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SANTIAGO STOOD AT the library window, watching Belle’s limo disappear into the dark night. He felt sick at heart. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, letting her go.
“Finally. She’s gone.”
Nadia’s voice was a purr behind him. Furious, Santiago turned to face her with a glare. She smiled at him, with a hand on her tilted hip, in front of the dark wood paneling and wall of old leather-bound books. She looked like a spoiled Persian cat, he thought irritably. He bared his teeth into a smile.
“You did your part to get rid of her, didn’t you? Sticking her in the tower, undercutting her with the staff, telling her the engagement ring had once been yours?”
“She didn’t belong here,” she said lazily. “Better for her to just go.”
Yes, Santiago thought dully. It would be better. That was the only reason he’d let Belle go. He couldn’t bear to be loved by her, and she refused to marry him without it.
Belle, of all women on earth, deserved to be happy. She deserved to be loved.
The truth was, he had no idea what she’d seen to love in him. He’d taken her from her Texas hometown against her will, and yet she hadn’t just gone back with him to New York: she’d done her best to fit into his life and play the role of society wife. He remembered how scared she’d been, but she’d done it anyway. Because he’d asked her to.
She’d redecorated his Upper East Side mansion, turning it from a cold showplace to a warm, cozy home. She’d reorganized his staff, removing the arrogant butler, making the household happier.
Belle had been unbelievably understanding when he’d canceled their wedding hours before the ceremony. She’d even insisted on coming to Spain with him.
“I can’t let you face it alone,” she’d told him.
But now he was alone, in this cold place.
“It was unpleasant, having her always hovering around us. Such a pushy girl,” Nadia said, then gave him a bright smile. “Your father sent me to find you. He wants to discuss how soon you might take over the family’s business interests.” She gave a hard laugh. “You’ll do better than Otilio did, that’s for sure.”
Santiago turned to her abruptly. “Did you love my brother?”
She blinked. “Love him?”
“Did you?”
Nadia laughed mirthlessly. “Otilio spent most of his time getting drunk and chasing one-night stands. You heard he died from a heart attack?”
“Yes...”
She shook her head. “He was drunk, and crashed his car into the window of a children’s charity shop. It was night and the shop was empty, or else he might have taken out a bunch of mothers and their babies, too. That would have been awful...for our family’s reputation.” She sighed. “But he wanted a beautiful, famous wife, and I wanted a title. We were partners, promoting the brand of our marriage.” She shrugged. “We tried not to spend too much time together.”
Partners, Santiago thought dully. Just like he’d suggested to Belle. As if it would be remotely appealing to anyone with a beating heart to accept marriage as a business arrangement, as a brand, as a cheap imitation for what was supposed to be the main relationship of
one’s life.
He could hardly blame her for refusing.
I love you, Belle had whispered in the shadowy light of that threadbare little attic room. Could you ever love me?
And he, who was afraid of nothing, had been afraid.
Santiago told himself that he was glad Belle was gone, so he didn’t have to see her big eyes tugging at his heart, pulling him to...what?
“The duke wants you to be on a conference call regarding the Cebela merger.”
“Right.” He hadn’t been listening. He followed Nadia out of the library toward his father’s study, feeling numb. He liked feeling numb. It was easy. It was safe.
But late that night, he tossed and turned, imagining Belle on his private jet, flying alone across the dark ocean. What if the plane crashed? And she was so close to her due date. What if she went into labor on the plane? Why hadn’t he sent a doctor with her?
Because he’d been so eager to get her away from him.
Not eager. Desperate.
