The Maid's Spanish Secret

by Dani Collins

  “It didn’t sound to me like that was how your grandmother felt.”

  “That’s still how it was. That’s how I wound up working in your mother’s house. I couldn’t bear the thought of asking them for money when they’d supported me all those years. Then I came home and bam. Pregnant. Back to being a parasite. Gramps didn’t want to sell that house because he was afraid I would go broke paying day care and rent. I was supposed to pay Gran back after all those years she took care of me, but now you’re supporting her. And me. That feels great.”

  “You are not a parasite. Eleanor is my daughter’s great-grandmother. I want to look after her. And you.”

  “See, that’s it.” She lifted a helpless hand. “Right there. You don’t want to look after me.” She pressed her hand to the fissure in her chest where all her emotions were bleeding out and making a mess on the floor. “You want to look after Lily’s mother. Exactly the way they took in their son’s daughter for his sake. You don’t want me, Rico.”

  “You’re upset. Taking things to heart that don’t require this much angst.”

  Her heart was the problem. That much he had right. It felt like her heart was beating outside her chest.

  “Do you love me?” she asked, already knowing the answer. “Do you think you’re ever going to love me?”

  Her question gave him pause. The fact a watchful expression came across his face as he searched for a response that was kind yet truthful was all the answer she needed.

  “Because I love you,” she admitted, feeling no sense of relief as the words left barbs in her throat. Her lips were so wobbly, her speech was almost slurred. “I love you so much I ache inside, all the time. I want so badly to be enough for you—”

  “You are,” he cut in gruffly.

  “Well, you’re not enough for me!” The statement burst out of her, breaking something open in her. Between them. All the delicate filaments that had connected them turned to dust, leaving him pallid. Leaving her throat arid and the rest of her blistered with self-hatred as she threw herself on the pyre, adding, “This isn’t enough.”

  His breath hissed in.

  “At least my grandparents loved me, despite the fact I’d been dumped on them. But I waited my whole childhood for my parents to want me. To love me. I can’t live like that again, Rico. I can’t take up space in your home because your children need a mother. I need more. And what breaks my heart is knowing that you’re capable of it. You love Lily. I know you do. But you don’t love me and you won’t and that’s not fair.”

  * * *

  He let her go.

  He shouldn’t have let her walk out, but he didn’t know what to say. He knew what she wanted to hear him say, but those words had never passed his lips.

  From his earliest recollection of hearing the phrase, when he realized other children said those words to their parents, he had instinctively understood it wasn’t a sentiment his own parents would want to hear from him. They weren’t a family who said such a thing. They weren’t supposed to feel it. Or want to feel it.

  So he let her walk out and close the door with a polite click that sounded like the slam of a vault, locking him out of something precious he had only glimpsed for a second.

  Which seemed to empty him of his very soul.

  He looked around, recalling dimly that he’d thought to enjoy an afternoon delight before joining their daughter on the beach for sand castles and splashing in the waves.

  Not pregnant. He had to admit that had struck harder than he would have expected. It left a hole in his chest that he couldn’t identify well enough to plug. He knew how to manage his expectations. He’d spent his entire life keeping his low, so as not to suffer disappointment or loss. Despite that, he was capable of both. He wanted to go after Poppy and ask again, Are you sure?

  She was sure. The bleak look in her eyes had kicked him in the gut. He wasn’t ready to face that again. That despair had nearly had him telling her they didn’t have to try again ever, not if a lack of conception was going to hit her so hard it broke something in her.

  He wanted a baby, though. The compulsion to build on what they had was beyond voracious. How could Poppy not realize she was an integral part of this new sense of family he was only beginning to understand?

  Family wasn’t what he’d been taught—loyalty and rising to responsibility, sharing a common history and acting for the good of the whole. That was part of it, but family was also a smiling kiss greeting him when he walked in the door. It was a trusting head on his shoulder and decisions made together. It was a sense that he could relax. That he would be judged less harshly by those closest to him. His mistakes would be forgiven.

  Forgive me, he thought despairingly.

  And heard her say again, You’re not enough for me.

  He was still trying to find his breath after that one. He knew how it felt to be accepted on condition, better than she realized. The gold standard for approval in his childhood had been a mastery over his emotions. Tears were weakness, passion vulgar. He should only go after things that made sense, that benefited the family, not what he wanted.

  Do you love me?

  He didn’t know how. That was the bitter truth.

  He would give Poppy nearly anything she asked for, but he refused to say words to her that weren’t sincere. How the hell would he know one way or the other if what he felt was love, though? He hadn’t had any exposure to that elusive emotion, not until his brother had gone off the rails with Sorcha, causing his parents to shrink in horror, further reinforcing to Rico that deep emotions prompted destructive madness.

  Love had killed Faustina, for God’s sake.

  He hated himself for hurting Poppy, though. For failing her. The sick ache sat inside him as he went out and looked for her. She wasn’t on a lounger under the cabana with the nanny, watching Lily play in a shaded pocket of sand.

  He moved to stand near them, scanning for Poppy, figuring she would turn up here eventually.

  It took him a moment to locate her, walking in the wet sand where waves washed ashore and retreated. Was she crying? She looked so desolate on that empty stretch so far from the cheerful crowd of the resort beach.

  She wasn’t a burden. It killed him that her parents had let her grow up feeling anything less than precious. She brought light into darkness, laughter into sober rooms.

  She had brought him Lily—literally life. He glanced at his daughter. She was batting down each of the castles the nanny made for her. The most enormous well-being filled him whenever he was anywhere near this little sprite. Poppy shone like the sun when she was with Lily, clearly the happiest she could possibly be.

  That was why he wanted another baby. He didn’t know how to express what he felt for Poppy except to physically make another of these joy factories. With her. He wanted her to have more love. The best of himself, packaged new and flawless, without the jagged edges and rusted wheels. Clean, perfect, unconditional love.

  From him.

  He swallowed, hands in fists as he absorbed that he may not know how to love, how to express it, but it was inside him. He would die for Lily and if Poppy was hurting, he was hurting.

  He couldn’t bear that. Not for one more minute.

  He looked for her again, intent on going after her.

  She had wandered even farther down the beach, past the flags and signage that warned of—

  He began jogging after her, to call her back.

  Long before he got there, the sea reached with frothy arms that gathered around her legs and dragged her in. One second she was there, the next she was gone.

  “Poppy!” he hollered at the top of his lungs and sprinted down the beach.

  * * *

  One moment she was wading along, waves breaking on her shins. Without warning, the water swirled higher. It dragged with incredible strength against her thighs, eroding the sand fr
om beneath her feet at the same time. The dual force knocked her off-balance and she fell, splooshing under.

  It shocked her out of her morose tears, but she knew how to swim. She mostly felt like an idiot, tumbling like a drunk into the surf. As she sputtered to the surface, she glanced around, hoping no one had witnessed her clumsiness.

  As she tried to get her feet under her, however, she couldn’t find the bottom. She was in far deeper water than she ought to be. As she gave a little dog paddle to get back toward the beach, she realized she was being sucked away from it. Fast.

  Panic struck in a rush of adrenaline. She willed herself not to give in to it. This was a rip current. She only knew one thing about them and that was to swim sideways out of it.

  She tried, but the beach was disappearing quickly, making her heart beat even quicker. Her swimsuit wrap was dragging and tangling on her arms. When she tried to call out for help, she caught a mouthful of salt water and was so far away, no one would hear her anyway.

  Terrified, she flipped onto her back, floating and kicking, trying to get her bearings while she wrestled herself free of the wrap and caught her breath.

  Think, think, think.

  Oh, dear God. She popped straight and the people were just the size of ants. Had anyone even noticed she’d been swept out? She looked for a boat. Were there sharks? Don’t panic.

  She was beyond where the waves were breaking. This was where surfers would usually gather, sitting on their boards as they watched the hump of waves, picking and choosing which to ride into shore.

  She didn’t know how to bodysurf, though. It was all she could do to keep her head up as the waves picked her up and rolled toward the beach without her.

  Treading water, she saw nothing, only what looked like a very long swim to shore. She thought she might be on the far side of the current that had carried her out. A crosscurrent was drifting her farther toward the headland, away from where she’d left Lily on the beach.

  Lily. She tried not to cry. Lily was safe, she reminded herself.

  This was such a stupid mess to be in. She had picked a fight with Rico then walked away to sulk. Why? What did she have to complain about? He treated her like a queen. No one she knew took tropical vacations and rode elephants and slept in five-star oceanfront villas with butler service to the beach.

  I’m sorry, baby, she said silently as she began to crawl her arms over her head, aiming for the headland that was a lot farther than she’d ever swum in her life. A few laps in a pool were her limit. Just enough to get her safety badge when she was ten. I’m sorry, Rico. Please, Gramps, if you can hear me, I need help.

  * * *

  Rico absconded with a Jet Ski, scaring an adolescent boy into giving it up with whatever expression was on his face. The only words he’d had in him had been a grated, “My wife.”

  Her coral wrap had been his beacon as he raced to the family with the Jet Skis. Now it was gone.

  He ran the Jet Ski along the edge of the riptide, gaze trying to penetrate the cloudy water, searching for a glint of color, of red hair, terrified he’d find her in it and terrified he wouldn’t.

  He sped out to where the head of the current mushroomed beyond the surf zone, dissipating in a final cloud of sand pulled from the beach. Still nothing.

  Dimly he noted two surfers and a lifeguard from the resort joining his search, zigzagging through the surf.

  He had to find her. Had to.

  In a burst of speed, he started down the far side of the rip and had to fight the Jet Ski to get back toward the current. Another one, not as strong, ran parallel to the beach. He realized she might have been drawn toward the headland. It was a huge stretch of water to get there.

  Despair began to sink its claws into him.

  Bill, help us out, he silently begged her grandfather’s spirit.

  A glint above the water caught his attention. A drone?

  He looked toward the beach and saw the operator waving him toward the headland.

  Using the drone as a beacon, he gunned the Jet Ski that direction, searched the chop of waves. Please, please, please.

  A slender arm slowly came out of the water. It windmilled in a tired backstroke, slapping wearily on reentry.

  Swearing, he raced toward her. The resignation in her eyes as she spotted him told him how close she’d been to giving up. He got near enough she put a hand on the machine, but he had to turn it off and get in the water with her to get her onto it, she was that weak.

  She sat in front of him, trembling and coughing, breaths panting and heart hammering through her back into his own slamming in his chest. She hunched weakly while he reached to start the Jet Ski again. He shifted her slightly so he could hold on to her and steered it back to shore.

  He was shaking. Barely processing anything other than that he had to get them to dry land.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when he got to the small dock where the startled family had gathered with damned near every living soul in Thailand.

  The crowd gave them a round of applause. The nanny stood with Lily on her hip, eyes wide with horror at the barely averted catastrophe.

  “Oh, Lily,” Poppy sobbed, and hugged her daughter, but Lily squirmed at her mother’s wet embrace.

  A lifeguard came to check on Poppy.

  “Have a hot shower. You’ll be in shock. Lie down and stay warm. Drink lots of water to flush the seawater you drank.”

  Rico nodded and took her into their villa, bringing her straight into the shower and starting it, peeling off their wet clothes as they stood under the spray.

  * * *

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling like she was drowning all over again as the fresh water poured like rain upon them.

  He dragged at the tie on her bikini top only to tighten the knot. He turned her and she felt his fingers between her shoulder blades, picking impatiently at the knot.

  “I wasn’t paying attention. It was stupid. I’m really sorry. Please don’t think I did that on purpose. I was upset, but I wouldn’t leave Lily. I know she needs me.”

  “I need you!” he shouted, making her jump.

  She turned around and backed into the tiles, catching the loosened top so she clutched the soggy, hanging cups against her cold breasts.

  “You scared the hell out of me. I thought—” His face spasmed and she saw drops on his cheeks that might have been from the shower, but might have been something else. “What would I do without you, Poppy?”

  He cupped her face and the incendiary light in his eyes was both fury and something else. Something that made her hold her breath as he tenderly pressed his thumbs to the corners of her mouth.

  “I wanted to go looking for you the day after the solarium. Do you know that? I didn’t know where to start. Ask the staff? It was too revealing. Try to catch you at the hostel? The airport? You hadn’t told me the name of the town where you lived, but I imagined I could find out. I didn’t want to wait that long or travel that far, though. Not if I could catch you before you left.”

  He was talking in a voice so thick and heavy with anguish it made her ache.

  “It was an irrational impulse, Poppy. We don’t have those in this family. I couldn’t admit to myself how attracted I was. I couldn’t let anyone else see it, not even you. I had to live up to my responsibilities. After Cesar, I had to show some sense. It was better to let you go. But I didn’t want to.”

  Her mouth trembled. “Then Faustina took away any choice you might have.”

  “Yes.” He moved his hands to lift the bathing suit cups off her chest and high enough to pull the tie free from behind her neck.

  Her hair fell in wet tendrils onto her shoulders. He drew her back under the spray, took a squirt of fragrant body wash in his palm and turned her to rub the warm lather over her back and shoulders, working heat into her tired, still trembling muscles.

>   “Everything in my world went gray. Through the wedding, into my marriage and after she was gone. I didn’t care about anything. I had achieved maximum indifference.” His hands dug their soapy massage into her muscles, strong and reassuring. “Then Sorcha told me you might have had my baby. I tried to approach the situation rationally. I did. But the test came back inconclusive and I got on the plane. I had to see you. I had to know.”

  “What if Lily hadn’t been yours?”

  He turned her. A faint smile touched his mouth. “Can you imagine? There I was spitting fire and fury and you might have said she was Ernesto’s.”

  “The seventy-year-old gardener? Yes, he’s always been my type.”

  He turned her to settle her back against his chest. He ran his firm palms across her upper chest and down her arms, not trying to arouse, but the warmth tingling through her held flickers of the desire that always kindled when they were close.

  “I have a feeling it wouldn’t have mattered if she wasn’t mine.” His voice was a grave rumble in his chest. A somber vow against her ear. “I can’t see myself turning around and going home just because I happened to be wrong. One way or another, you were meant to be here in my life. I was meant to be Lily’s father.”

  She swallowed, astonished. Shaken. Questioning whether this man of logic really believed in fate.

  “You’re talking like your bohemian wife who thinks her grandfather can talk to her through the stars.”

  His hand slowed and his chin rested against her hair. “You think I didn’t ask him for help? Did you see the drone above you?”

  “No. But that would be a tourist, not Gramps.”

  “It was in the sky, Poppy. I was begging him for some sign of you.”

  He turned her to face him.

  Her arms twined themselves around his neck because they knew that was where they belonged. Lather lingered to provide a sensual friction between their torsos.

  “I love you.” He stared deeply into her eyes as he spoke, allowing her to see all the way to the depths of his soul. To the truth of his statement. “I’m sorry it took something like this for me to say it. To feel it. In my defense, it was there—I just didn’t know what it was.”