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So why hadn’t she signed the papers? Why?
He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t know. And it was like crossing a high-wire without a net.
Since Callie had left him in Marrakech, he hadn’t checked up on her once. He’d fired Keith Johnson from her case. He’d even given his lawyers strict instructions not to give him news of her. They were to contact Eduardo when her lawyer had filed the signed paperwork for the divorce, and not before.
But he still hadn’t got the call. Did that mean there was hope?
Closing his eyes, Eduardo turned his face toward the sun as he thought about how he’d isolated her during their marriage. No. No hope.
“Hey!”
Looking down, Eduardo saw a little girl of about eight or nine, standing apart from five other schoolgirls. She held up a picture. “You dropped this.”
Reaching out, he took the photo of Callie and Marisol, taken at the Spanish villa at Christmas. Marisol was just three and a half months old then, giggling, flashing her single tooth. Callie was mischievously wearing the Santa hat she’d stolen from Eduardo, smiling as he took the picture. Her green eyes glowed with love. Grief choked him, so much his knees nearly went weak. “Thanks.”
“I know how it feels to lose things,” the little girl said. “Don’t be careless.”
He looked up, his eyes wide.
“See ya.” With a skip, the girl turned away, racing back down the street with her friends, with the reckless joy of childhood freedom.
And a lightning bolt hit his heart.
Eduardo had told Callie to leave. He’d been the one who’d filed for divorce. He’d set her free, knowing she deserved better than a man who tried to control her, to spy on her, who wouldn’t trust her.
But what if he could have just chosen to be a different man?
Eduardo stared at the flow of traffic on the busy street. What if his past didn’t have to infect his future? What if he could choose a different life?
Hope rose like a wave inside his soul, no longer to be repressed. He’d set Callie free. But could he do the same for himself—be the man he wanted to be? The divorce wasn’t final yet. Was there still time?
Could he ask her for a second chance?
Ask her to be his wife—not his prisoner, but his partner?
Gripping the photo, he whirled around, causing four construction workers to spit curses as he knocked past them on the sidewalk. Eduardo caught up with Sanchez just as his sedan was pulling from the curb. Yanking open the back door, Eduardo threw himself inside. “The airport!” he panted. “I need to see my wife—now!”
Sanchez gave him an enormous smile. “Yes, sir!”
He stomped on the gas, and Eduardo pulled out his phone to call Mrs. McAuliffe about the change in plans. Before he could, his phone rang in his hand. He saw Keith Johnson’s number. Scowling, he turned the sound to Mute. But after he hung up with Mrs. McAuliffe, as the car crossed the George Washington Bridge, his phone buzzed again. Looking down, he saw his lawyer’s number and a chill went down his spine.
His lawyer.
Did that mean …
Could it be …
Eduardo narrowed his eyes. No. As the phone stopped, then urgently started to vibrate a second time, Eduardo rolled down the window, and tossed it into the Hudson.
It wasn’t too late for him to change. He wouldn’t let it be.
He made it to the airport as his jet was warming up, and took his place on the jet bound for North Dakota. Refusing his surprised flight attendant’s offer of his usual martini, Eduardo paced back and forth across the cabin for hours, planning what he would say to Callie. He tried to write down his feelings then finally gave up in disgust. He would pray that once he saw her, he’d know what to say.
Sitting restlessly in the white leather seat by the window, he felt like a jangle of nerves. Wishing the jet could go faster, he looked down through the wispy clouds and watched the green rolling hills of the East Coast slowly transform to the flat, brownish landscape of the northern prairies.
When they finally landed at the tiny airport outside of Fern, his legs were shaking as he went down the steps to the tarmac. The airport was just like he remembered when he’d visited so long ago, the day Callie had come to meet him as the local office liaison. But this time, he had no staff. He was alone.
Eduardo had forgotten what it was like to exist without layers of employees and servants insulating him from the real world. He felt clumsy, trying to remember how to do things himself, with no assistants. No bodyguards. On impulse, he stopped at the airport’s single shop to buy Callie some flowers and an eight-dollar box of chocolates. The place was deserted, and it took five long minutes before the salesclerk even noticed he was there, and came out from the back to ring up his order.
