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His expression shifted, but she couldn’t interpret it as he flicked to the next page. Another article, another award, another accolade. Then the articles shifted a little, to speak of his business deals, and the photos changed, too. Now Graciano was rarely snapped without a glamorous woman on his arm. He flicked again, and again, until he reached the end of the folder, the most recent article taken only three months earlier, about the acquisition of a chain of supermarkets in the UK.
‘What is it?’ he asked, finally, his voice raw.
‘It’s for Annie.’ She wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘I tried to tell you about her, but when I couldn’t, I started to do this. I wanted the two of you to be connected one day. Or for her to know that I’d tried. I don’t know. It just felt...important somehow.’ Tears filmed her eyes. ‘But in collecting those clippings, I came to understand how much you’d moved on, how your life was in a completely different sphere to mine. I told myself I was glad. I was raising Annie alone, but at least you had what you’d always wanted.’
He stared at the folder, his face ashen.
‘And that one?’
Now her fingers really trembled as she crouched down and lifted the second folder. But she held it close to her chest, anxious for some reason to pass it over.
‘It’s about Annie,’ she whispered. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d ever want to be a part of her life, but I kept everything, just in case.’
‘Show me.’ It was a demand. She had saved these things for him, and yet she hesitated a moment, before passing the folder across.
He opened it to the first page—a tiny birth announcement, a hospital bracelet and a snip of hair sticky taped against an aging slip of cardboard. The next page showed a handprint and footprint.
‘She was tiny.’
‘She was a month premature,’ Alicia said, memories slamming into her.
‘Why?’
‘I went into labour early.’ She didn’t meet his eyes; her gaze remained on the folder. Her fingers trembled a little as she lifted the next sheet to turn it. ‘This was her first Christmas. Wasn’t she adorable? I made that dress.’ She ran a finger over the photo, remembering the austerity of that day, the loneliness. Her father hadn’t called. He hadn’t sent a card, nor a gift. In fact, there’d been no presents whatsoever, but Alicia had had Annie, the love of her life. She was so young in the photo, her face that of a child’s.
He turned the page quickly—artwork of Annie’s, from when she started nursery. Silly splashes of paint and blobs of colour on cardboard. A student report card. On and on it went, all the small things from her life—piano recital programs, photos of the milestone moments like first lost tooth, riding a bike, and sometimes, Alicia had included a handwritten note about a memory so she wouldn’t forget, and wouldn’t forget to tell Graciano. All of it had seemed important at the time, but she wondered if he’d understand that.
He came to halfway through the folder, then stopped, lifting his face to hers. ‘Can I take this with me?’
She hesitated. ‘I made it for you,’ she said slowly.
‘I won’t lose it.’
‘I know.’ She pressed a finger into the page, strangely sentimental about the memory folder, but it wasn’t hers. She’d had Annie, the real thing. This was just a memento. ‘Of course.’ She stepped back, blinking away the tears, her heart heavy, her soul exhausted.
‘I never wanted her to be separated from you.’
‘And yet, if I hadn’t been at that charity auction, I still wouldn’t know about her.’
Alicia grimaced, because that was true.
‘I understand why as a sixteen-year-old you couldn’t tell me. I take responsibility for my part in that,’ he admitted after a beat. ‘And even for being almost impossible to contact since. I accept the truth of your explanation.’
‘How magnanimous,’ she muttered, even as her heart soared with relief.
‘But what about on the island, when you had my full attention?’
Her heart dropped to her toes.
‘It’s very easy to stand here now and say that you were planning to tell me, when everything has fallen down to circumstance. I happened to be at the charity auction. I happened to be with you when you got the call about Annie’s injury. I have to wonder—if those things hadn’t happened, would I know about her yet?’
‘Yes,’ she promised. ‘I went to you last night intending to tell you. The truth has been eating me alive. On the island, I couldn’t stop thinking about it—’
‘Yet you said nothing.’
‘It was hardly a straightforward situation,’ she said pointedly. ‘Sleeping together—’
He moved closer, eyes holding hers, body so close, so large, everything inside her sparked, and she almost cried because she wanted to collapse against him.
