She’d been halfway in love with him before they’d even married, and that had coloured her own decision to allow herself to be persuaded into the cold business deal of a marriage. Not that she’d had much choice … But when it had turned physical, and she’d fallen pregnant, then she’d foolishly and naively hoped for so much more.
She angrily took a sip of her tepid coffee, not wanting to remember but unable to forget. Her ailing father had pointed him out to her at that function in London’s Savoy Hotel. But in truth she’d seen him the minute he’d come into the room. Anyone there with a pulse had. He’d appeared like a golden lion in the midst of lesser beings, mortals. There had been a moment’s hush before the energy and conversation had zinged up a few notches. All the women had gone into preen mode; all the men had paled into insignificance. And he had just stood there, eyes constantly roving, assessing, blatantly uninterested in the conversation around him. Faintly sneering.
Rowan had been unable to take her eyes off him. Like every other woman there, she didn’t have to remind herself. And yet she’d caught his eye—or so she had stupidly thought—and he had walked over towards her with singular intent. Rowan had been shaking, trembling, her eyes huge when he’d stopped in front of her and she’d finally realised that he wasn’t looking at her, he’d been looking at her father. With the briefest of acknowledgements for Rowan—and she could remember the way those cool eyes had flicked over her—he and her father had shaken hands and retired to a private room, where they had hashed out the deal. The deal that had included her and changed her life.
She could still remember her misery when she’d overheard some women talking in the powder room shortly afterwards. ‘Did you see Rowan Carmichael’s face when he walked over? The girl practically had her tongue hanging out. I mean, really, who would have her? She’s twenty-five and still a virgin, I bet! And that dress—honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if it had been her mother’s.’
They had gone on and on for what seemed like ages. When Rowan had emerged she’d gone straight outside and taken a cab home, her confidence in ribbons.
Rowan realised that she was gripping the small coffee cup so tight that she was in danger of breaking it. She relaxed her hold and put it down, took in a deep breath. So much had happened since then. So much. She couldn’t allow being here to bring back those memories. She had to focus on the present and Zac. That was how she would get through this.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘FORGIVE me, Mrs Salazar, it’s just that … this situation is a little unusual.’
Rowan grimaced inwardly at the way María had immediately called her Mrs Salazar in her broken English. She tried out her rusty Spanish. ‘Please, María—call me Rowan.’ She looked at the other woman with sympathy. ‘I know it must be strange for you to suddenly have me arrive like this, but my only concern is Zac and getting to know him.’
The other woman was obviously taken aback to hear Rowan speak Spanish, but still looked tense, worried. Not sure how to handle this situation.
‘Look,’ said Rowan, ‘all I want to do is spend time with you and Zac for the moment. After all, he doesn’t know me, so he’s going to have to get used to me.’
A look of relief crossed María’s face, and she wondered if Isandro had told her not to let Zac out of her sight while Rowan was there? She wouldn’t put it past him.
María started to tell her what their routine was as Zac happily played on the lawn with an array of toys, mainly cars. Rowan could feel the back of her neck prickle, but didn’t turn around. She was very aware that Isandro would be watching from one of the windows that looked out onto the main lawn.
She firmly pushed all thoughts of her husband out of her head. She had two hours with Zac today, and she was going to make the most of it. She also pushed down the well of emotion that threatened to erupt on a continuous basis every time she looked at her beautiful sturdy son. His personality was already ingrained, strongly apparent. More than a hint of his father. He toddled over to her and she shot a reassuring smile to María as she let him take her by the hand so he could pull her down onto the ground to help him play with his cars.
Isandro looked out of the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. He watched as Zac appeared to be happily welcoming Rowan into his life—as if she hadn’t walked away from him, as if she hadn’t already rejected him in his most vulnerable moment.
Rage burned upwards on behalf of his son, and he had to restrain himself from going out there and pulling Zac away from her grasping hands. And yet … he looked happy. And she wasn’t looking bored or irritated. He hated to admit it, but Zac was naturally cautious with strangers and yet with Rowan, from that first moment in the hotel, he’d shown none of that caution—almost as if he’d recognised her. Isandro shook his head. That couldn’t be possible.
Rowan was down on the ground, patiently nodding as Zac babbled incoherently with all the seriousness of a child on a mission who believed himself to be absolutely understood. She was still dressed in that tatty skirt and T-shirt, and the skirt was riding upwards to show a long length of leg, pale and smooth. His insides contracted, and resolve hardened inside him. He turned abruptly from the window and strode to his desk to pick up the phone.
The following day Rowan went back into the house. Zac had just been taken away for his nap. She hurried through the hall, thinking that maybe one day she would be able to spend time with Zac and not feel as though her heart were being ripped from her chest every time she looked at him.
Her foot was on the bottom step of the main stairs when she heard her name being called autocratically. There was to be no respite, then. It was as if Isandro was some sort of magician, catching her at her most vulnerable moments. She turned reluctantly and hoped her eyes didn’t look too bright. Isandro stood framed in what she guessed to be his study door—she could see a big desk in the background.
‘Could you come in here, please?’ His tone made a mockery of the please.
She nodded briefly, tersely, and walked towards him, avoiding his eyes. He stood back to let her pass and she held her breath, not wanting to breathe in his scent. His essence. For a second she was so wrapped up in trying to avoid being aware of him that she didn’t even see the man who had stood and was now holding out a hand. Isandro was introducing him.
‘This is my lawyer, Ricardo Sanchez.’
Rowan stepped forward to shake his hand, still a little stunned that she hadn’t even noticed him. ‘Señor Sanchez.’
Her heart stopped and started again. The divorce papers. It had to be. She felt a self-protecting numbness spread through her. Even though she’d been expecting this from the moment they’d come to Spain, still it shocked her that he was giving her no time to prove herself … that he was carrying out his threat.
‘Please sit down, Rowan.’
Rowan sat heavily into the seat that had been brusquely indicated by Isandro, and watched as he walked around the desk and sat down. Even in jeans and a T-shirt he looked formidable, frighteningly powerful. The sun slanted in at that moment and gilded his hair with a dark golden aura. She blinked and looked away to his lawyer, who was seated to her right. He was relatively young—she guessed him in his mid-forties—and handsome, albeit in a very buttoned-up way. He looked at her then, and smiled. Rowan was momentarily taken aback at this common courtesy after the past forty-eight hours of tension, and she smiled back, her mouth feeling strange in the movement.
‘Ricardo.’
The name was called in a staccato of impatience. Rowan flushed and looked away, feeling guilty and not knowing why.
Isandro glared at her, and then at his lawyer. ‘If you wouldn’t mind showing my wife the papers, please?’
‘Of course.’ Isandro’s lawyer bent and smoothly pulled out a sheaf of papers. He handed one set to Isandro, another to Rowan, and kept one himself.
They were in Spanish, but Rowan could make out the unmistakable. They were indeed the divorce papers. Something hard and unyielding settled in
to her chest, making her feel slightly breathless.
‘I think you will find that everything is in order. Very standard.’ Bitterness tinged Isandro’s voice. ‘Your entitlement under the prenup is unchanged. After careful consideration I fear that it will only cause more trouble than it’s worth to fight your right to it—which undoubtedly I could do after your … disappearing act.’
Rowan looked up, her hands clenching around the papers. ‘Isandro, I’ve already told you that—’
He flicked a lean hand, cutting her off with the violence of his gesture. ‘Spare us. Señor Sanchez is well aware of the circumstances. Your acting isn’t necessary here.’
She glanced to the other man, who now avoided her eye and looked uncomfortable. Very well. Isandro wasn’t going to listen to her. If he insisted on giving her the money then she would simply lodge it straight into a trust account for Zac, and perhaps give some to—
‘So, if you could just sign the back page here.’
Rowan looked at Isandro incredulously, to see that he had flipped back the numerous pages filled with technical legalese to point to a dotted line. Indignation coursed through her. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’
Isandro slammed down the papers, brows drawn together. ‘If you’re thinking of turning on an act to try and make me believe that you don’t want this—’
Rowan stood up jerkily, every cell screaming at her not to let him see how this was affecting her. How hard it was for her to be faced with the stark reality of their marriage ending for ever. ‘Of course I’m not. But do you really think I am so stupid that I would meekly allow you to shove this under my nose and expect me to sign it without so much as a by-your-leave?’ She threw the papers down on the table as if they’d stung her, terrified that he’d see them shaking in her hands. ‘It’s entirely in Spanish, which isn’t my first language—’
‘You’re fluent—’
‘Yes, I am—but not in legal terms. How do I know you haven’t added in a clever clause about custody, signing away my rights to Zac?’
He stood now too, and bristled at her from across the desk. Clearly she’d piqued his honour.
‘Of course I haven’t. These are divorce papers, pure and simple.’
‘Well, I’m not signing a single thing until I’ve spoken to my own solicitor and he’s looked them over. When he says they’re okay, then I’ll sign.’
Isandro felt impotent. Caught. And yet he knew that what she said made sense. In another circumstance, if she were a different person, he would have advised her to take exactly the course of action she’d just outlined.
In Spanish, Rowan heard the lawyer say nervously, ‘She’s right. We need to send a copy to her own people.’
Rowan looked down at Isandro’s lawyer. ‘And you can send them in English. I won’t take on the added expense of my solicitor having to bring in a translator.’ Her bravado was masking intense pain.
‘Of course,’ the other man assured her, with something approaching respect in his dark eyes.
She looked back to Isandro. ‘I’d also like to ring Mr Fairclough now, to advise him of this.’
She’d hitched up her chin, and with her arms crossed defensively Isandro felt inexplicably as if he should apologise. He quashed it down. This woman had committed a crime that not many would forgive. What right had she to be coming over all moral with him? He clenched his jaw and picked up the phone, handing her the receiver. She just looked at it. And then back to him.
‘In private.‘ Her tone could have peeled paint from the walls.
Isandro looked at her for a long moment. The tension tautened and crackled. Rowan felt a little sorry for Señor Sanchez.
It didn’t sit well with Isandro at all that he’d acted so out of character. But he couldn’t deny the visceral way she made him feel. It had led him to convene this meeting, to get papers drawn up in record time. He spoke with exaggerated courtesy. ‘I’ll have one of the maids bring a cordless phone to your room. You will have all the privacy you need there.’
‘Thank you.’
And with her head held high Rowan stalked out of the room. She sagged once outside, though, and then hurried up the stairs, almost as if Isandro might call her back, or bring her back bodily and force her to sign. She knew that no matter what had happened he wouldn’t have done something so underhand as to add in a clause regarding custody. It wasn’t his style. And yet she knew she was right to assert herself. She’d be a fool if she let him think he could walk all over her.
Once in her room, she went and stood by the open doors and looked out onto the courtyard. Its beauty and hushed stillness soothed her. And made her aware of the pain in her heart. The pain that had lodged there when it had become so blatantly obvious that Isandro would have divorced her there and then if he’d had the choice. Got rid of her as if she was nothing more than a piece of gum under his shoe. She shouldn’t even be feeling like this. If she was, then it meant that—
A brief knock came at the door, startling her, and she opened it to reveal the maid who had woken her the other morning. She took the cordless phone with a strained smile, dug out David Fairclough’s number and made the call. She explained briefly what had happened, and warned him to expect to receive divorce papers.
That done, she took a deep, shuddering breath. This was it. The beginning of the end. The beginning of the end of their marriage of convenience. Of a marriage that had never been meant to be consummated, that should never have resulted in a baby. But it had. And she didn’t regret that for a second. Not even when it had caused her more pain and grief than she’d believed herself capable of enduring. And she would keep enduring it until she had proved herself to Isandro and come to some arrangement whereby she could live her own life and see Zac—be a part of his life too.
For the rest of that week Rowan avoided Isandro as much as possible. She saw him at breakfast, and in the evenings, when they would conduct stilted conversations at dinner. But for the rest of the time he would either be shut up in his office, out riding, or with Zac.
She relished her short time with Zac every day, when she got to see him before his nap. And relished even more how María was obviously feeling more relaxed with her presence, more inclined to use the time that Rowan had with Zac as a little break for herself. She’d bring a book and read as Zac and Rowan played.
Today, though, as María was taking Zac away for his nap, he let out a cry of distress, clearly wanting to keep playing with Rowan. Her heart broke. María smiled sympathetically. ‘He’s taken to you in a big way. But I’m afraid Señor Salazar’s instructions were explicit.’
‘María, don’t feel you have to explain. I’m here on your territory—and Zac’s.’
The woman blushed uncomfortably as Zac still wailed in her arms. ‘I know, but you seem.’ She blushed again. ‘Nice. And you are his—’
‘What’s going on here?’
Their heads turned in unison, to see Isandro striding across the lawn. He took Zac from María and inspected his tear-stained face. The quivering lip.
María rushed to speak. ‘He’s just tired, Señor Salazar. It’s time for his nap, but he was having too much fun playing with Row—’ She stopped. ‘Mrs Salazar.’
Isandro looked from her to Rowan, as if he suspected something had happened. He looked so grimly protective that Rowan’s heart lurched.
‘I’ll … I’ll go inside. I don’t want to upset him. María’s right. He’s just over-tired.’
Before he could say another word Rowan hurried inside. Feeling agitated and restless, she balked at going up to her room, where she always retreated every day. Instead she went into the main drawing room. She whirled around a moment later when she heard heavy footsteps and saw Isandro darkening the door, coming in to shut it behind him.
He advanced with lethal slowness, and Rowan backed away instinctively.
‘What is it?’ she asked flatly, because she had no doubt that Isandro was about to fill her in on her latest crime.
; ‘What are you doing to my son?’
Rowan shook her head and it felt fuzzy. ‘Nothing. Just playing with him.’
‘He was upset. You must have upset him.’
Rowan’s eyes grew round. She couldn’t believe the unfairness of his attack. ‘He was tired, that was all, Isandro. Children his age get over-excited easily. He’s had someone new to play with this week. By next week the novelty will have worn off.’
Isandro scowled. Her reference to next week made all sorts of hackles rise. ‘Since when did you know so much about kids?’ His voice was scathing.
Rowan steeled herself to withstand it. ‘I’m a woman. I’ve au paired. And apart from anything else he’s my son. I—’
She stopped. She’d been about to say I love him, but knew that would bring down a whole torrent of abuse on her head.
‘He’s my son, Isandro,’ she said simply instead. ‘And you’re going to have to get used to it. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be around for the rest of his life.’
Isandro raked his blistering blue gaze up and down. ‘Until you’ve got your hands on what you came back for, you mean. Then he’ll be dropped like a hot potato again, and this time it’ll be worse because he’ll have got to know you.’ He swung away from her with a violent movement. ‘I can’t believe I’m allowing this—’ He stopped, his voice full of self-recrimination, and came back close again, eyes blazing.
Rowan couldn’t back away any more as a chair was behind her. He’d come so close that she could see the flecks of lighter blue in his eyes. Smell him. Dear God. If he knew for a second—
‘I know what you’re doing. But know this. With me as his protector you can be damn sure that if you so much as cause one tear of distress to fall from his eyes you’re gone.’
Rowan’s throat closed over as she felt a well of sadness rise up. She could feel Isandro’s pain. His uncertainty. She could feel it because she’d been through it, a million times over. It was one of the reasons she’d walked away. She wanted to reach out and reassure him, and her hand even stretched out impulsively.
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