He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know what I feel.”
“You know exactly what you feel.” She saw the guilt as it flooded his eyes. He didn’t want to be happy, but some small part of him was. “You don’t want to say the truth because you’re worried about hurting me.”
“We’re going to work through this.”
“How? I don’t even know if I can trust you. You lied to me.”
“I never lied to you.”
“You said there was nothing going on between the two of you.”
“When we were married,” Cortez clarified. “And immediately after the divorce, the photos in Ibiza meant nothing.”
“You conveniently omitted telling me you had an affair with her. Her, of all people!” She didn't expect him to live like a monk, but the thought of him and Fabiana together twisted her insides.
“It wasn’t an affair. It was…nothing. A moment of weakness.”
“Is that the euphemism men use now when they screw other women?”
His cheeks flushed dark red. “I regretted it afterward.”
“Too bad you didn’t stop before it happened.”
Cortez took a step toward her, his body taut with tension. “I made a mistake. I am not proud of it. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“How many times did you make that mistake? How many times did you have a moment of weakness with her?”
“Nadine…”
“Tell me. I want to know.” She tilted her chin higher, bracing for the answer.
“I can’t recall.”
“So did you regret it every time you did it?” she asked snidely.
His jaw hardened, but he didn’t respond.
Pacing away from him, Nadine crossed her arms over her chest. She stared out the window at the plush grounds. There was a good view of the lake from here. The sun turned the surface of the water into sparkling jewels. The sight pained her, knowing she may never see it again.
Twisting around to face Cortez, she asked, “Why her?”
He sighed. “No specific reason,” he said in a heavy tone. “Why not her? She was here. She was available. She was willing. And I was—” A vein in his temple popped into prominence. “Alone.”
“So you’d have me believe.”
“It’s true. I had needs, Nadine.”
“Obviously,” she said bitterly.
Silence filled the room as they both eyed each other, and Nadine felt her happiness slipping further away, as her heart filled with pain and dread.
Finally, Cortez’s voice broke through the quiet. “She and I went out a few times to industry events, but the night that we were…intimate…was the anniversary of our divorce. I was not in the best mood on that particular night. Thinking too much, drinking too much. I’m not making excuses, but...” He shrugged. “I hadn’t been with anyone since you left me, and I haven’t been with anyone since the night with her.”
“Are you telling me that you haven’t had sex with anyone else except Fabiana?”
“I am telling you the truth when I say that.”
“What about the telenovela actress you were dating a few months ago? And the Brazilian socialite whose daughter wanted to be a singer? There were rumors about the two of you having an affair.”
“You seem to know a lot about my personal life,” he said quietly.
Nadine’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I can’t help it if occasionally I catch a story about you in the tabloids.”
“The American tabloids? I barely make the press here anymore, so somehow I doubt that’s true.” He didn’t have to say anything else. They both knew she’d been checking up on him. “I didn’t have a relationship with any of those women. Whatever you heard or read is incorrect. Except for Fabiana, there has been no one.”
She hadn’t expected that answer. “In three years?”
“That is correct. I know you find that hard to believe, but it’s the truth.”
The thought that his periods of abstinence had anything to do with her was an enticing thought, but the issue of Fabiana still hung over their heads.
Nadine stared down at her fingers. “I can’t watch you with your new baby, and Fabiana is going to need your support. You’re going to be a father again. You should be celebrating because this is a happy occasion.”
Cortez came toward her. “Don’t make any final decisions yet. We were talking, we were making love.” He cupped her face, his long fingers fanning over her cheeks, a burning urgency in his eyes. “We can figure this out together. We can work through it.”
She pulled his hands away from her face. “No, we can’t.”
“Yes, we can. I love you.” The desperate tone of his voice lashed her conscience.
She couldn’t look at Cortez’s joyous face when he held his son in his arms, and she knew she’d hurt him with the next words, but she couldn’t face Fabiana. Seeing her would be a reminder of her own failures and her own loss, one that she’d only newly come to accept.
Nadine shook her head vehemently. “If Erich is your son, we can’t work through this, because you’re ignoring an important fact.” He was asking too much, and there was no point in lying to him. “I won’t want to.”
His face shuttered at the finality of her words.
Chapter 20
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Cortez stared out the window of Fabiana’s luxury apartment. The two-bedroom, two-bath was situated on a quiet street in Recoleta, the most affluent neighborhood in the city. A few blocks over was the famed Recoleta Cemetery, a popular tourist attraction that contained the graves of prominent people—Eva Perón, presidents of Argentina, and even Napoleon’s granddaughter.
The large, rectangular living room appeared more spacious because of the high ceilings—from which suspended an extravagant chandelier—and ivory walls, simply decorated with a large framed photo of Erich on one side and six small black and white framed photos of Argentina’s main tourist attractions on the other.
At the tap of Fabiana’s heels on the hardwood floor, Cortez turned around. She’d just put Erich down for a nap after his feeding.
“He’s fast asleep,” she said.
She appeared a little anxious, twisting her fingers together even though she smiled as she approached him. No doubt she picked up on his serious mood, despite his playfulness with Erich earlier.
“We have to do this,” he said.
“We don’t have to do anything.” Her face tightened into an unnatural smile.
“Enough,” Cortez said through gritted teeth. He didn’t want to argue with her. He didn’t want to fight. He simply wanted answers.
“Forgive me if I want to pretend that my ex-lover isn’t accusing me of being a whore.”
“I never called you a whore.” And did one night really constitute being lovers?
“Isn’t that what it means when you question a woman on whether or not the child she carried is yours?” She placed both hands on her hips and stared at him. “Did you question Nadine and suggest that Antonella is not yours?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not. Oh! Meine güte, your perfect American wife would never betray you with another man. Are you so sure about that?” She tilted up her chin in defiance.
“Antonella is mine,” he said evenly, refusing to let her bait him into an argument about the paternity of his daughter.
“Erich is yours.”
“I need proof.”
“You insult me.” Her eyes flashed in anger.
“The longer you delay, the more I doubt.”
“Because you want to go back to your ex-wife!” she spat. She marched over to the wall, arms crossed, and stared at the photo of her son.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Fabiana swung to face him, strain evident on her face. “You are, aren’t you?”
“None of your business." Cortez struggled to keep his temper in check, but he would not all
ow her to stray off topic. “If Erich is my son, I want to know without having any doubts.”
“Don’t you love him?”
“I want to know without a doubt—”
“Do you love him!” she screamed, shaking, fists clenched. Her face crumbled, the wound of his rejection open and plain to see.
The boy was animated and lively, and his smile was like turning on a light in a dark room. But Cortez had to know the truth. He couldn’t give of himself completely with doubt niggling the back of his mind, like a bothersome pebble in the bottom of a shoe.
Tears swelled in Fabiana’s eyes. “He is yours.” Her voice wobbled.
“If you don’t come with me, I’m taking him to a doctor and having the test done myself.”
If she came, too, they could also test her. Having the mother also do a swab made the tests more conclusive, but it was clear she wanted to put up a fight.
Fabiana stared down at the floor.
“He deserves to know who his father is,” Cortez said. “His father deserves to know him. Is Erich my son?” His stomach tightened in the ensuing silence.
Watery eyes looked up at him. “I don’t know.”
Cortez stilled. “Why don’t you know?” he asked in a perfectly controlled voice.
She licked her lips. “I was angry at you for rejecting me, treating me like that night we spent together meant nothing.” Her cheeks reddened in humiliation. “You just tossed me aside when you were done.”
“I never tossed you aside.”
“Yes, you did!” The fingers of one hand curled into a fist. “You used me to make yourself feel better because of her.” Her voice was filled with bitterness and anger. “Then you just let me go. So I slept with someone else. While I was in Germany, I discovered I was pregnant.”
“You’ve known all along he could be the father.”
“Yes,” she admitted, shamefaced.
Cortez wanted to smash something. Instead, he asked, “Where is he now?”
“He lives in Palermo.”
“Who is he?”
“A friend of a friend. No one, really. He’s nothing like you. He has no money, no…” Her voice trailed off as the avaricious reason behind her focus on Cortez revealed itself.
He turned away so she wouldn’t see the utter disgust in his face.
“It’s not just about the money, Cortez. You know that. I have feelings for you.”
He twisted back in her direction. “And you hate Nadine, though she has never done anything to you.” Fabiana had used Erich as a ploy to drive away Nadine and sink her claws into him. More than ever he regretted his weakness that night. His need to forget and seek comfort had caused him to make a grave mistake.
Fabiana curled her upper lip. “You act as if she is so perfect. She left you. I would have never done that.”
Cortez took two steps toward her, anger coursing through him with the speed and strength of a lightning bolt. Fabiana looked up at him with defiance, but she took a step back.
“Have nothing to say about my wife,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice, enunciating each word so there was no misunderstanding. Nadine was his wife. Their divorce and time apart had not diminished his love for her, and he knew in his heart no one could ever take her place. “Especially when you had the audacity to show up at her house, unannounced, claiming me as the father of your child when you know there is another possibility. Nadine would never do that.”
Fabiana’s cheeks blushed a bright red.
Cortez rolled his neck to relieve the tension. “The sooner we get this straightened out, the better. I’ll call you with the arrangements, and in a few days, we’ll know the truth.”
Fabiana lowered her eyes to the floor again. “All right,” she said in a whisper.
After one last glance at her, Cortez left.
Chapter 21
Nadine watched Cortez detailing his motorcycle in the driveway. He rubbed conditioner into the hand-stitched leather seat, his movements slow and careful. He could have one of his employees do it, but he loved that gold and titanium beast of a machine. He’d had it custom-made and imported from Ecosse not long before they split.
She had to admit, the motorcycle was a thing of beauty. Back when he’d bought it, she’d remarked that he must be going through an early midlife crisis, but he’d been undeterred by her comments and even invited her to ride with him. She’d refused, complaining that it was too dangerous. And what would Antonella do if something happened to both of them?
Fabiana’s visit yesterday had created a mild rift between them—one she still didn’t quite know how to overcome. This morning he disappeared without saying where he was going, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gone to see her and his…alleged son. The thought of losing the little closeness they’d managed to recapture needled her chest.
She walked onto the driveway and Cortez looked up from buffing extra cleaner from the seat. “I don’t think you can shine it anymore,” she said.
Holding the microfiber cloth, he stepped back and surveyed his handiwork. The sunlight glinted off the titanium, and the leather looked as new as the day he’d purchased the bike.
His mouth twisted at the corner. “You’re probably right.”
“Do you ride often?”
“Every now and again.”
She came a little closer. “You’re taking it out now?”
He nodded and warmth entered his eyes. “Come ride with me.”
“No way.” Nadine laughed a little.
“Why not?”
“You’re not serious.”
“Yes, I am.”
She pointed. “That thing is not safe.”
“Then why did you let me buy it?” As if she could have stopped him.
“You talked me into it. You can be very persuasive.” Just like he’d convinced her to marry him and adopt this country as her home.
“Can I be very persuasive right now?” The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened as he smiled. “The old Nadine would ride with me.”
She placed her hands on her hips. “Are you challenging me?”
“I’m challenging the old Nadine to make an appearance. I know she’s still in there—somewhere,” he needled.
She had an overwhelming urge to be close to him, to recapture some of what they’d had before Fabiana’s reappearance. “Promise not to go too fast.”
“I promise. You’ll be safe with me.”
Fifteen minutes after he gave her a few pointers, Cortez handed over a gold and titanium-colored helmet to match the bike. He chose to ride without one, donning only a pair of dark sunglasses to protect his face. He looked sexy in an older, rock-star kind of way—with the shades, black T-shirt, and his muscular thighs clad in a pair of worn jeans, straddling the big steel horse. Nadine placed her hands on his hips, her heartbeat pounding erratically with a combination of nerves and excitement.
They pulled out of the driveway, onto the neighborhood street and rode through the development. Through the security gate they went and onto the roadway. She had no idea where they were going, but as promised, Cortez cruised along at a moderate pace through traffic. He maneuvered the vehicle with such finesse and ease Nadine’s fear diminished and she relaxed and enjoyed the ride.
Riding a motorcycle was a completely new experience. Without the metal insulation of a car’s protection, she had a heightened sense of awareness of the environment around them. Wind brushed across her arms and denim-covered legs, and she felt every dimple and turn in the road. She even smelled the freshly mowed grass they passed and the roasting meats and fragrant spices from the open doors of restaurants.
They traveled the very busy Avenue de Mayo in the heart of the city, and followed it down to Plaza de Mayo. It was the city’s main square and commemorated the beginning of the revolution in the country’s independence from Spain. Argentina was known for their protests as much as the French, but surprisingly there were no protesters that day. Only tourists milled around, snappin
g photos and taking selfies with the obelisk in the center as a backdrop. Feeling particularly light-hearted, Nadine waved at them and some waved back.
They wound their way through cars and past the government buildings and towering hotels—modern structures dropped into the cityscape to accommodate the many visitors that arrived every year.
Then they went outside the city, away from the traffic and the noise. Out on the open road, Nadine felt freer than she’d felt in a long time. Like a shot of caffeine in the veins. She even let out a little whoop and tossed her head back.
She felt the tremble in Cortez’s belly as he laughed, and when he turned his head to the side, she saw his face had softened into a smile. She couldn’t help leaning into him, pressing her breasts against the strength of his back. She reveled in their closeness and the joy of the moment as the wind whipped around them. She blocked from her mind the possibility that anyone could take this away from her. This oneness with him, the machine, and the open road.
On the way back, the sun was going down, and Nadine held on tight, breasts taut and swollen now. Bowed across his back, a sense of peace and tranquility filled her spirit—something she hadn’t experienced in Atlanta. In all honesty, the only time she ever felt this way was in Argentina with Cortez.
She closed her eyes and for a moment she recalled the early days of their marriage—just the two of them against the world. Fighting together for his success. Celebrating with each unit of a song sold. Holding hands and smiling at each other when someone recognized him or shyly asked for an autograph. At the time, it had all been so new and exciting. Everything they’d sacrificed had finally paid off and he had become the successful singer he’d always dreamed of being. Even bigger and more popular than they’d ever imagined.
With the hum of the engine and wind gliding across her limbs, Nadine inhaled the leathery scent of the bike and the maleness of Cortez—selfishly wishing, just for a moment, that those days of struggle and excitement had never come to an end.
Chapter 22
Tomorrow. They would leave him tomorrow.
Still in Love Page 9