Santiago's Convenient Fiancée

by Annie O'Neil

  Just like she needed to be.

  “Happier now?”

  Amanda wandered over. As Saoirse looked up, she realized she was mirroring the broad smile on her friend’s lips.

  “Yes, thanks. I just...” She ran her fingers through her hair with a little “Urgh!” noise. “You’re right. About Santiago and the being-in-love thing.” She decided on the truth after running through the thousands of denials she could have given. Sure, the truth hurt. But it was better to take it all in one painful hit than prolong the inevitable.

  Amanda clapped her hands together gleefully, eyebrows lifted with happy expectation, and just as suddenly furrowed her brow and knitted her fingers together underneath her chin with a snort.

  “But that’s a good thing, right? Why aren’t those happy tears?” Amanda looked bewildered. “Are you saying he doesn’t feel the same way?”

  “Yes. I mean no.” She tugged two tufts of hair between each set of fingers and began to twist. It was her new go-to thinking-while-doing gesture. “I mean, I love him but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t love me.”

  “Pretty sure or absolutely sure?” Amanda pressed.

  “Pretty absolutely?” Saoirse scanned the NICU, mercifully bereft of visiting parents. A couple of nurses were discussing some paperwork in a far corner. Not too many witnesses to her meltdown.

  “Ever since Santi’s made up with his brothers he’s just been... I don’t know.” She looked up to the ceiling for inspiration and found none.

  “Distant?” Amanda tried.

  “Yeah.” Saoirse nodded. “Something like that. Distant and just not... We had a real connection, you know?” And as the words came out of her mouth the enormity of the loss she was suffering struck her again. Santi wasn’t just a hot man who took her to ecstatic heights in the bedroom. He was the real deal. He had depth. Compassion, follow-through... The number of patients they’d dropped off who he went to check up on afterward... She’d long ago lost count. Not everyone was like that. And not everyone was man enough to own up to decisions they’d made and had gone back to change them as he had with his brothers.

  “Have you ever thought of coming back?”

  “What, to Miami? You mean, once I get deported when this whole marriage sham doesn’t work out?”

  “No.” Amanda pressed her palm down, signaling Saoirse to keep it quiet. And she was right. Of course. Being the center of hospital gossip was the last thing she needed. “I meant, Murph, have you ever considered coming back to NICU?”

  “Not really.” She’d been so intent on making her life look as different as she could when she’d moved here, a return to a job she had genuinely enjoyed hadn’t factored. “Why?”

  “Well, there are a couple of reasons. And don’t think I’m saying this because I agree with you. You’ve been working your backside off these past few weeks and, I suspect, burning a bit of the naughty midnight oil with your new housemate, so you’re probably just—”

  “I am not tired and emotional!” she whisper-growled. What was it with these Americans, flinging about their tireds and emotionals like they were going out of style? And so what if she was? There was no point in highlighting the bleedin’ obvious, was there?

  “All I was going to say, if you could zip it for a minute and listen—” Amanda fixed her in her best shut-your-trap glare “—is that if you came back to NICU, even though I know it would be tough and you’d have to slay some demons, it would give you a bit more breathing space. You and Santi work together all day, then I don’t even know what all night. That’s a lot of together time.”

  “You and James are always together!” Saoirse shot back defensively. She hated being the object of scrutiny, particularly with her cherished best friend hitting the nail on the head with every verbal blow.

  “No, we’re not! I work here. He works at a law firm. Both of us work long hours. And mine are erratic, which means I see him even less. The reason I make him come swimming with me is so we have at least an hour together two or three times a week that isn’t filled with me trying to pry him away from the mountains of paperwork he’s always reading so we can afford our dream house and have our dream baby if he would ever, for once, not be so tired he falls asleep at the kitchen table. Or on the sofa. Or in the armchair. Am I painting a picture of reality here? Life’s not perfect. But you can find a way to make it work if you’re willing.”

  She had a point, but Saoirse had worked herself up into a right old tizzy and that beast needed purging.

  “If he’s sick of me already, then he’s certainly not going to want to fake marry me and have me mooning all over him until he can file divorce papers.” Even saying the words made her stomach surge in protest.

  “In which case...” Amanda made a hear-me-out face. “If you transfer to NICU, maybe you could renew your student work visa and sign up for some specialty course? Quit shaking your head. That was the plan in the first place. Maybe in transplants—”

  “No way!” Saoirse protested. “Santi’s brother does that. I am not going to spend my days with another Valentino if this goes south.”

  “If,” Amanda repeated pointedly. “That’s the key word. And I’m pretty sure Alejandro’s single—”

  Saoirse clapped a hand over her friend’s mouth in midflow. “I am not participating in another marriage that doesn’t happen and another career veer! And I am definitely not putting myself in the path of another Valentino. No. Way.”

  “For goodness’ sake, Murphy! Look at the bright side, would you?”

  “I’m not really seeing one right now, isn’t that obvious?” She swiped at another bonus spill of tears on her cheeks.

  Without Santi in her life, it just didn’t feel like there could be a bright side. She’d be just as well returning to Ireland and living the life destiny had made for her. Spinsterhood and caring for children she would never have herself...

  Santi was a man who would want children. She could see it in his eyes every time he picked up an injured child or sick baby. Just the sight of his large, capable hands cupping the head of an infant... Despite her best efforts, a sob of pure grief left her throat.

  She could never give Santi a family of his own—so stealing two years of his life just so she could get a visa would be little short of cruel.

  She vaguely saw Amanda zooming in and out of focus as her friend tried to get her attention back from Never, Never Get What You Want Land.

  “You’ve got me as a friend!” Amanda chirped lamely.

  Saoirse accepted the hug she was being pulled into, arms hanging limply by her sides. Amanda was right. She had a great friend...and a few weeks left on her current visa. Plenty of time—ish—to sort out something new. But if she was going to make the rest of her life something worth living, she would have to proceed with her dignity and pride intact, which meant there was only one course of action she could take.

  Her mind made up, she gave her friend a grim smile. No point in testing the boundaries of Amanda’s friendship more than she already had.

  “Go find James. I don’t want to mess with swim time.” She hooked her arm through Amanda’s, a feeling of determination taking hold. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “You sure you’re going to be all right?” Worry was strong in her friend’s voice. “No going loop-the-loop or drowning your sorrows in a swimming pool of margaritas or anything stupid, right?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m feeling better already,” Saoirse said solidly, turning their pace into a jaunty hop-skip. Faking it would have to work for now. “After all, we’re in Magic City!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “SHE’LL LOVE IT.”

  “It is beautiful...” Santi held the ring up to eye level again.

  When it hit the light, the solitaire rose-cut diamond sent a panoply of rainbows playing over the saleswoman’s face. She
knew her business. That much was clear. She’d cleverly got him describing Saoirse, her petite frame, her take-no-prisoners attitude, her pure blue eyes, pixie-like blond hair... He didn’t know if she did this to every male customer who came in but it certainly hadn’t been hard work to get him to big up Saoirse.

  He narrowed his eyes, blurring everything else out of his vision, so that he could only see the ring.

  It was beautiful. A rose for his rose. Or the woman he hoped would continue to bloom and blossom if she were to accept his proposal. His very real proposal.

  “She’s not very...girlie...”

  An image of Saoirse in her fireproof racing gear, helmet tucked under her arm, hair a bit wild after a good run sprang into his mind. Maybe he should get a washer from a muscle car engine studded with diamonds instead. “I’m beginning to think the rose gold band might be a bit too princessy?”

  “From everything you’ve said to me, she sounds incredibly feminine,” the chic woman replied, then tilted her head, grinning at his indecisiveness. “There isn’t a woman I’ve met—ever—who doesn’t have a bit of princess in her. Especially if she’s met her Prince Charming!”

  Santi barked out a laugh. As if! The last look Saoirse had shot him? Ogre would’ve been a better call than prince.

  Then again, that was kind of the point, wasn’t it? He’d never really pictured himself as a white knight riding to her rescue when he said he’d help her out with her visa problems. Volunteering had been a way to keep himself nailed to Miami till he faced up to his past. Selfishness disguised as heroism.

  This time around? If she said yes? She’d be the one coming to his rescue because he didn’t think he’d be able to stem the hole in his heart if she left.

  “I think she’ll adore it. And...” she leaned in for added effect “...in my experience, most woman go cuckoo for whatever ring they are given, because it’s from the man they love. She loves you? She’ll love the ring.”

  Santi felt his blood pressure rise. This was all getting a bit complicated.

  In Man World things were a bit more black and white. Man loved woman. Man bought ring. Man bent knee. Woman said yes, someone gave them a new barbecue at their wedding and they all lived happily ever after.

  Or something like that anyway.

  Things weren’t so simple with Saoirse and him.

  He twisted the ring back and forth as if it were a crystal ball.

  It wasn’t exactly as if the pair of them were skipping along Miami Beach, telling one another how in love they were. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  And that was on him. He’d kept her away from his brothers to protect her—but it was pretty easy to see she’d taken it the other way around. As if she weren’t good enough to meet them.

  It boiled down to him not wanting them to meet her until she knew how he really felt. He didn’t want a fake fiancée. Or a fly-by-night love affair. Not with Saoirse.

  He wanted all of the stuff that came with a real marriage. The love. The passion. The stupid fights over who’d used the last squeeze of toothpaste. Hell, he’d even learn how to wash her delicates if that’s what it took. And he’d introduce her to his brothers. His bighearted, complicated, not entirely issue-free brothers.

  Nerves. That’s what it was. Nerves playing havoc with the paths that connected his heart and mind.

  “So...” The saleswoman’s voice swooped down an octave as she retrieved the ring from Santi’s fingers. “Shall I wrap this up for you?”

  He nodded brusquely, wary of the panic growing within him. He’d waged hand-to-hand combat with men who would’ve been more than happy to throw him in a common grave and not bat an eyelash. The simple act of buying an engagement ring? Blithering idiot would’ve described him nicely.

  “Don’t worry.” The saleswoman gave his hand a soothing pat. “We’ve had men faint in here before. Panic attacks. One even thought he was having a heart attack, but thankfully the paramedics talked him down and he’s now been happily married for the past five years!”

  “That obvious, eh?”

  Wouldn’t that just be the bee’s knees? Having a heart attack right here in the ring store and Saoirse showing up as the EMT...

  On the other hand, it would be a novel way to propose.

  He shook the idea away. Saoirse didn’t like public displays of anything. She was a private woman who played her cards close to her chest. He only hoped she was saving her hand for him and not just the visa. If he’d gotten this wrong... No. He wasn’t going to go there.

  “I’ve been doing this for a while,” the woman replied with a smile as she tucked the sparkling ring into the velvet lining of the eggshell-blue box. “Now, most of our customers wait until their fiancée can join them to pick the actual wedding bands. Would you like to do the same?”

  He nodded. Speech, it appeared, was not his partner in crime today.

  The rest of the transaction passed relatively pain-free. A life in the forces meant he’d been able to put a fair bit of money away. Money he’d now like to use to buy them a house. Maybe even the little beach house Saoirse was renting if the owner was willing to sell. It wasn’t huge, but it was more than big enough for the two of them.

  He scanned the countertop ads as the saleswoman organized a little bag for the little box which had to—for some mysterious reason—be enclosed in a sleeve kind of thing. His eyes skidded to a halt when they hit on a ring he hadn’t seen before. Two intertwined bands with a weave of inlaid diamonds. It was beautiful.

  “Miss—um—I’m sorry. Is it all right if I have a look at this one first?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh! This is one of our most popular eternity rings. Is your bride-to-be an expectant mother?”

  “Why would you ask that?” His eyes zapped to hers.

  “Traditionally,” she explained, without managing to sound patronizing or hurt that he’d been so brusque, “these rings are bought by a proud father for a new mother. Of course, it is a beautiful ring. If you prefer this to the rose cut, we can change it.”

  “No.” He cut her off sharply. More sharply than he’d intended. The last thing he was going to do was rub it into Saoirse’s face that she couldn’t have children. The instinctual need to protect her, care for her, were all the push he needed. It was time to do this thing.

  “We’re good. Go with the gut, right?” He pointed at the little bag she was just tying a ribbon onto. “First choice is the best choice, right?”

  “Absolutely,” she agreed with a smile. “She’ll just love it.”

  “Thank you,” he said, accepting the small bag and undoing all her handiwork by stuffing it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. “You chose professions well.”

  “Who wouldn’t love being the ‘gatekeeper’ at the beginning of every couple’s journey?”

  Her own wedding band and warm smile told him everything he needed to know. She saw marriage as a place of happiness, contentment...being whole. All the things he’d been fruitlessly seeking throughout his military career only to find them back here at home with his family. The family he hoped to expand by one cherished Irish lass.

  As he left, Santi held open the door for another man who was looking considerably undecided about entering the store. “Go on,” he said with a smile. “I have it on good authority that it’s worth it.”

  * * *

  “Easy, tiger!”

  Saoirse saw her driving instructor’s knuckles going white as she hit an S-curve after a chicane with fearless intent.

  “I hope this isn’t how you drive your ambulance,” he gasped.

  “It is if I know it will save someone’s life,” Saoirse replied spikily.

  After she and Amanda had said their goodbyes she’d snuck back up to the NICU and then the maternity wards to revisit her options. The sea of babies, all busy doing their o
wn thing—laughing, struggling, triumphing or just plain old sleeping—had reopened wounds she’d foolishly thought she’d laid to rest.

  For the first time in...was it months?...she’d thought of her ex. They had never really talked about having children—it had just been an unspoken given. As had so many things. Socking away money in their individual accounts for the house they’d eventually buy. For the school fees they’d one day struggle to cover but wouldn’t begrudge because they were for their children’s future.

  But there hadn’t been any talking about it. Dreamy-eyed curiosity over whether their children would have his eyes or hers. His common sense and her stick-to-it-iveness.

  Come to think of it, they’d never really daydreamed about anything beyond their job opportunities in America. All the rest of the time they’d blindly followed the well-worn path of their friends and family before them. First came love...

  But had it? Had it really?

  It was hard to say now. Tom had been more of a given than a chosen. And when he’d left her there, the priest looking at her as if she’d be able to explain what had just happened, it had been difficult to pinpoint exactly what it was that had ultimately broken her heart and sent her on this journey.

  What if her ex had left her because, as Santi had suggested, he just hadn’t wanted to be with her and had used her infertility as an excuse? It’s not as if they’d met up at the pub afterward and had a jolly debrief of the whole affair over a pint and a lump of stale wedding cake.

  The only godsend had been their separate finances. What if they’d bought a house together? She shuddered at how complicated it would’ve been to extricate herself from Ireland.

  She jammed on the brakes and screeched the Murph-mobile to a halt.