As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. “Write to them first.”
She turned back to face him. “What?”
