Santiago's Convenient Fiancée

by Annie O'Neil

  “That was...” Her driving instructor struggled for words. “That was proof someone’s been putting in a lot of track time.”

  “Yeah, well, I think I’ll be selling up shortly so I want to make the most of things.”

  “What? You’ve only just arrived in the States, haven’t you?”

  “I’ve been here long enough.” Long enough to fall in love.

  “Huh.” He shook his head as if the words weren’t registering. “I thought you’d settle down here in Miami for sure. You seemed to take to it like a duck to water.”

  Saoirse’s fingers clumsily fumbled to unclip her five-point harness as she suddenly needed to gulp some fresh air. Whether it was the gas fumes or the questions that were making her queasy...

  “Murph? You all right?”

  She unclicked the door as swiftly as she could, unable to hold back the sour swell of nausea any longer.

  She could only just hear the unbuckling of harnesses and the passenger door opening and slamming shut through the buzzing in her ears.

  “Here you are, honey.” Her sixty-something driver instructor, Hal, appeared beside her and handed her a fresh handkerchief. “You just stay put. I’ll go and get you some ice water and a cool cloth. You took that course like a bat outta Hades—so I’m not surprised you’re a bit queasy.”

  She nodded dumbly, deep exhaustion coming over her as the nausea ebbed away. When Hal returned, she gratefully accepted the drink. Elbows propped on knees, she kept her eyes on the ground, taking tiny sips of the water for fear she’d be unwell again if she gulped it down.

  “Now...” She saw Hal’s race-booted feet rock back on his heels. “You’ve not been doing anything ridiculous like driving while pregnant, have you? I mean the roll bars and safety harnesses will take good care of you but there are a whole passel of other considerations...”

  Saoirse stopped hearing Hal’s list of safety precautions. She just kept shaking her head...but not as an answer to any of the questions coming her way.

  She couldn’t be pregnant. She’d been told it was impossible. By a doctor. A specialist even!

  Then again, doctors were known to make mistakes.

  She had felt exhausted lately. It came in hard-hitting thwacks of fatigue and then would disappear. And this wasn’t the first time she’d been sick. She’d blamed dodgy fish tacos the first time. And what had it been last week? Too much coffee on an empty stomach.

  Her stomach roiled in protest as she took in slurp after slurp of water as if the liquid could drown out the voices in her head.

  “I think I’m going to take the Murph-mobile home now.” She gave the car a pat, pulled her legs back into the driving well and was about to give Hal back his handkerchief.

  “Don’t worry.” He waved away the offer. “I’ve got dozens of the things. My wife thinks they keep me classy.”

  Saoirse squinted up at Hal. He’d been married over forty years, if memory served. Potbellied and happy every single day of them, too. The kind of happiness she would very likely never know.

  She pulled her door shut, her features caught in the cross fire of a battle to arc her lips into a smile or a grimace. Thankfully the smile won out and she waved her thanks to Hal as she slowly steered her car to the parking bays.

  Pregnant?

  She didn’t want to afford herself a glimmer of hope. Not now. Not before she’d taken a test.

  But...if it were true?

  A wash of joy filled her body at the thought.

  A baby!

  All the little pieces of the puzzle she hadn’t realized she was a part of began to fall into place.

  It wasn’t the future she’d thought she’d have, but it would be a good one.

  * * *

  Santi paced outside Saoirse’s bedroom door. Silently, he hoped. He’d already been here ten minutes. Ten fruitless minutes working up the courage to knock, let alone ask her to marry him. For real this time. And he didn’t want to mess it up. So wasting time as the sunset-proposal window was quickly slipping away wasn’t really working.

  He’d even sucked up some courage and shown the ring to Alejandro. The punch on his arm had told him everything he’d been hoping for.

  Go for it, bro.

  Pace. Pace. Pace.

  He really should’ve eased her into their lives before now. He could see he’d messed up on that front. But he was climbing one helluva steep learning curve and the altitude was clearly getting to him.

  What was it Saoirse had said when he’d been hedging about with seeing his brothers all those weeks ago?

  The best time to do something like this is when you’re least prepared.

  He wasn’t prepared. His heart was thumping in his throat. His chest felt like some sort of bongo jamboree was lurching around in there—barely allowing enough oxygen for him to breathe. Even his fingers weren’t playing ball. Every time he’d practiced pulling that little box out of his pocket, they’d shaken.

  But more than anything he also knew he was not prepared to lose her and the last two days she’d had a look in her eyes that scared him. The same two days he’d been carrying the ring around in his pocket.

  He watched his knuckles give her door a light rap as if they were attached to someone else.

  “What do you want?”

  “A walk?”

  “You’re not asking for my permission to take a walk, are you?” She pulled the door open a crack and looked at him through slightly bleary eyes. “Your life is your own, and the beach is public. Please...be my guest.”

  “I thought we could go together.” He stuck his foot in the doorway, not entirely convinced she wouldn’t shut it in his face given half a chance.

  “What for?”

  “The delights of Miami?” Nice one. Why not apply for a job at the city tourist board when she boots you out of your ambo?

  “C’mon, Murph. I’ll get you a chocolate-covered frozen banana. You’ve been eating those things like they’ve been going out of style the past week.”

  “So what if I have?” she snapped defensively, her eyes flicking across his face, scanning his features for information.

  “C’mon.” He held out his hand. If for better or for worse was going to start right now, so be it. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s a lovely night.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll just go and grab a jumper. See you on the beach.”

  The second he moved his foot she slammed the bedroom door shut. Not quite the romantic beginning he’d been hoping for, but expecting the unexpected seemed to be how things were with Saoirse. And for a lifetime of that ride? He could take just about anything.

  * * *

  Saoirse heard the French doors open and close as she yanked a light sweater off a hanger and tugged it on. Good. She needed a few moments to gather her courage for what she needed to tell Santi.

  Those websites weren’t wrong about raging hormones. Locking herself in her room seemed the only way to keep those monkeys under control.

  A baby.

  The store-bought test hadn’t lied. And the trip to the obstetrics ward after that had been a second confirmation. But the one that had really hit her? The moment where she’d really believed it was true? Yesterday morning. She’d taken some stolen moments in the maternity ward and had sobbed with joy at the sight of all the little creatures wrapped in cottony-soft swaddling.

  How on earth could she say it? Or should she say it at all? Leaving Santi none the wiser might be the kindest move, all things considered. He had his brothers now and whatever it was they had...that familial bond...it eclipsed whatever she’d thought the two of them had shared.

  She scrubbed her fingers through her hair. It was easiest to rip the bandage straight off, wasn’t it? She yanked open the door that led to the beach and faced her future
. It was bandage-ripping time.

  * * *

  The setting sun lit Santi up like a film star. Not that he needed any enhancement. He was absolutely perfect. In every way. A truer friend and superlative lover, no matter how fleeting it had been, she thought she would never meet again.

  Saoirse felt her heart constrict. It was cruel that loving someone sometimes meant you had to let them go.

  Her hands moved to her belly, already aware of the precious life that lay within her. The life she’d vowed to protect, cherish and bring into this world unscathed by any mistakes she’d made in her past. And there had been plenty.

  “Hey, you!” Santi turned, his eyes brightening when they connected with her own. A jag of indecision constricted her breath. Was she doing the right thing? She looked into his dark eyes, the flecks of gold appearing virtually molten amid the reflections of orange and red in the sunset.

  She swallowed. She wasn’t just doing this for herself. Protecting her heart from the pain that would inevitably come her way if she let this whole visa charade go ahead was just part of it.

  “I have something I’d like to talk to you about.” Santi reached his hand out toward her again. Her arms remained glued to her sides. She couldn’t take it. Not with what she was about to do.

  “Me first!” It came out much sharper than she’d intended.

  Her words acted as a repellent. The sting of hurt she felt when he took a few steps back from her would stay with her forever. All of this would. But she had to do it for her unborn child.

  Their surroundings began hitting her in disjointed shards of discord. An elderly couple sharing a picnic beneath a cluster of palm trees. Younger couples watching their children frolicking in the sea, holding up towels as their shivering little bodies emerged squealing from another wash of waves on the shore. The scene sang of joy and harmony. Things every family deserved. Things Santi deserved. Not some fake marriage he’d agreed to when life had been different for him.

  “I don’t want to go through with it,” she finally blurted. “The wedding,” she added, as if it weren’t blatantly obvious.

  Santiago stood statue still for a moment as he registered what she was saying. She saw the tiniest tremor at the edges of his eyes as he narrowed them, assessing her with the cool stillness of a sniper about to take the lethal shot.

  “Any particular reason?”

  She’d never heard him sound the way he did now. Cold. Unfeeling. The Santi she’d known had been the polar opposite. But what had she expected? That he’d kick his heels up and shout for joy after all he’d done for her? It wasn’t just everyone who’d agree to sacrifice two years of their life for someone they’d only just met.

  “You said it before. Your brothers—”

  “What about them?” His normally sensual mouth was curled in disgust.

  “They’re your priority. Rightly so,” she added, meaning it. “I think I’d be better off doing this whole thing with someone—”

  “Who didn’t matter?” he finished for her. “Or someone who mattered more?” Santi snarled.

  “No! No. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Your ex hasn’t swanned back into the picture, has he? Is that what’s happened? I thought you had enough gray matter in that brain of yours not to make the same ridiculous mistake twice.”

  Saoirse stumbled back a step, feeling his words as physical blows. She knew they had become good friends over the past few weeks, but there was force in his words. As if he was...jealous?

  No. It wasn’t that.

  Too much emotion was clouding her judgment. Until this very moment she had been certain his feelings for her hadn’t developed in the same way hers had. That he hadn’t fallen as head over heels in love as she had.

  Why else would he have kiboshed their physical relationship when things had finally come good with his brothers? Why else would he have kept her so far away from the people he loved most? You shared those things! You wove them together. And he’d made it very, very clear she wasn’t a part of that.

  The last thing she was going to do was trap him with a baby he’d been promised he’d never have, as well.

  She dug her heels in the sand, as if it would help strengthen her resolve that she’d chosen the right course of action. If he didn’t even want her around while he was with his brothers, he wouldn’t want her and the baby.

  Their baby.

  She crossed her hands over her belly as she forced herself to meet Santi’s laser-sharp gaze. “This is my decision. It has nothing to do with anyone else.”

  “You mean anyone else besides me.”

  And our baby.

  Tears stung at her eyes. “It’s not like that, Santi—” she protested.

  * * *

  “You know, Murphy,” he cut in, waving away her efforts to improve the situation. “I knew all along agreeing to help you was a crazy decision. Totalemente loco!” He twirled his index finger next to his temple for her benefit, but he’d been the crazy one. An idiot convinced he could have it all.

  She just stared at him, arms crossed over her body as if it would deflect his reaction to her rejection.

  “Well, good for you. You’ve gone and proved me right. Just as you have made it spectacularly clear that I was wise not to introduce you to my brothers. They value loyalty. And commitment. You obviously don’t have either trait.”

  He was lashing out. He knew it. And he couldn’t stop.

  How could he have misread so badly what had been happening between the pair of them? There might be tears shimmering in those beautiful eyes of hers, but they were obviously a mask for a heart of stone. “Would you be so kind as to afford me a final favor, mi amor?”

  She nodded dumbly, swiping away a couple of tears as she did. Why the hell was she doing this if it was hurting her as much as it was hurting him?

  “Stay out here for twenty minutes while I get my things.”

  “You don’t have to move out.”

  He was unsurprised to hear the bitterness in his humorless laugh. “You think it’s a good idea, do you? For me to stay in the ‘marital home’ while you go about your life? Watch you blindly feel your way around the kitchen every morning until you get your first cup of coffee? Help you with your daily search for the flip-flops you kicked off carelessly the night before? Stand by while you shut yourself away in your bedroom, doing goodness knows what? Or do you feel liberated from your past now that you’ve had your little rebound?”

  He saw the color drain from her face. “This wasn’t a rebound at all, Santi. Please. Don’t for a moment think—”

  “Save it, Murph. You told me from the start this whole thing was a charade. I guess I just played my part a bit too realistically, huh?”

  She tried to interject again but he didn’t want to hear it. What good would further explanation do other than lacerate his heart completely beyond repair?

  He felt the side of him resurface he’d thought he’d left on the battlefields of the Middle East. The hollow, aching, side. The side that could hardly breathe. The side that knew life hadn’t finished playing its cruel tricks on him.

  Well, this was enough.

  He’d had enough.

  Saoirse stared with wide-eyed disbelief and he didn’t blame her. He was feeling this to the bone, his whole being literally shaking with emotion. A sensation he’d never experienced before.

  But the person standing in front of him, rubbing her hands along the spray of goose bumps on her arms, wasn’t just any someone. Any woman. She was the woman he loved. He should be pulling her into his arms, keeping her warm, caring for her. Fighting for her.

  Something was off—really off—about the whole thing, but he couldn’t abide by this type of about-face.

  He raised a hand when her lips parted. “I’ll stay at the bodega. There’s
a room above the shop.”

  “Santi, please.”

  “Cállese! No. No, you don’t.” Santi raised his shaking hands and took another step back. “You don’t get to look all pitying and tearful. You could have had everything you wanted. This is on you, cariño. This is all on you.”

  It took all of the strength he had not to grab the ring box from his pocket and fling it directly into the sea as he turned away from her.

  He would find a way to get through this. He had his brothers now. He was no longer alone. But never before had he felt so abandoned.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HEARTBROKEN DIDN’T EVEN begin to cover the ache of loss Saoirse was feeling. And calling in sick two days in a row was going to compromise what little time she did have left before the bureaucracy of life took over.

  The look of utter disbelief...and then disdain that had filled Santi’s eyes as he’d absorbed what she’d been saying had savaged any logic she’d thought existed in her plan.

  He hadn’t just seemed angry because she’d wasted his time. He had seemed hurt. As if she were the only one who had treated their “romance” with dismissive whimsy. She felt sick as she began to take on just how low his opinion must be of her now.

  Subterranean.

  It had to be. If she had been in his shoes...ugh! There weren’t enough pillows in the universe to drown out the voices in her head.

  Returning to the empty bungalow had been the first time since he’d moved in that the little house by the sea hadn’t felt like home. Without him, it felt dark and lifeless.

  Sure enough, when she finally gave up thrashing around in her bed after a fractious sleep, she blindly made her way to the kitchen to turn on the coffeemaker, only to burst into tears.

  Santi knew her every move. How could she not have noticed how—even with the separate bedrooms rule that suddenly seemed quaint and respectful rather than the snub she’d taken it as—she and Santi had become part of each other’s lives?

  She’d heat up the milk. He’d hand her the coffee. He’d flick on the morning news while she waited for the jolt of Café Cubano to make an impact on her droopy eyelids while he strode around achieving things like the able-bodied morning person he was. She’d driven the ambulance. He’d quizzed her on her coursework.