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And only when Amalia approved of her reflection from every angle did she make her way back up the path. She crossed through the lobby, then headed down again on the other side of the old fortress, heading toward the patio that sat on a cliff out on the edge of the island, offering captivating views of the sea beyond.
They claimed Barcelona was visible on a clear day if conditions were right, though she’d never seen it. Then again, it was possible she’d never looked. She had always been far more focused on what was on the island than what might be around it.
She passed the patio where she’d met Joaquin for the first time, long ago, nestled far closer to the hotel. Seeing it made her smile as she kept going down the path, enjoying the soft evening air as she moved. The pathway was lit with small lanterns throwing off just enough light to make it from one to the next, leading her down a gentle slope toward the cliff’s edge.
When she got there, Joaquin was waiting.
He, too, had dressed for the evening, and looked nothing short of commanding as he stood there at the rail at the edge of the cliffs. He was gazing at her as if he’d known the exact moment she would appear.
And as she crossed the patio to his side, Amalia couldn’t help imagining what that look on his face might have meant, if they were other people...
As if she needed help to break her own heart.
“I’m surprised you wanted to eat together,” she said when he took her hand in one of his and, astonishingly, lifted it to his lips. Her heart flipped over inside her chest, though she tried to ignore it. “I would have thought that doesn’t go along with your...stated aims.”
“You are here, are you not? I might as well enjoy your company.”
But his tone was gruff. His eyes were too green. And something in her chest seem to clutch around the notion that this, somehow, was an apology.
The only one she was likely to get from this proud, hard man.
Amalia cautioned herself not to read too much into it as he led her over to a table that had been exultantly, meticulously prepared for an intimate party of two. It sat beneath a pretty canopy that blocked the breeze and any curious eyes from back at the fortress. Joaquin helped her into her seat, then took his own. And for a moment, she could confuse the odd butterflies in her stomach with the bustle of his staff around them as they poured out the wine, then served a first course, a small whimsy from the chef.
But when they melted off into the shadows again, she was left with Joaquin. And the sea. And the quiet all around them, as if this was the sort of date they’d indulged in that first summer, when sex had only been a part of what was happening between them.
That silly, fluttery reaction inside of her kept rolling around inside her, because this was the first time they had sat at a table like civilized adults since she’d arrived here. She understood that it was deliberate. Looking back, she should have known that from day one. He was keeping everything about sex and happenstance on purpose, when she knew perfectly well that he was capable of providing any experience that might take his fancy.
Five-star dining on a cliff above the sea on a whim, for example.
But somehow, even though she tried what was on the plate before her, she could hardly make sense of it. The only thing she could seem to concentrate on was the turmoil inside her.
Possibly because, here, dressed in the sort of armor she had always used to her advantage before, what was happening inside her seemed far more obvious. Because all the rest of the time they spent together, the only thing she could focus on was that greedy passion that she was certain was the ruin of her.
It had already ruined her. She’d known that for years already.
But she couldn’t handle the way he seemed so content to sit there andbroodat her.
“I think a lot these days about the sorts of things I take for granted that I never would have known if I’d stayed where I belonged,” she said. For something to say that cut through all that dark greenbrooding.She waved her hand over the formal place setting before her. “Take something as simple as plates and utensils. I somehow think that place settings like this do not feature heavily on a Kansas farm.” Amalia smiled as she said it. “Though in truth, I have no idea. For all I know, the woman who gave birth to me speaks of nothing, night and day, but appropriate table manners for all occasions.”
“Table manners are nothing but a gateway,” Joaquin said, as if he was handing down judgment.
He lounged there across from her, toying with his glass of wine, and his green eyes seemed to burn straight through her. “There’s nothing the upper class enjoys more than the hoops it creates to keep upstarts and commoners out of its ranks.”
“I tried a similar argument with one of my governesses when I was small.” Amalia lifted her own wine to her lips to taste it, not at all surprised to find it was spectacular. “She was unmoved. And made me sit with a heavy book on my head to improve my posture while thinking about the error of my ways.”
“I took a relatively high-class lover after I made my first fortune,” Joaquin told her, as if this was the sort of thing they discussed all the time. So casual. So sophisticated. Hislovers. She took a rather larger gulp of her wine. “She was a mistake for many reasons.”
“Oh, by all means, enlighten me,” Amalia replied as nonchalantly as possible, because she was certain this was some kind of a test. She had romantic feelings for him, as they had both agreed she wouldn’t, and so, surely, she would react badly to details of his legions of other women. And in truth, it felt a lot like tearing off a scab to lean forward and smile encouragingly at him, as if what she really wanted was a close, personal tour through all the women he had loved before her.
She had to hope thatlovein this context was nothing but a euphemism. Not that it really made her feel all that much better to imagine Joaquin involved in the kind of wild, passionate acts they’d experienced together—but with someone else. With a great many someone elses.
But he was studying her face far too closely, and Amalia would throw herself off the cliff in front of them before she’d give him the satisfaction of seeing how this hurt her.
“She was like most of these high-class girls,” he said with a certain casual disregard that set her teeth on edge. By design, she was certain. “You know how they are. Wholly unaware of how lucky they were to have been born into their position. Always so bored, for some reason, when the whole world is right there at their disposal. And, of course, deeply selfish in bed.”
She had been prepared to be quietly outraged and outwardly impassive. But Amalia found herself frowning at him instead. “I don’t think I know what that means.”
His green eyes gleamed. “Do you not?”
