by Abby Green
Sancho said nothing, just regarded his uncle. Then he said imperiously, ‘Play with us.’
Matty jumped up and down. ‘Yes! Play!’
Sensing things starting to unravel, Trinity said firmly, ‘First lunch, and then you can play again for a little while.’
She scooped up Matty and handed him to Cruz, who took him awkwardly and rose to his feet. She then picked up Sancho and started to walk inside, almost afraid to look behind her and see how Matty must be tarnishing Cruz’s sartorial perfection.
He was saying excitedly, ‘Higher, Unkel Cooz...higher!’
Seeing his brother in the arms of the tall, scary man who now wasn’t so scary was making Sancho squirm to get free from Trinity’s arms. ‘I want higher too!’
They walked into the bright dining room where Mrs Jordan was waiting for them. Trinity didn’t miss the gleam of approval in the woman’s eyes when she saw Cruz carrying one of his nephews.
Trinity thought again of that rare chink of vulnerability Cruz had revealed outside. She realised belatedly that this had to be hard for him—coming from such a dark and dour place with only a half-brother he’d never been allowed to connect with properly. And yet he was making a real effort.
A rush of tenderness flooded her before she could stop it.
She tried to hide her tumultuous emotions as she strapped Sancho into his high seat. When she felt composed again she looked up to see Mrs Jordan showing Cruz how to strap Mateo into his. He looked flummoxed by such engineering, and it should have emasculated the man but it didn’t. It only made that tenderness surge again. Pathetic.
Cruz sat down at the head of the table. The boys were seated one on each side beside Trinity and Mrs Jordan. Staff scurried in and out, presenting a buffet of salads and cold meats, cheese and bread. The boys were having chopped up pasta and meatballs. They ate with their habitual gusto, insisting on feeding themselves and invariably spraying anyone in close proximity with tiny bits of pasta and meat.
Trinity sneaked another glance at Cruz to see if this domestic milieu was boring him, but he was watching his nephews, fascinated.
‘How do you tell them apart?’ he asked, during a lull when small mouths were full.
Trinity nodded her head towards Mateo on the other side of the table. ‘Matty is a tiny bit taller and leaner. He’s also a little more gregarious than Sancho. Where he leads, Sancho follows. She scooped some of Sancho’s food back onto his plate and said with a fond smile, ‘Sancho is more watchful and quiet. He’s also got a slightly different coloured right eye—a tiny discolouration.’
Cruz leaned forward to look and Sancho grinned at the attention, showing tiny teeth and a mouth full of masticated food.
When he pulled back, Cruz said a little faintly, ‘Rio had the same thing...one eye was slightly lighter in colour.’
‘He did...?’ Trinity had never noticed that detail.
Cruz sent her a sharp glance and she coloured and busied herself cleaning up Sancho’s tray, feeling absurdly guilty when she had no reason to. It wasn’t as if she’d spent any time looking deep into Rio’s eyes. Not that Cruz would believe that. She wondered if he ever would.
It didn’t escape her notice that Mrs Jordan had excused herself on some flimsy pretext. Trinity sighed inwardly. She wouldn’t put it past the woman, who subsisted on a diet of romance novels, to try and matchmake her and Cruz into a real marriage.
The thought of that was so absurd that she coloured even more for a moment, as if Cruz might see inside her head.
The very notion of this man looking at her with anything other than suspicious disdain was utterly inconceivable.
But he looked at you differently once before, said a little voice.
Trinity blocked it out. Cruz wouldn’t touch her again if his life depended on it—of that she was sure. And that suited her just fine. If he ever discovered how susceptible she still was—and how innocent she still was, in spite of his belief that her marriage to Rio had been a real one... The thought sent a wave of acute vulnerability through her.
Cruz’s comprehensive rejection of her had left a wound in a deeply private feminine space. The thought of opening herself up to that rejection again was terrifying.
Cruz cleared his throat then, and said, ‘I’ve arranged for you to be taken to a local boutique tomorrow morning, where a stylist will help you choose a wardrobe of clothes. Think of it as a trousseau.’
Trinity put down the napkin and looked at him. She felt raw after her recent line of thinking. She hated to be so beholden to him. It made her feel helpless and she didn’t like that. She saw the look in his eye, as if he was just waiting for her to show her true avaricious nature.
‘There’s not just me to think of,’ she said testily. ‘I need to get the boys some new clothes too, more suitable for this warmer climate. They’re growing so fast at the moment that they’ve almost outgrown everything.’
Cruz inclined his head, only the merest glint in his eye showing any reaction to her spiky response. ‘Of course. I should have thought of that. I’ll see to it that the stylist takes you to a suitable establishment for children also.’
The boys were starting to get bored now, having eaten enough and grown tired of the lack of attention and activity. Sancho was already manoeuvring himself to try and slip out of his chair and Trinity caught him deftly.
She took advantage of the distraction. ‘I’ll let them play some more while their lunch digests and then it’ll be time for their afternoon nap.’
Without asking for help, Cruz stood and plucked a clearly delighted Matty, little arms outstretched, out of his seat. It irked her no end that Cruz was already holding him with an ease that belied the fact that it was only the second time he’d held one of his nephews in his arms.
It suited him. Matty looked incredibly protected in those strong arms and a sharp poignancy gripped her for a moment as she realised that he was already charming them. They’d gone from looking at him as if he was about to devour them whole, to looking at him with something close to awe and adoration. Their tiny minds were obviously cottoning onto the fact that this tall person might become an important ally and be able to do things that Trinity and Mrs Jordan couldn’t.
Sancho was whingeing—he wanted to be in the big man’s arms too.
Cruz held out his other arm, ‘I can take him.’
After a moment’s hesitation Trinity handed him over, to see Cruz expertly balance Sancho in his other arm. And then he walked out of the room, two glossy brown heads lifted high against his chest. The twins were delighted with themselves, grinning at her over those broad shoulders.
And just like that Trinity knew she’d started to lose them to Cruz... And, as wrong as it was, she couldn’t but help feel a tiny bit jealous at how easily he accepted the innocence of his nephews when he would never ever accept the possibility of Trinity’s. Not while he was so blinded by his loyalty to his deceased brother.
* * *
The next few days passed in a blur for Trinity. She was taken to cosmopolitan and beautiful Seville by Cruz’s driver, to a scarily exclusive boutique where she lost track of the outfits she tried on. Then she was taken to a department store that stocked children’s clothes, where she picked up everything she needed for the boys.
Their bedroom had been refurbished, and once again Cruz’s efficiency had been impressive. An interior designer had taken her ideas on board and now, with murals of animals and tractors and trains on the walls, it was a bright and inviting space for two small boys. And they each had a bed, built in the shape of a car.
For a moment, when she’d seen it transformed and the way the boys had stood there in wide-eyed awe, she’d felt ridiculously emotional. They would have so much more than she’d ever had...or even their father.
She would have thanked Cruz, but he hadn’t been around much in
the last few days. He hadn’t joined them for lunch again, and the boys had been asking for him plaintively.
Trinity folded up the last of Sancho and Matty’s new clothes and put them in the colourful set of drawers, chastising herself for the constant loop in her head that seemed to veer back to Cruz no matter how hard she tried to change it.
She was about to push the drawer closed when a deep voice came from behind her. ‘Where are the boys?’
She jumped and whirled around to see Cruz filling the doorway, dressed in jeans and a shirt open at the neck. Irritation at the way she’d just been wondering about him, and the effortless effect he had on her, made her say waspishly, ‘They’re outside, playing with Mrs Jordan.’
Her irritation only increased when she found herself noticing how gorgeous he looked.
‘They’ve been asking for you, you know. If you’re going to be in their lives you need to be more consistent. They don’t understand why you’re there one day but not the next...it confuses them.’
Her conscience pricked. What she really meant was that it put her on edge, not knowing where or when he was likely to turn up...
His gaze narrowed on her and he slowly raised one brow. Clearly the man wasn’t used to having anyone speak to him like this. Well, tough, she told herself stoutly. She was no longer in awe of her scarily sexy stern boss. She folded her arms.
‘I understand that you’ve had your wardrobe replenished, as well as my nephews’?’ Cruz drawled.
Trinity flushed. She immediately felt churlish and unfolded her arms. ‘I wanted to say thank you for the bedroom—it worked out beautifully, and the boys love it. And, yes, we got clothes... But more clothes were delivered from the boutique than I ever looked at or tried on...it’s too much.’
Cruz shook his head slowly, a hard light in his eye. ‘Still with the act? I’m impressed. I thought you would have cracked by now and shown your true colours—but perhaps you’re saving yourself for a more appreciative audience.’
She just looked at him. This evidence of his continued mistrust hurt her and, terrified to look at why that was, and not wanting him to see her emotions, she focused on the last thing he’d said. ‘What do you mean, audience?’
‘I have a function to attend in Seville tomorrow night. It’ll be our first public outing as husband and wife.’
Panic gripped her. ‘But Mrs Jordan—’
Cruz cut her off. ‘Has already agreed to babysit. And we’re rectifying that situation next week. I’ve organised with a local recruitment agency for them to send us their best candidates for another nanny. It’ll free you up to spend more time with me, and Mrs Jordan will have more of her own free time.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked, feeling weak at the thought of more time with him.
‘Yes.’ Cruz sounded impatient now. ‘I’ll have social functions to attend and I expect you to be by my side. As discussed.’
Trinity’s irritation flared again. and she welcomed it. ‘As I recall it was more of a decree than a discussion.’
Cruz’s jaw clenched. ‘You can call it what you want. We both know that, thanks to Rio’s dire financial state when he died, you had no way of offering independent support to my nephews without me. The sooner you accept this as your new reality, the easier it will be for all of us.’
And evidently Cruz still believed that state of financial affairs to be her fault, based on her alleged profligate spending of her husband’s money.
For a moment Trinity wanted to blurt out the truth—that Rio had hated Cruz so much he’d wanted to ruin him—but Cruz wouldn’t believe her, and she found that the impulse faded quickly. First of all, it wasn’t in her to lash out like that, just to score a point. And she also realised she didn’t want to see the effect that truth would have on him, when he clearly believed that his brother had been flawed, yes, but inherently decent.
And that shook her to the core—knowing that she resisted wanting to hurt him. Even as he hurt her.
She had to take responsibility for the fact that she’d agreed to the marriage of convenience with Rio. She really had no one to blame but herself.
And, as much as she hated this situation and being financially dependent, she couldn’t deny the immutable fact that Matty and Sancho were in the privileged position of being heirs to this great family legacy and fortune. She didn’t have the right to decide on their behalf, even as their legal guardian, that she was going to fight to take them away from all this and turn their lives into something it didn’t have to be.
The silence grew between them almost to breaking point, a battle of wills, until eventually Trinity said, ‘Fine. What time do I need to be ready?’
There was an unmistakable gleam of triumph in Cruz’s eyes now and he said, ‘We’ll leave at six. It’s a formal event, so wear a long gown. I’ll have Julia show you to the vaults so you can pick out some jewellery.’
Jewellery...vaults... Not wanting him to see how intimidated she was, or how easily he affected her emotions, she just said coolly, ‘Fine. I’ll be ready by six.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FOLLOWING EVENING Cruz paced back and forth in the entrance hall of the castillo and looked at his watch again impatiently. He forced himself to take a breath. It was only just six o’clock so Trinity wasn’t actually late yet. Just then he heard a sound and looked to where she stood at the top of the main stairs.
For a long second he could only stare, struck dumb by the glittering beauty of the woman in front of him. She was refined...elegant. Classic. Stunning.
Her dress was long—as he’d instructed—and a deep blue almost navy colour. It shone and glistened and clung to those impossibly long legs, curving out to her hips and back in to a small waist. It shimmered as she came down the stairs. It clung everywhere—up over her torso to where the material lovingly cupped full, perfectly shaped breasts. All the way to the tantalising hollow at the base of her throat.
Cruz was dimly aware that he’d possibly never seen less flesh revealed on a woman, and yet this dress was sexier than anything he’d ever seen in his life. Her hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, highlighting the delicate slim column of her throat and her bone structure.
She gestured to herself and he could see that she was nervous.
‘What is it? Is the dress not suitable?’
Cruz realised he was ogling. He felt a very uncharacteristic urge to snap, No, the dress is entirely unsuitable. And yet that would be ridiculous. The dress effectively covered her from head to toe and he was reacting like an animal in heat—how the hell would he react when he saw some flesh? As it was, all the blood in his body was migrating from his brain to between his legs with alarming speed.
Any delusion he’d been under that he could successfully block out his awareness of this woman was laughable. She was under his skin, in his blood, and he couldn’t deny it. His intellect hated this desire for her but his body thrummed with need.
Calling on all the control and civility he possessed, Cruz locked eyes with Trinity’s—not that that helped. The colour of the dress only made her bright blue eyes stand out even more. They were like light sapphires, stunning and unusual.
‘It’s fine,’ he said tightly. And then, goaded by thoughts of how she’d dressed for Rio, he said provocatively, ‘Or perhaps you’d feel more comfortable in less material?’
To his surprise he saw the faintest shudder pass through her body. ‘No. I never felt comfortable in the clothes Rio wanted me to wear.’
He looked at her. For some reason that admission only made him feel more conflicted.
Tersely he said, ‘The driver is waiting—we should go.’
He indicated for her to precede him out of the castillo and his gaze tracked down her back and snagged on the enticing curves of her buttocks. He cursed himself. He was behaving as if he�
�d never seen a beautiful woman before in his life.
The driver helped her into the back of the luxury Jeep and Cruz got in the other side. As they were pulling out of the castillo courtyard his gaze swept over her again and he noticed something. ‘You’re not wearing any jewellery. Didn’t you go to the vaults?’
She looked at him and Cruz saw a flush stain her cheeks. ‘I did, but everything was so valuable-looking I was afraid to take anything.’
Something dark pierced him—was this finally evidence of her avaricious methods? Was this how she angled for more?
‘Perhaps you’d have preferred something from Cartier or Tiffany’s?’
She shook her head, eyes flashing. ‘No, I wouldn’t prefer that.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m wearing the wedding band—isn’t that enough? Or maybe you’d prefer if I wore a diamond-studded collar with a lead attached so no one is mistaken as to whom I belong?’
Irritation vied with frustration that she was so consistently refusing to conform to what he expected. He curtly instructed his driver to turn around and go back to the castillo.
‘Why are we going back?’ Trinity asked.
Cruz looked straight ahead. ‘We’re going back to get you an engagement ring.’
‘I don’t need one,’ she said stubbornly.
He looked at her. ‘It’s not a choice. People will expect you to have a ring.’
She rounded on him, tense and visibly angry. ‘Oh, and we can’t have anyone suspecting that this isn’t a real marriage, can we? Do you really think an engagement ring will convince people that you fell in love with your brother’s widow?’
Cruz wanted to laugh at her suggestion of anyone in his circle ever being convinced that people married for love, but for some reason the laugh snagged in his chest.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he breathed, his awareness of her rising in an unstoppable wave in the confined space. ‘No one would expect that. They’ll know I’m protecting what’s mine—my heirs.’