A Price Worth Paying?

by Trish Morey

  Simone winced. More lies, she thought, hating it. How many lies would they have to tell before this was over?

  Except Alesander seemed unfazed. He took her hand in his, covering it with his other, while his eyes held hers, dark and rich and so deep a person could drown in their depths. ‘I admit, I did not expect this to happen. But Simone blew into my life and how could I not love her, Felipe? She is very special. One of a kind. How could I let her slip through my fingers?’

  There was no stopping the bloom of heat in her cheeks. She smiled, deeply touched that he would take the trouble to find the words to put Felipe at his ease.

  ‘I thought you wanted the vines,’ he said, and there was a tear in his eye. ‘I thought you were looking to take the rest of them away from me. But it is my granddaughter who brings you here day after day.’

  Alesander looked at his feet and Simone knew she had to fill the silence. ‘We want you to be there at our wedding, Abuelo. I was hoping you would agree to give me away.’

  Her grandfather puffed up before her eyes, blinking away the moisture. ‘And you think I won’t be there to walk my only granddaughter down the aisle on her wedding day? Of course I will be there.’

  He lifted his empty tumbler in his bony claw-like hand. ‘More wine,’ he demanded. ‘This calls for a toast!’

  ‘Thank you for that.’

  She’d walked Alesander to his car, their lunch over, Felipe snoozing under the vine covered canopy.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For putting Felipe’s mind at ease about us getting married. When he asked you if you loved me, I thought the game was up.’

  He cocked one eyebrow, one side of his mouth turned up. ‘You imagined I would simply say no?’

  ‘I didn’t know what you would say.’

  He took her hands in his and she thought nothing of it, given they were still in sight of the house if Felipe happened to wake up and see them. Besides, she was getting to like the feeling of him touching her. If only because that meant she was getting used to it and that made the pretence easier to pull off. ‘It was not hard to think of words I could say about you. It is true you are one of a kind, and you definitely blew into my life by turning up on my doorstep with your crazy proposal. And how could I let you slip through my fingers when you had such a juicy incentive?’ He paused and looked out over the sparkling sea. ‘Felipe was right all along about that.’

  ‘He doesn’t think so now.’

  ‘No. And hopefully he will never find out.’

  ‘I know. I feel bad about the lies. But it’s worth it. You can see how happy this has made him. For the first time he has something to look forward to. He’s smiling again. Thank you so much for not only agreeing to this, but for actually going to the trouble of making him believe it.’

  He looked back at her and smiled, squeezing her hands to tug her a little closer as he dipped his head towards hers. She held her breath as his mouth came closer; held her breath as she wondered whether he would kiss her—and whether she should let him—it wouldn’t mean anything after all, just a token gesture and probably meant for Felipe’s benefit in case he was watching and so why should she stop him?

  And then he kissed her forehead and breath rushed out of her on a whoosh.

  From relief, she told herself. Not disappointment, despite that sudden inexplicable pang in her chest.

  Except he didn’t let her go. His lips lingered on her forehead, she felt his breath fan against her skin and he let one hand go, only to take her chin in his fingers as slowly he pulled away, tilting up her head at the same time.

  Her eyes met his and held. ‘I have to kiss you,’ he said, ‘but properly this time and, I warn you, it may take some time.’

  ‘For Felipe’s benefit?’ she managed to say. ‘In case he is watching.’

  He growled, the corners of his mouth turning up the tiniest fraction. ‘For my benefit.’

  If such a confession wasn’t enough to make her senses sing, the sensation of his lips meshing with hers was. Her breath hitched again at their impact, before she was assailed by the feel of his mouth against hers and the sheer complexity of it all—the unexpected contrast of lips that felt so warm and yielding and yet came from a face that could have been sculpted from stone. And the way he tasted … a heated blend of the wine they’d shared at lunch with coffee and all overlaid on the flavour of his own hot mouth.

  He was addictive.

  He was incendiary.

  Her heart rate kicked up as she felt his hand draw her closer and she let herself be drawn as his tongue searched out hers and invited it into a dance—a dance that soon turned into a heated frenzy that had her temperature soaring and her heart beating even faster and her flesh throbbing in secret places situated a long way geographically from her mouth.

  If the man knew nothing else, he sure knew how to kiss. Every place they touched seemed hyper-aware—her breasts jammed close to his chest, her hips hard against his thighs, her legs interwoven with his.

  It was far more than any kiss she’d ever experienced.

  And it was the last thing she’d wanted, but right now it made it too damned good to leave.

  Instead it was Alesander who pulled away suddenly, putting her at arm’s length, leaving her mouth hungry and desperately seeking his. Desperately seeking more. He was breathing hard, but she was breathing harder, and struggling hard to show she was not as affected as she was.

  Failing miserably.

  ‘We need to plan,’ he said, his breathing choppy and desperate against her face. ‘Are you taking precautions?’

  For a kiss? Now she had to struggle with the meaning behind his words. She wasn’t sure she’d heard right. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Are you on the Pill? Do you call it that where you come from—the contraceptive pill?’

  She eased away. Even managed to laugh a little, while she put distance between them, though nowhere near enough to let him go completely. She wasn’t ready for that yet and, besides, he was showing no intention of letting her go any time soon. ‘What business is that of yours?’

  ‘Because we will need precautions.’

  ‘Against—what exactly? We’ve agreed we’re not having sex. Why would we need precautions?’

  ‘Because I’ve changed my mind. I’m not marrying you and not having sex with you.’

  This time she found the strength to shove him away. ‘No! You signed a contract! We both signed a contract. We agreed there would be no sex.’

  ‘And I’m renegotiating the terms.’

  ‘You can’t do that. It’s too late.’

  ‘Of course I can. I don’t like the terms and I’m changing them.’

  ‘And I refuse to agree to your changed terms. There will be no sex in our marriage.’

  ‘And I say there will.’

  ‘What? And you think you can make me? I don’t think so. I’m not changing anything. I don’t want it.’

  ‘Are you sure of that? I just got the impression you would quite happily have had me, right here, right up against the car next to the vines if I hadn’t stopped, and you would have let me.’

  Shock forced her jaw wide open. ‘You imagine this because I let you kiss me just now?’

  ‘You did more than let me kiss you. Your body told me it wanted me.’

  ‘You flatter yourself,’ she said, shaking her head, in denial because she had to be. He had felt good, it was true. Maybe very good. But he could not know what she had been thinking. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t want you. Sure, we shared a kiss, and maybe it was okay, but it was only for Felipe’s benefit.’

  ‘Now who’s kidding themselves? You weren’t thinking about Felipe when I kissed you.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean we’re having sex. There’s no way I want sex with you. No way at all.’

  ‘Fine.’ He took a step back from her. ‘I must have been mistaken. If that’s the way you want it, I will go back up there and tell Felipe this marriage is off.’

  ‘What? Why? I don�
��t understand. You make one arrangement and then you insist on another? You can’t do that to him! How could you do that after everything we’ve done? Felipe believes it now. He believes we’re getting married. He thinks he’s walking me down the aisle. How could you do this to him?’

  ‘How could I do that to him?’ he said. ‘No. You should be asking how you could do this to him. You’re the one suddenly wanting to deny him his happy ending.’

  He was shifting the blame onto her? ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. Though maybe I should, because Felipe warned me from the very start that I should be careful. He said you were an Esquivel and that I shouldn’t trust you, that you would be ruthless. I should have listened to him all along.’

  ‘Maybe you should have.’

  His cold, hard words floored her. Where was the man who had sucked her into his kiss, and whose heat had damned near melted her flesh? Where was that man? Had he been an entire fiction? She felt sick just thinking about how much she’d wanted him. ‘I hate you. I don’t think I’ve ever hated you more than in this moment.’

  ‘That’s fine. I told you I wasn’t nice. Hating me will make it so much easier when you leave.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WANTED TO hate him after that. She did her best to. Late at night atop her single bed she did all she could to hate him. But hate disappeared in the overwhelming truth.

  She should never have let him kiss her.

  Now her body ached to make love to him and yet she didn’t want to make love to him. She couldn’t make love to him. Making love made a person vulnerable. She’d learned that with Damon, their relationship going from boyfriend and girlfriend, moving with their lovemaking to a higher level. To love. Or so she’d thought.

  Damon’s betrayal had ripped all sense of wanting intimacy out of her. Keep it platonic, she’d learned. Keep it simple, and you couldn’t be hurt.

  Keep it platonic—businesslike—and there could be no complications.

  She knew this to be true. She knew she’d been right to insist on a sex-free marriage. She didn’t want to go through what she had with Damon again. She couldn’t live with the fear and the gut-sickening uncertainty.

  And yet still the thought of Alesander’s threatened lovemaking left her breathless and hungry. She tossed and turned in the small bed, tangling in the sheets, thinking about sheets tangled for other, more carnal, reasons.

  Wishing that she didn’t look forward to it as much as she dreaded it.

  Wishing she could simply hate him and be done with it.

  She tossed again. Oh God, why the hell couldn’t she sleep?

  The season shifted inexorably towards the harvest, and Alesander was busier, managing both his own business and yet still finding time to spend in Felipe’s vineyard, repairing trellises and filling in pot-holes in the driveway and, even though she knew he was doing it because the land would soon be his, she could not hate him for it when she saw how it made Felipe happier, to see his vines and the vineyard looking cared for again.

  She tried to keep her distance as much as she could but somehow he was always there, shrinking the tiny cottage with his presence, talking to Felipe about the grapes, or comparing techniques to manage the vines.

  And there could be no avoiding him because, as the harvest drew closer, so too did their wedding. Alesander appointed a wedding planner charged with the task of organising a wedding extravaganza in less than a month. Simone was happy to leave her to it, but there was no escaping the endless questions. There were meetings to be had, decisions to be made, plans to be drawn up.

  And nothing could wait. Every little thing was urgent.

  ‘I can’t get a church,’ the wedding planner admitted at one of their first meetings, looking harried and stressed. ‘You’ve waited too long. San Sebastian’s churches are booked up months in advance and the village churches are full.’

  Alesander brushed the problem aside. ‘Then we’ll get married in the Esquivel vineyard. It’s unconventional, but everyone will understand.’

  The wedding planner looked noticeably relieved and turned to Simone. ‘Have you decided on who will be your attendant?’

  Simone blinked. ‘Do I really need one?’

  The planner looked askance at Alesander. ‘Who have you chosen as your best man?’

  ‘A friend from Madrid. Matteo Cachon.’

  Simone’s ears pricked up. The name sounded vaguely familiar.

  ‘Not the football player?’ asked the woman, and Simone realised where she’d heard it. On the evening news. Matteo Cachon had just been signed in a massive deal that made him Spain’s most valuable football player. In the same report came the news he’d just dumped his long-term girlfriend, so he was also Spain’s most eligible bachelor.

  He nodded. ‘Sí. He’s an old friend from university. We don’t see each other much these days but it fits in his schedule and he’s agreed.’

  ‘I have an idea about an attendant,’ Simone said, and when the wedding planner looked expectantly back at her, pen poised, added, ‘I’ll ask her and get back to you.’

  Meanwhile Felipe was the happiest she’d ever seen him. He seemed to have dropped twenty years overnight. He even seemed to have more energy, demanding to be taken into town to be fitted out with a brand new suit, his first new suit since his marriage to Maria more than fifty years before.

  It made it all worthwhile, even after the visit to his doctor, who’d taken her aside while Felipe was getting dressed to warn that while Felipe was feeling happier, she shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking he was getting better. There would be no getting better.

  She’d thanked the doctor and swallowed back on a bubble of disappointment. Deep down inside she’d known that to be true, that there would be no sudden miracle or remission. She just hadn’t wanted to give that knowledge oxygen.

  But the doctor’s warning made up her mind. She would stop this Cold War approach to Alesander. She would stop trying to make herself hate him and instead try to make this marriage look as happy for Felipe as she possibly could, although she hated the changed terms.

  Because she would not let Felipe down.

  The grapes tested perfectly one crisp day early in October and from then on it was madness. Swarms of workers filled the Esquivel vineyards, filling boxes with bunches of grapes, boxes emptied into a tractor drawn behind a trailer to be taken straight to the press.

  Simone worked in Felipe’s vineyard as part of a team sent by Alesander, wearing oversized gloves and with a pair of thin-bladed snippers, perfectly designed for separating the bunches from the vines. If you knew what you were doing. In no time she knew she was the slowest person on the team. But she was determined to catch on, filling box after box with bunches of grapes.

  Felipe sat on the vine-covered terrace and kept an eye on the progress, muttering to himself.

  They took a break halfway through the morning, sitting amidst the vines, talking and laughing amongst themselves while they shared the most magnificent view on earth, and Simone felt privileged to experience this; to be part of something so utterly unique that she would never share in again. It made her sorry that she would ever have to leave.

  And then they were back at work and there was no time for regret, only time for the grapes.

  Alesander turned up at lunch time, with platters of food from a local restaurant, which the pickers shared around a big trestle table set up for the job.

  ‘Thank you for this,’ she told him near the car when he was leaving, and it didn’t matter this time whether she thought he was being nice or not, or whether she thought he was only doing it because he would soon own these vines, because she appreciated the gesture just the same. ‘Thank you for so much.’

  He scooped her into his arms and dipped his head down and kissed her lightly on the lips, to the delight of everyone at the table nearby. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, and she knew he meant how she’d held herself separate from him while she’d told herself she hated him.

&nb
sp; Because, in spite of all her reservations, she’d missed him too.

  ‘We get married in three days,’ he said.

  ‘Do you think the harvest will be finished?’

  He growled and she felt it reverberate through her bones while his eyes held her hostage. ‘I don’t care. I’m marrying you anyway.’ And then he kissed her again.

  It was because they were all watching, she told herself, as she snipped grapes for the next day and a half. He’d only said it because people were watching.

  But still, regardless of what he’d meant, or whatever his motivation, she’d cherish forever the look in his eyes when he’d uttered those words.

  Three mornings later, the harvest completed, she donned the dress that would make her the Esquivel bride. Her gown was by the same designer as the one she’d worn to Markel’s birthday party. Alesander had insisted on it and she’d argued that it wasn’t necessary, right up until she’d seen the gown paraded before them and wished it could be hers and before she’d had a chance to say she loved it, he’d said, ‘That one,’ and she’d known they were both right even before she’d tried it on.

  And it was perfect. With its fitted bodice and tight waist and pleating across her hips, it echoed in so many ways the gown she’d worn to Markel’s party, but then this gown was so much more, the layers filmy and soft and the perfect foil to the fitted bodice.

  Simone didn’t have to ask how she looked. Today there was no joking. Tears sprang from her grandfather’s eyes as she emerged from her room—tears that said it all. Tears that made all the lies she’d told suddenly worthwhile. It was worth it, she told herself, to see how happy Felipe looked today.

  It was all worth it.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he said in his thready voice. ‘You have made me the proudest man in the world.’

  ‘And you look wonderful, too.’ And he did, freshly shaved and in his new suit. She worried about his role, walking her down the aisle, and wondered if he was up to it, but today he looked ready for anything.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, offering her his arm, ‘the car is waiting for us.’

  They arrived at the Esquivel vineyard to find most of the village waiting expectantly for her outside the vaulted cellars where the wedding was to take place.