by Diana Palmer
She was frightened, and her first thought was to pack a case and get Matthew far away, as fast as possible. But that would be irrational. She had to stop and think. She had to be logical, not make a spur-of-the-moment decision that she might come to regret.
She put the birth certificate back into the envelope and replaced it carefully, facedown under the black book, and closed the drawer. She didn’t dare get a number out of it now because Diego would know that she’d been into his desk drawer.
Then she remembered that Mrs. Albright would surely have his number. She went into the kitchen and asked the woman.
“Oh, certainly, Mrs. Laremos,” she smiled. “It’s listed under Blain Security Consultants, Incorporated, in the telephone directory.” She eyed Melissa curiously. “Are you all right? You seem very pale.”
“I’m fine.” Melissa forced a smile. “It’s just a little hard to get around. The ligament is healed, but my leg is stiff. They wanted me to have physical therapy, but I settled for home exercises instead. I’m sure it will limber up once I start them.”
“My sister had a bad back, and the doctor put her on exercises,” Mrs. Albright remarked. “They helped a great deal. I’m sure you’ll do fine, ma’am.”
“Yes. So am I. Thank you.”
She went into the living room and looked up the number, dialing it with shaky hands.
Joyce’s musical voice answered after the second ring.
“Blain Security Consultants. How may we help you?”
“You can come out to lunch with me tomorrow and help me save my sanity,” Melissa said dryly. “It’s Melissa, Diego’s wife.”
“Yes, I recognized your voice, Melissa,” Joyce said with a laugh. “And I’d be delighted to go to lunch with you. Shall I pick you up at your apartment about 11:30? If my boss will let me—”
Apollo’s deep, angry voice sounded from a distance. “Since when do I deny you a lunch hour, Miss Latham? By all means, if that’s Melissa, you can take her to lunch. Stop making me out to be an ogre.”
“I’d never do such a thing, Mr. Blain,” Joyce assured him stiffly. “It would be an insult to the ogre.”
There was a muttered curse, and a door slammed. Joyce sighed and Melissa hid a giggle.
“See you tomorrow,” Joyce whispered. “I’d better get to work or I may wind up out the window on my head.”
“It sounds that way, yes. Have a nice day.”
“You too!”
That evening, Diego came home late. He was just in time to kiss Matthew good-night. Melissa, watching them from the doorway, saw the affection and pride in his dark face as he looked at his son. How long had he known? Perhaps he’d suspected it from the beginning. She sighed, thinking how transparent she’d always been to him. She was so green, how could he help but know that she couldn’t sleep with anyone except him? Probably he even knew how deeply she loved him. His cruelty in the past, his rejection, even his indifference, didn’t seem to affect her feelings. She wondered where she was going to get the strength to leave him. But if he was thinking about taking Matthew away from her, she wouldn’t have any choice. He’d never made any secret of his opinion about love. He didn’t believe in it. She had no reason to suspect that his feelings had changed over the years.
He loved Matthew, if he loved anyone. Melissa was a complication he didn’t really seem to want. When he stood up and moved to the door, Melissa hid her eyes from him. She didn’t want him to see the worry in them.
“Joyce said you’re taking her out to lunch tomorrow,” he remarked after she’d called another good-night to Matthew and closed his bedroom door.
“Yes. I thought I might try getting out of the apartment a little bit,” she said. “It’s…lonely here.”
He stopped at her bedroom door, his eyes dark and quiet. “It will not always be like this,” he said. “When time permits, now that you are able to get around, we will find some things that we can do as a family.”
She smiled wistfully. “You don’t need to feel obligated to include me.”
He frowned. “Why?”
She’d forgotten how clever he was. She averted her eyes. “Well, boys like to be with men sometimes without women along, don’t they?”
He eyed her curiously. He’d expected her to say more than that. He felt irritable at his own disappointment. What had he expected? She’d held out so long now that he didn’t really expect her to give in. He was giving way slowly to a black depression. He’d left her alone, hoping she’d come to him and tell him the truth, and she hadn’t. Suppose he’d misjudged her feelings? What if she didn’t care? What if she left him, now that she didn’t need him to take care of her?
He barely remembered that she’d asked him a question. “I suppose it is good for Matthew to spend some time with just me,” he answered her wearily. His face mirrored his fatigue. There were new, harsh lines on it. He studied her slowly for a moment before he turned away. “I have had a long day. If you don’t mind, Señora Laremos, I prefer sleep to conversation.”
“Of course. Good night,” she said, surprised by his tone as well as by the way he looked.
He nodded and went down the hall. She watched him, her eyes wistful and soft and full of regret. Love wasn’t the sweet thing the movies made of it, she thought bitterly. It was painful and long-suffering for all its sweetness. He wanted Matthew, but did he want her? She wondered what she was going to do.
She turned away and went into her own bedroom, looking at herself in the mirror. She looked thinner and older, and there were new lines in her face. Did Diego ever think about the past, she wondered, about the times the two of them had gone riding in the Guatemalan valleys and talked about a distant future? She thought of it often, of the way Diego had once been.
She opened her chest of drawers and pulled out the snapshot she’d taken of Diego the day before her father had found them in the hills. Her fingers touched the face lightly and she sighed. How long ago it all seemed, how futile. She’d loved him, and pain was the only true memory she had. If only, she thought, he’d loved her a little in return. But perhaps he really wasn’t capable of it. She tucked the photo away and closed the drawers. Dreams were no substitute for reality.
Chapter Eight
The restaurant that Joyce and Melissa went to was small and featured French cuisine. Melissa picked her way through a delicious chicken-and-broccoli crepe and a fresh melon while Joyce frowned over her elaborate beef dish.
“You’re very quiet for someone who wanted to talk,” Joyce remarked fifteen minutes into the exquisite meal, her dark eyes quietly scrutinizing Melissa’s face.
Melissa sighed. “I’ve got a problem.”
Joyce smiled. “Who hasn’t?”
“Yes. Well, mine is about to make me pack a bag and leave Chicago.”
Joyce put down her fork. “In that case, I’m all ears.”
Melissa picked up her coffee cup and sipped the sweet, dark liquid. “Matthew is Diego’s son,” she said. “The son I told him I lost before I ran away from him five years ago.”
“That’s a problem?” Joyce asked blankly.
“I didn’t think he knew. He didn’t seem to like Matt at first, but now they’re inseparable. I thought that maybe he was beginning to accept Matt even though he thought he was another man’s son. But yesterday I found a copy of Matthew’s birth certificate in his desk drawer.”
“If he knows, everything will be all right, won’t it?” Joyce asked her.
“That’s just it,” Melissa said miserably. “It was important to me that he’d believe Matt was his son, without proof, that he’d believe I could never have betrayed him. But now I’ll never be sure. And lately Diego acts as if he doesn’t want me around. I even think I know why. He knows that Matt is his, and he hates me for letting him think I lost his child.”
Joyce blinked. “Come again?”
“That’s really a long story.” Melissa smiled and stared into her coffee. “I thought I was justified at the time not to tell
him or get in touch with him. The way he used to feel about me, I was sure he’d try to take Matt away.”
“Maybe he would have,” the other woman said gently. “You can’t blame yourself too much. You must have had good reasons.”
Melissa lifted tortured eyes. “Did I? Oh, there’s been fault on both sides, you know. But now that he knows Matt is his, he has to be thinking about all the time he’s missed with his son. He has to blame me for that, even though I had provocation. And now I’m afraid that he may be trying to win Matt away from me. He may take him away!”
“That is pure hysteria,” Joyce said firmly. “Get hold of yourself, girl! You can’t run away this time. You’ve got to stay and fight for your son. Come to think of it,” she added, “you might try fighting for your husband, as well. He married you. He had to care about you.”
Melissa grimaced as she fingered her cup. “Diego didn’t really want to marry me. We were found in a compromising situation, which he thought I planned, and he was forced to marry me. He and his family made me feel like a leper, and when I discovered that I was pregnant, I couldn’t bear the thought of bringing up my child in such an atmosphere of hatred. So I let him think I lost the baby and I ran away.”
“There’s no chance that he loves you?”
She smiled wistfully. “Diego was a mercenary for even longer than the rest of the group. He told me once that he didn’t believe in love, that it was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He wants me. But that’s all.”
Joyce studied her friend’s sad expression. “You and I are unlucky in love,” she said finally. “I work for a man who hates me and you live with a man who doesn’t love you.”
“You hate Apollo, too,” Melissa pointed out.
Joyce smiled, her eyes wistful. “Do I?”
“Oh.” Melissa put the cup down. “I see.”
“I give him the response he expects to keep him from seeing how I really feel. Look at me,” she moaned. “He’s a handsome, rich, successful man. Why would he want someone as plain and unattractive as I am? I wish I were as pretty as you are.”
“Me? Pretty?” Melissa was honestly astounded.
Joyce glowered at her. “Do you love Diego?”
It was a hard question to answer honestly, but in the end she had to. “I always have,” she confessed. “I suppose I always will.”
“Then why don’t you stop running away from him and start running toward him?” Joyce suggested. “Running hasn’t made you very happy, has it?”
“It’s made me pretty miserable. But how can I stay with a man who doesn’t want me?”
“You could make him want you.” She reached out and touched Melissa’s hand. “Is he worth fighting for?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Then do it. Stop letting the past create barriers.”
Melissa frowned slightly. “I don’t know very much about how to vamp a man.”
Joyce shrugged. “Neither do I. So what? We can learn together.”
This was sounding more delightful by the minute. Melissa was nervous, but she knew that Diego wanted her, and the knowledge gave her hope. “I suppose we could give it a try. If things don’t work out—”
“Trust me. They’ll work out.”
“Then if I have to do it, so do you.” Melissa pursed her lips. “Did you know that I was an assistant buyer for a clothing store? I have a passable eye for fashion, and I know what looks good on people. Suppose we go shopping together. I’ll show you what to buy to make you stand out.”
Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Why?”
“Because with very little work you could be a knockout. Think of it, Apollo on his knees at your desk, sighing with adoration,” she coaxed.
Joyce grimaced. “The only way he’d be on his knees at my desk would be if I kicked him in the stomach.”
“Pessimist! You’re the one giving the pep talk. Suppose we both listen to you and try to practice what you preach?”
The other woman sighed. “Well, what have we got to lose, after all?”
“Not much, from where I’m sitting. How about Saturday morning? You can take me to the right department stores, and I’ll make suggestions.”
“I do have a little in my savings account,” Joyce murmured. She smiled. “All right. We’ll do it.”
“Great!” Melissa started on her dessert. “Amazing how good this food tastes all of a sudden. I think I feel better already.”
“So do I. But if Apollo throws me out the window, you’re in a lot of trouble.”
“He won’t. Eat up.”
Melissa’s head was full of ideas. Joyce had inspired her. She hadn’t really tried to catch Diego’s eye since they’d been back together. Even in the old days she’d never quite lived up to her potential. She wasn’t any more experienced now, but she was well-traveled and she’d learned a lot from listening to other women talk and watching them in action as they attracted men. She was going to turn the tables on her reluctant husband and see if she couldn’t make him like captivity. Whether or not the attempt failed, she had to try. Joyce was right. Running away had only complicated things. This time, she had to stand and fight.
While she was out, she’d bought a memory card game for Matthew, and when Diego came home that night she was sprawled on the carpet with her son. She made a pretty picture in a clinging beige sleeveless blouse and tight jeans. Diego paused in the doorway, and when she saw him she rolled onto her side, striking a frankly seductive pose.
“Good evening, Señor Laremos,” she murmured. “Matthew has a new game.”
“I can remember where the apple is,” Matthew enthused, jumping up to hug his father and babble excitedly about the game and how he’d already beaten Mama once.
“He has a quick mind,” Diego remarked as he studied the large pile of matched cards on Matthew’s side of the playing area and the small one on Melissa’s.
“Very quick,” she agreed, laughing at Matthew’s smug little face. “And he’s modest, too.”
“I know everything,” Matthew said with innocent certainty. “Will you play with us, Papa?”
“After dinner, niño,” the tall man agreed. “I must change, and there is a phone call I have to make.”
“Okay!” Matthew went back to turning over cards.
“Only two,” Melissa cautioned. “It’s cheating if you keep peeking under all of them.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She took her turn, aware that Diego’s eyes were on the deep V of her blouse, under which she was wearing nothing at all.
She sat up again, glancing at him. “Is something wrong, señor?”
“Of course not. Excuse me.” He turned, frowning, and went off toward his bedroom. Melissa smiled secretively as she watched Matthew match two oranges.
Dinner was noisy because Mrs. Albright had taken Matthew down to the lobby to meet her daughter and grandson, who were just back from a Mexican trip, and the daughter had given Matt a small wooden toy, a ball on a string that had to be bounced into the cup it was attached to. Matt was overjoyed with both his new friend and his toy.
“Ah,” Diego smiled. “Yes, these are very common in my part of the world, and your mother’s,” he added with a smile at Melissa. “Are they not, querida? I can remember playing with one as a child myself.”
“Where we lived there were no toy stores,” she told Matthew. “We lived far back in the country, near a volcano, and there were ancient Mayan ruins all around.” She colored a little, remembering one particular ruin. She looked at Diego and found the same memory in his dark eyes as they searched hers.
“Sí,” he said gently. “The ruins were…potent.”
Her lips parted. “Five years,” she said, her eyes more eloquent than she knew. “And sometimes it seems like days.”
“Not for me,” he said abruptly, drawing his eyes back to his coffee cup. “It has not been easy, living through the black time that came afterward.”
Matthew was trying to play with his toy, but Melissa took it and p
ut it firmly beside his plate, indicating that he should eat his food first. He grimaced and picked up his fork.
“Did you never think of contacting me?” he asked unexpectedly, and his eyes narrowed. It disturbed him more and more, thinking about all he’d missed. Understanding the reason for Melissa’s actions didn’t make the lack of contact with his child any easier to bear. He’d missed so much of the boy’s life, all the things that most fathers experienced and cherished in memory. Matt’s first word, his first step, the early days when parents and children became bonded. He’d had none of that.
Melissa sighed sadly, remembering when Matthew had been born and how desperately she’d wanted Diego. But he hadn’t wanted her. He’d made it so plain after their marriage, and even after her fall down the steps he’d been unapproachable. “I thought about it once,” she said quietly, wondering if he was going to accuse her of denying him his rights. She wouldn’t have had a reply. “But you’d made it clear that I had no place in your life, Diego, that you only married me to spare your family more disgrace.”
He studied his cup. “You never considered that I might have had a change of heart, Melissa? That I might have regretted, bitterly, my treatment of you?”
“No,” she said honestly. Her pale eyes searched his dark ones. “I didn’t want to play on your guilt. It was better that I took care of myself.” She dropped her gaze to the table. “And Matt.”
“It must have been difficult when he was born,” he probed, trying to draw her out.
She smiled faintly, remembering. “Something went wrong,” she murmured. “They had to do a cesarean section.”
He caught his breath. “My God. And you had no one to turn to.”
She looked at Matthew warmly. “I managed very well. I had neighbors who were kind, and the company I worked for was very understanding. My boss made sure my insurance paid all my bills, and he even gave me an advance on my salary so that we had enough to eat.”
His fingers contracted around the cup almost hard enough to break it. It didn’t bear thinking about. Melissa must have been in severe pain, alone and with an infant to be responsible for. His eyes closed. It hurt him terribly to think that if he’d been kinder to her he could have shared that difficulty with her. He could have been there when she’d needed someone, been there to take care of her. His anguish at being denied all those years with Matt seemed a small thing by comparison.