‘Of course I knew you’d support me, Isandro. But our marriage wasn’t ever about that. I … couldn’t face the thought of … dutiful support. You hadn’t signed up for that.’
A maelstrom seemed to erupt inside Isandro. He hadn’t signed up for the passionate chemistry that had exploded between them either. Hadn’t signed up for the way she’d turned his life upside down in so many ways. Was turning it upside down. His voice was icy. ‘That’s how you could justify leaving?’ He knew he sounded harsh, remote, but he couldn’t help it. Something was weighing him down inside.
A bleakness filled Rowan’s heart and soul. He didn’t understand. He’d never understand. How could he? And in the face of this cold front she knew she was still a coward. She had left that day for myriad reasons, not least of which had been Zac and his welfare. But also because she had loved Isandro too much. To see him shackled to her for the days, weeks, possibly months on end … to witness his pity … to have him witness her downward slide … his responsibility for her had been too much to bear. A painful ache lodged in her throat.
She looked away and then back. Her voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.
‘I overheard your conversation with Ana. So you don’t have to explain anything to me. I knew exactly where I stood.’
Isandro’s head was beginning to hurt. ‘My conversation with Ana …?’
Rowan crossed her arms. ‘It was the day I’d found out about my prognosis.’ She balked for a second. At the time she had intended telling him everything—until she’d overheard … She gulped and forced her mind away from it. ‘Ana was angry.’
And then he did remember. Vividly. The way his sister had tried to back him into a corner, make him reveal himself when he hadn’t even known how he felt. All he had known was that he’d wanted to protect Rowan from Ana’s vitriol, which stemmed from his father’s betrayal of them all.
‘I hadn’t meant to listen. I came home from meeting Dr Campbell and heard you …’ She lifted a hand ineffectually and let it drop. ‘You didn’t say anything I wasn’t already aware of.’ She prayed he wouldn’t see how badly she was lying.
The words came back to haunt him now. Clearly Rowan had heard the worst of it. Like shards of crystal, moments, snippets started to come to Isandro. The timing of when she’d withdrawn into herself, cut herself off from him emotionally and physically … But he couldn’t grasp the implications of it all fully—not yet.
Her voice didn’t ring with the conviction it had when she’d told him of her illness. In fact she seemed all too brittle now. He felt that brittleness spread through him too. The world was reduced to that room and he couldn’t feel anything. It was all too huge to take in, too abstract. To have believed one thing for so long … and now this.
Rowan stood still, looking at a spot in the carpet for so long that she was beginning to feel dizzy. Then Isandro finally spoke, and Rowan looked at him reluctantly, afraid to see what might be in his eyes. But she couldn’t read their expression, they were veiled.
‘So … what now?’
What now indeed?
She almost welcomed the banality of words. Even though they were really far from banal. ‘I have to go back to the clinic for a couple of days. I’ve been in remission now for some months, but Professor Villiers wants to see me for a routine check-up just to confirm that everything is okay.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘That’s not much notice.’
Rowan’s heart ached at Isandro’s astringent tone. ‘They believe me to be in London, I was going to take the train. And in truth I’d forgotten about it … with everything.’ She flushed.
‘You can take the plane.’
Rowan looked at him, slightly aghast at his easy offer. ‘Well, I … thank you. I’d appreciate that.’
And just like that it was out. Her big terrible dark secret. And nothing had changed. They were right where they’d always been. In some kind of no man’s land.
Isandro’s phone rang on his desk, making Rowan flinch. He looked at her for a long moment, and then with an impatient gesture went to answer it. Rowan slipped quietly out of the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Two Days Later
‘I CAN’T stress enough how ill your wife was, Mr Salazar. The fact that she survived at all is a testament to her strength, and the sheer luck of finding that donor when we did. She showed great courage in the face of daily pain on a level that you or I can only imagine.’
The stark words struck deep. He looked at Rowan’s doctor. Isandro had arrived early that morning. When Rowan had left early the previous day he hadn’t even accompanied her to the plane, unable to break out of the stasis that had gripped him since she’d told him everything. Since then his mind, his heart, had been a seething mass of pain, anger, confusion. And something else.
‘Professor Villiers, I know I wasn’t here … when my wife was going through her treatment—’
The doctor waved a hand. ‘It’s none of my business, but I knew she’d decided to go it alone for her own reasons, which is why we could never tell you. As you know, doctor-patient confidentiality is sacrosanct. As the symptoms of her illness were largely asympomatic, her pregnancy disguised them. She got away with not telling you.’
He took off his spectacles and looked slightly fierce. ‘I won’t lie to you, though. There were times when I wished she wasn’t so stubborn. She wouldn’t even let us induce the baby early. She wanted to give him the best possible chance—and that, of course, reduced her own chances even more …’
Isandro reeled anew. And took a deep breath. Enough. ‘I need to know. I have to know what she went through … please.’
The doctor looked at Isandro for a long moment and then, as if he’d seen something he could trust, he nodded briefly.
‘Very well.’
Relief surged through Isandro. Professor Villiers stood up.
‘Of course I can’t reveal any of Rowan’s specific details without her permission, but I can tell you what someone in her position might have gone through.’
‘Thank you.’ Isandro stood when the doctor gestured to the door.
‘Come, we will walk and talk. Have you seen your wife yet?’
Isandro shook his head.
‘Then I will take you to her when we’re done.’
Isandro stood leaning against the open doors that led outside to a pretty garden area. It was a sunny day and patients and visitors strolled the paths.
But he didn’t see that.
He saw images: the room where Rowan had had to be on her own for almost three months as she battled infections after the transplant. The equipment she’d been hooked up to.
His hands were deep in his pockets, clenched tight against the pain inside him. The pain of how close he’d come to—
And then there she was. She looked so healthy now, so vibrant, it made it hard to believe … He stepped out and walked towards her. She was sitting cross-legged with a group of children around her. She was reading a story and looked about sixteen herself, in a flowery summer dress. Bare legs, bare feet.
He sat on a bench and just watched. Drinking her in, trying to come to terms with so much. And he thought that perhaps now he understood a little.
Rowan finished the story and looked up with a smile—only to look straight into Isandro’s piercing blue eyes. It was as if they’d been drawn there like a magnet. He was sitting on a bench just feet away, watching her. The breath stalled in her throat, and she could feel the colour drain from her face. Perhaps she was dreaming, because in this very spot so many times she’d fantasised … Absently, she hugged and kissed the children.
She stood awkwardly and slipped her sandals back on. Isandro stood up as she approached. He was real, not a figment of her imagination. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her chest, the aching in her heart, and called up the very real need to protect herself.
‘Isandro … what are you doing here?’ She sounded breathless and cu
rsed herself.
He looked down at her and she could see his eyes flash, something swirling in their depths. ‘I think I owe you this at least. I should have come with you yesterday, not let you go on your own.’
‘Oh … it’s fine, really. I hadn’t expected it.’
A pain lanced him. He took her hand in his and looked at it almost absently. ‘No, I don’t suppose you did.’ He looked up and gestured to where she’d been sitting with the children. ‘Who are they?’
Rowan wanted to pull her hand away. She was feeling hot and bothered. And confused. ‘They’re … they’re patients.’ She had to concentrate. ‘When it was finally confirmed that I was in remission three months ago I was still weak. I had to build up my strength, so I helped out with the kids …’ She shrugged then, and looked down. ‘I always feel so guilty for getting well again, when they should have their whole lives ahead of them.’
‘It’s nothing to feel guilty about.’ Isandro said with a quiet fierceness that surprised her.
‘Yes.’ She said simply, still shocked to see him here. And then she said the words she’d thought she’d never say. ‘The results are good; I’m still in remission and I’m getting stronger.’ She took a deep breath. ‘My prognosis is … very good.’
She searched his face but couldn’t fathom what was going on in his head. It must be pity. She hardened her heart. And then he took the wind out of her sails again by asking, ‘Show me the new wing they’re building?’
Her mouth opened and closed. ‘Dr Villiers told you?’
He nodded.
Rowan led the way, and when Isandro reached for her hand she let him take it. What was the harm? Soon enough they’d be discussing the divorce, custody. If he was doing this out of pity then she’d be a coward and take it.
They approached a building site around the back of the clinic where a makeshift wooden plaque hung on the fence. It read: The Catherine and Alistair Carmichael Wing for the research and treatment of children’s leukaemia.
Isandro’s voice sounded tight. ‘Why did you use your parents’ names?’
He felt Rowan shrug, and she touched the plaque briefly with a finger. ‘So they can live on together … through this.’
Isandro’s head reeled with her selflessness. ‘All your inheritance?’
Rowan looked up at him then, and shook her head. ‘Not all. I kept some back for legal fees in case … in case.’ She avoided his eye and couldn’t finish, but it was hard, his gaze was so penetrating, ‘I knew you’d most likely pursue a divorce … I expected that.’
His eyes were too intense. She had to look away. The pain was debilitating. She pulled her hand from his and started to walk. Her emotions were threatening to erupt again. To be here, sharing this with him, was too much.
Rowan packed up her few things and said goodbye to the staff and Dr Villiers, who gave her a huge bear hug. Isandro was waiting for her.
In the car Rowan sat as far apart from him as possible. She felt as if he’d looked inside her brain, her heart.
Just when she saw that they were passing the sign for the airport, she heard him say, ‘I’ve booked us into a hotel in Paris for the night.’
She looked over, aghast. ‘Why?’
He was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher and she didn’t like the determination in his eyes.
‘Isandro, you don’t have to do this. Please. I’m not a child who’s just had a nasty trip to the dentist. I’d much prefer to go home.’ Not that his home was her home.
His jaw clenched ominously. ‘I’d like to take you out for the evening. We have to talk, Rowan. It might as well be here as Seville.’
Was he afraid that she mightn’t be able to take the news well? Did he see her as somehow delicate now that he knew? Didn’t he know how prepared she was? Who was she kidding …? She looked out of the window and could see that already they were on the motorway, headed for the centre of Paris. She shrugged. He was right. It might as well be here as in Spain.
They pulled up outside the Four Seasons Georges V Hotel, one of the most exclusive in Paris. Rowan felt severely under-dressed in her flowery dress. Isandro came around the car and took her by the hand, further unsettling her, and led her inside. He was greeted obsequiously by the staff. Rowan was amused to see that for someone like Isandro checking in wasn’t expected. A senior member of staff greeted him immediately and ushered them into a lift, taking them straight up to their room. Her head was spinning as they were led in and she looked around. Opulent didn’t even come into it.
She wandered around while Isandro dealt with the manager. Ornate doors led out onto a private patio, with a stunning private view onto the Eiffel Tower. It was early evening by now, and the distinctive shape of the tower was set against a beautiful clear sky streaked with mauve.
Rowan went and leaned on the railing, barely noticing the table set for two. She assumed that it came with the room as standard—after all, she thought cynically, wasn’t Paris the most romantic city in the world? And this one of its finest hotels? That brought her up short. What did Isandro expect? Why was he doing this? Were duty and pity fuelling these actions?
She turned quickly to find him standing in the doorway, watching her. She couldn’t read the expression on his face. But it was intent. And it made her heart flip-flop. She had to stop this now, get a hold of herself. She was way too vulnerable after the trip to the clinic.
‘Isandro … this is lovely … but crazy. Surely you haven’t brought us here for some kind of.?’
His mouth twisted into a grim line. ‘Romantic evening?’
She coloured. Her throat felt tight. He strolled towards her and she had nowhere to go. She had to stop him.
‘Exactly. It’s nice to be here, but you could have booked somewhere more … modest—two rooms …’
The bed loomed large in the background. Her heart thudded so loud that she felt sure he must hear it.
‘What if I do want this, Rowan? What if I want all of this?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
He was so close now that all she would have to do was reach out and pull him to her. She looked up. And wished she didn’t have to look into his eyes.
‘Take a look around. Don’t you know where we are yet?’
She shook her head, feeling seriously confused. He took her hand and led her back into the room. Suddenly it was clear. The room was so sensually decorative … so romantic. A bottle of champagne peeped out from an ice bucket on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it sparkled. She gasped, and her hand tightened reflexively around his.
‘It’s the honeymoon suite.’ She felt sick. What kind of joke was this?
He turned her around to face him, his hands on her shoulders.
Anger surged. ‘Sandro, I don’t know what this is all for, but you can ring down right now and tell them we’re not staying here. I don’t know what you think—’
She broke free. He couldn’t know, could he? Had she been so transparent? Frantically she tried to deny her feelings, deny that he might have read them.
‘We do have to talk, Isandro—but does it have to be here? I mean, isn’t this some sort of mockery?’
‘You think that wanting to make a new start is mockery?’ His voice was frigid.
Rowan looked at him in bewilderment. ‘What new start? We’re getting divorced. I’m moving out.’
‘I’ve stopped divorce proceedings.’
Her jaw dropped and her heart stopped. ‘You’ve what? Why?’ she asked a little wildly.
‘I think it’s obvious now that we should stay married. There’s Zac. And your safety to consider.’
Rowan felt cornered, trapped. ‘So in effect nothing will have changed? It’ll still be a marriage of convenience, only now you know what happened, so you can forgive me for my past sins, I’ll be allowed to be a mother to Zac, and you can keep us safe if we’re all together.’
‘Is that so bad a prospect?’ he asked quietly, a diffe
rent quality in his voice.
‘No … yes!’ Rowan threw her hands up in the air. He didn’t know what he was asking. It was heaven and hell. Her heart was pumping so hard that it threatened to burst from her chest. She looked at him and begged him silently to understand, not to do this.
‘Isandro, I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair on me or you or Zac. He deserves to have two parents who love one another, and I won’t stand by and watch you sacrifice your happiness just out of a sense of pity and duty. We can live a perfectly happy life divorced. I can live nearby, see Zac …’
‘No. I won’t have that.’
Rowan blanched at the vehemence in his voice.
He came and pulled her over to a silk-covered sofa, sitting her down. She could feel the tension in his body transmitting into her own. She ached for him even now, body and soul.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he got in first. ‘Rowan, just … let me speak, okay?’
She nodded warily. His hands were on hers, heavy.
‘Professor Villiers showed me around today, and without going into the details of your case told me what you would have gone through. I saw the quarantine room … he told me about the treatments. That was why you had the bad dreams, wasn’t it?’
Rowan closed her eyes weakly. It was all coming back. ‘Don’t …’
‘I won’t. But …’
She opened her eyes again, and the pain in them nearly stopped Isandro—but he had to keep going. ‘It nearly destroyed me to see what you had to endure, Rowan. No one should have to feel they have no option but to endure that alone. And I’m sorry—I’m so sorry that you felt that was your only option.’
Rowan shook her head. ‘You really don’t have to do all this just because—’
‘I’m not. You made your own choices. I wish you’d included me, but I think I can see now why you didn’t. I couldn’t take it in when you told me first. I had no real concept of what you faced until today …’
That made her sit up. She looked into his eyes. He was sincere.
‘When we got married I was away a lot. Too much I can see now. I saw it at the time too … but you were never meant to get in the way of my business. I didn’t know why I was suddenly feeling … wanting …’ He stopped ineffectually. ‘We had no time to get to know one another properly. You got pregnant so quickly.’
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