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Six long years have passed since that visit, and in the interim, my life has shifted, dramatically. Instead of having an entire staff to help me with tedious chores, I’m now the maid. Rather than a lavish wing to myself, I share a bedroom with a child. Not a single person treats me like I’m from an important Portuguese family—they don’t even know, and if they did, they wouldn’t care.
Some might see this fall from grace as a tragedy, others as my comeuppance. I don’t have the energy to conduct a thorough analysis. At the end of the day, I do what’s necessary to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads. It’s a simple, sometimes grueling life, but it’s kept us safe.
When Antonio completes his lewd appraisal, his dark, piercing eyes meet mine. It’s a look designed to intimidate. And it does. But despite the intermittent tremor in my left eye, I don’t shrink—that would only empower him.
The old radiator gurgles in the corner. Otherwise, the room is deathly quiet. The air between us so heavy, it’s practically weeping. Antonio’s scrutiny is hard and threatening, without a glimmer of humanity.
My hands are beginning to ache from being clasped so tightly, but at least they’re not shaking.
I don’t know his intentions, but I can guess. This is about the vineyards.It has to be.
There’s a binding contract on the property.You’re too late, Antonio.
Although it’s never too late for wealthy, powerful men to get their way. It’s either handed to them at the very last minute, or they snatch it from unwitting hands. There’s rarely a penalty for that kind of behavior, so they walk away unscathed and emboldened. And they do it again, and again, because the greedy are insatiable.
I glance at him. His expression hasn’t softened—if anything, it’s more menacing. More determined.
Antonio is about to make my life a living hell. It’s written all over him, twisting in his sharp features, scraping through the vast silence—metal against metal. I feel it in my bones. A chill so pervasive that a hot bath and layers of spun wool won’t cure it.
“Why are you here?” I ask softly, my voice straining under the stress.
He doesn’t reply. He hasn’t said a single word since he told me to have a seat. For now, he seems content to let my anxiety build.
The wait is making me jittery. Inside, the threads are spooling tighter and tighter. Soon they’ll snap, and my emotions will spin out of control. I can’t allow it to happen.
I know pain. Torn flesh, bitter anguish, heartache—I know the demons intimately. Even more, I know how to battle through the suffering.
Yes, I might end up bloodied and scarred, but Antonio Huntsman can’t throw anything at me I can’t handle.
I sit up taller and dig in my heels. “What do you want?”
This time, there’s not a shred of softness or deference in my tone. It’s insistent and demanding, leaving no doubt that I’ll ask again, and again, until he answers the question.
His gaze narrows, zeroing in on mine with laser focus. “It’s time to come home, Daniela.”
His voice is firm. Uncompromising. And while I doubt anyone ever saysnoto him, his jaw is set, as though he’s bracing for a fight.
This isn’t at all what I expected.I assumed he got wind of the sale and would demand I breach the contract with the buyer and sell him the property instead.
The butterflies in my stomach swirl frantically while I try to form a coherent response that won’t back me farther into a corner.
“I don’t understand.” I choose the words carefully, feigning ignorance, although it’s not much of a stretch. I really don’t know where he’s headed.
“Porto is your home. You belong here. This is your legacy.”
It takes me long moments to wrap my head around it.But when I finally do, it feels as though my soul has been exposed to the light, filleted with surgical precision.
Porto is your home. You belong here. This is your legacy.
If I didn’t know better, I would think the bastard is privy to my dreams—my ridiculous fantasies. The ones I never share with anyone. Not even Isabel. Dreams that are so far out of reach, the edges are fuzzy.
He knows the property is changing hands today. Of course he does. Despite Moniz’s efforts to conceal the sale, that shouldn’t come as a total surprise. But he also knows what’s in my heart. He knows how much I want to keep Quinta Rosa do Vale, how much I want to come home, back to my old life, and he’s using that knowledge to play me in the cruelest way.
He wants me to come home.Bullshit. He wants the vineyards. Don’t let him lure you off the path.It’s not safe.
I look straight into his eyes. All these years of hiding have taught me to lie without squirming. “My home is in Canada now, with my great-aunt. She needs me.” It’s the same lie I told last time to throw him off my trail. But I went directly to the US, without ever setting foot in Canada.
Antonio wraps his long fingers around the beveled edge of the desk and angles forward ever so slightly.
