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Could Santos be right? Did my father do something terrible that he believed was the cause of all our troubles?
“He only had Villanueva,” I say thoughtfully, my mind reeling at this newfound possibility. “It’s mine now.”
“It is,” Santos adds.
“Will you take me to see it?”
He nods. “I’ll send a scout to make sure Padilla isn’t still snooping around. Then we can go. But…there’s nothing left,” he adds hesitantly.
“Okay.” I chew on my bottom lip, and for the first time, I allow myself to touch him. I place my palm over his heart, feeling it beating as strong and as wild as he is. “Thank you.”
“I know how much Luna meant to you.”
I’m not sure he does. And I’m not sure if he knows what the gesture means to me either. Hell, I don’t know. He’s thrown my emotions completely, shaking them up and tossing them around until I can’t tell the difference between love and hate.
I let my fingers trail over his chest to the tight muscles of his belly and then to his silver belt buckle. My mouth goes completely dry as I let my hand linger there, wanting to go farther down, aware that if I do, he won’t stop me.
He leans into me, shutting his eyes as he breathes me in. “Sonia. You’re fucking torturing me.”
“I’m torturing myself.”
“Why? Take what you want. What we both want.”
Moving closer, he presses me into the wooden wall. His rigid length digs into my abdomen, and I grimace with the ache to do exactly as he says.
He runs his hands up and down my arms, letting his thumbs graze the sides of my breasts with each pass, making it even more difficult to deny myself.
“Oh God, San—”
His phone rings, interrupting us, and he lets out a frustrated breath while I let out one of relief. He tugs it from his back pocket and glances at the screen. His mouth pulls into a thin, hard line as he reads the text. “I have business to attend to. Don’t worry about the horses. My men will take care of them. Go back to the house.”
“All right.”
He walks with me beyond the door, where I take a left and he goes right. “Sonia,” he calls to me and I turn. “I can take you to the stream tonight, if you want. A real date this time.”
“Will you tell me more about what happened between us?” His hesitation to respond makes me think he won’t. But before he can answer and disappoint me, I say, “I’d rather stay in tonight.”
He nods sadly and walks away.
I take my time going back to the house, hoping that the sun and fresh air will clear my mind. But they don’t. It’s just as turbulent and confused as ever. If I hadn’t loved Santos so deeply once upon a time, perhaps things would be different. But a fire like the one we shared doesn’t die. It leaves embers in the ashes that flicker to life at the slightest draft.
It’s true that he shattered my heart, but I can’t so easily dismiss the fact that he came back for me. Even if I didn’t know it at the time, he came back. I also can’t dismiss that I apparently forgave him already.
I glance at the tattoo on my wrist and the thin scar where the bullet grazed my arm. Even though there’s still something niggling in the back of my mind, something that screams there’s more, the evidence would suggest that he’s not lying about the past five years. If I married him, that means I forgave him. And I would never have forgiven him without first putting him through hell.
Is it fair that I’m doing it all over again because of something that’s entirely out of his control?
From my pocket, I take out the little bouquet Santos gave me. It’s completely crushed now, with several of the thin stems broken. My chest tightens as I recall his smile when he gave them to me and the sadness in his eyes when I turned down his offer of a late-night ride.
I pause at the large fountain that sits in front of the entrance, chewing on my lower lip. The two armed guards standing at attention stare at me with expectancy. But I don’t go in.
Instead, I spin on my heel and return the way I came, my mind made up. I’ll go with him tonight, take it one step at a time. Go slow and see where things lead us.
But even as I think that, my feet go faster over the dirt road and my heart pounds in rapid desperation to accept his offer. I pass the stables at a dead run now, heading to the buildings I recall seeing farther down.
Several armed men mill about in front of them. When they spot me coming their way, they all glance at each other as if in silent communication. Then one of them moves toward me, his palm raised. “You should turn around,SeñoraCruz. We’re in a private meeting.”
I stop, looking toward the door they all seem to be guarding. “Is Santos in there?”
