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Annie is officially more competent in Spanish than I am. She’s beginning to slip between both languages effortlessly. I’ve worked hard to teach her what I could, but she took it in her stride and has been watching shows in Spanish and reading books, too. She’s very bright, but it’s more than that. She has Spanish blood, and her tongue knows it. One day, I want to take her there.
He could almost feel her hesitating, feel her emotion.
I want her to see the places I love.
He shut the book at the same time he closed his eyes. These memories were important, but reading about them like this wasn’t right. He wanted to hear Alicia’s voice recounting the memories to him, describing them in greater depth. He wanted to be able to ask questions, to hear her voice as she answered them. He wanted more.
But what exactly?
His brow beaded in perspiration as he stood, then moved to the window to stare out.
Ten years ago, he’d believed the worst in Alicia. Why hadn’t he realised that she’d speak the truth? That ofcourseshe would defend him? She had been a teenager, sheltered and adored, and until that morning, had idolised her father. Naturally she hadn’t been able to defy him in the moment.
But she’d loved Graciano, too.
He made a growling noise, because shehadloved him—yet he’d been so quick to judge her. Tohateher. And up until two nights ago, he’d been willing to make that same mistake.
To prejudge her. To see the worst in her actions.
To fail to listen to her.
To fail her, point-blank.
His shoulders dropped, because the more he looked at their situation, the more he realised he’d messed up.
Alicia stared at the text message for several seconds.
Do you have a minute?
It was so like Graciano, so short and to the point. So unclear, too. Two days earlier, he’d walked out of her home and ever since she’d been tormenting herself with wondering.
What had he meant? What did he need to think about?
In the back of her mind, all she could think of was his reaction in the hospital, his threat that he’d take Annie away to punish her. But then she remembered the way they’d made love, and the way he’d been afterwards—surely he couldn’t be so cruel? She gripped her phone more tightly.
Yes. I can talk.
It was almost ten o’clock, but she was nowhere near ready for bed. She’d barely been sleeping. She held her phone, waiting for it to ring, but a moment later, a knock at the front door sounded. Heart leaping into her throat, Alicia stood, moving quickly to the door, fingers shaking a little as she slid the chain in place and opened it an inch. Graciano stood there against the inky black sky, his dark eyes unsettling her, burning her, probing her, his face a mask of intense concentration so she was startled.
‘I presumed you meant to call me,’ she said quietly.
‘No.’ Then, with a grimace, ‘Would you prefer that?’
She frowned, the question unexpected. ‘You’re here now,’ she said, casting a glance over her shoulder. ‘Annie’s asleep.’
‘I presumed she would be—this is a conversation between you and me, not our daughter.’
Our daughter.She shivered, her heart spasming at that simple statement.
Alicia closed the door so she could release the chain lock, then opened it wider, waving for him to come in. He held Annie’s book in his hand, and Alicia felt a tug of sentiment towards that item.
‘Through here?’ he prompted, nodding towards the living room. It took her a moment to galvanise her limbs into action.
‘Right, yes. That way.’ They moved through to the lounge and Alicia’s eyes fell on her glass of wine. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Thanks.’ He dipped his head. She weaved away from him into the kitchen, careful to give Graciano a wide berth or risk igniting with him all over again. But oh, how she craved his touch! The reassurance and familiarity of his arms wrapping around her... ‘Wine? Beer? Whisky?’
‘Whatever you’re having.’
