Why, then, did she feel so hollowed out? So empty. So alone.
The heat of the flagstones was burning through the thin soles of her sandals and, ducking into the marble folly at the end of the path, she breathed out with relief. It was cool and still inside, but while she might have escaped the sun there was no escape from the turmoil of her thoughts.
Gazing out across the smooth blue Mediterranean, she felt her throat tighten.
Other men had wanted her. But just for a moment Luis had needed her. She had been in his life for more than just sex.
Only now that moment had passed and she would go back to being an outsider.
Remembering the day when she’d finally realised that that was what she was, and would always be to her father, she shivered. His rejection had been total. Worse, it had been public too.
But so what if it had? Her mother loved her and that should be enough.
Except that it wasn’t.
And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.
The blood was singing in her ears.
Or was there?
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone and scrolled down the list of calls on the screen. It was the same number. Laura’s number.
A girl—a woman now—whose voice had upended her life.
Her half-sister.
They had never met—you couldn’t call screaming abuse in front of someone a meeting. But Cristina knew who Laura was.
She’d stalked her on social media—knew that they were the same age and that Laura’s birthday was exactly three months after hers, that they looked alike. Or they would if Laura dyed her hair red and swapped her preppy chinos and loafers for frayed denim and sky-high stilettos.
But that didn’t seem very likely. Unlike her, Laura had been a high achiever at school, studied History of Art at Bryn Mawr College and now had a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Cristina’s hands were trembling.
Laura was everything she’d wanted to be and everything her father had wanted from a daughter. There was nothing to be gained from talking to her.
Maybe. But there was infinitely more to be lost by burying her head in the sand. For hadn’t she encouraged Luis to face his worst fears? If she was too scared to speak to her super-successful and cool half-sister then she was not only a coward, but a hypocrite.
She lifted her chin and pressed Laura’s number.
It rang twice, then—‘Hello? Cristina?’
Her pulse soared. For a moment she almost hung up, and then, biting back the panic filling her mouth, she said, ‘You wanted to talk to me.’
‘Yes.’
There was a short, stunned silence, and she could almost picture the expression of shock and disbelief on Laura’s face.
‘Yes, I do. I just can’t believe you called me back.’
There was a noticeable shake in her voice, and it occurred to Cristina that Laura sounded more nervous than she did. Even though that made her feel marginally better, it still took courage for her to ask the question that had been bothering her ever since her half-sister had started calling her.
‘How did you get my number?’
She heard Laura clear her throat.
‘It wasn’t that hard. I found you on social media, and you were tagged in a photo with some other paparazzi. So I rang round all the agencies and someone told me you were working for Grace.’
Cristina flinched inwardly. She felt suddenly horribly exposed—almost as though she’d been caught on camera herself. ‘You know Grace?’
‘No, but obviously I’ve heard of her, so I rang the magazine.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t say anything about us, I just said that I wanted to talk to you about that photo you took of Bornstein. We’re doing an exhibition of his sculptures next year…’ Her voice trailed off.
Feeling calmer, Cristina said slowly, ‘So why do you want to talk to me?’
‘I’m sorry… I don’t know really know how to tell you this so I’m just going to say it. Papá is in hospital.’
Christina said nothing. Still clutching her phone, she stared blankly at the sea, a choked feeling in her throat. Having more or less stopped talking about her father, it was a shock to hear Laura referring to him so naturally. But more shocking still was the news that he was ill.
Only really why should she care? When had Enrique Lastra last cared about her—if ever? She’d had her appendix out when she was nineteen, where had he been then?
‘Well, thank you for telling me,’ she said woodenly. ‘But I don’t really see what that’s got to do with me.’
There was a silence, then Laura said quietly, ‘I thought you’d want to know. He’s your father too, Cristina.’
‘Not for a long time he hasn’t been. Actually, make that never.’ She hated hearing the bitterness in her voice but it was impossible to stop it.
‘I know how you must feel—’
‘I doubt that. In fact I’m pretty damn sure you don’t.’
She knew she was being unfair. Laura was not responsible for their father’s actions any more than she was, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘You’re right. I don’t, and it was a stupid thing to say. But I really think you should see him.’
‘I’m not going to fly to America to see a man who’s barely—’
‘He’s not in America, Cristina. He’s in Spain. Just like you. In Madrid. And he’s dying.’
Dying!
Her heart felt like a lump of ice. The breath in her throat had turned to lead.
‘He can’t be…’ she whispered.
‘I’m sorry. But he is.’
Cristina could hear the ache in Laura’s voice.
‘That isn’t why I’ve been ringing you, though.’ She hesitated. ‘He wants to see you.’
Cristina covered her mouth with her hand. She had waited so long to hear those words. Played out so many scenarios inside her head. But now that it had happened she didn’t know what to say.
‘I don’t know,’ she said finally. ‘I need to think about it.’
‘But there’s not much time—’
She cut through Laura’s pleading words. ‘I can’t talk about this now. I’m working and—’
‘Surely they’d understand?’
From somewhere outside she could hear the sound of footsteps and she stood up hurriedly.
‘Look, Laura, I’m not like you. I need this job.’ She thought of her mother, and the fold-out bed she used every time she visited her. ‘I need the money. So please don’t call me again. I’ll ring you when I can.’
She hung up, and turned just as Luis stepped into the folly.
For a moment he just stared at her, his eyes dark and intent, his shoulders blocking the entrance. ‘So,’ he remarked in a voice that made a chill slip over her skin, ‘who was that on the phone?’
*
He’d been looking for her for at least half an hour.
It had been a gruelling but ultimately rewarding morning. Telling his parents had been easier and less painful than he’d imagined it would be.
Easier because he’d already confided in Cristina, and less painful because both Agusto and Sofia were so distressed by the fact that he had not only felt responsible for Bas’s death but coped with his guilt alone.
‘Of course it wasn’t your fault, Luis.’ Agusto had shaken his head. ‘Whatever you told that reporter, Baltasar was a grown man. He could have simply stopped the car. Or let the paparazzi follow him. Your brother’s death was a terrible accident, and your mother and I agreed on that a long time ago.’
He’d felt calmer then, and lighter, as though something had been eased from his shoulders. And it was all thanks to Cristina. If she hadn’t been there—
His heart had contracted and he had known he needed to find her and thank her.
Only she hadn’t been in the house, and Pilar hadn’t seen her either. He’d tried calling her, but her phone had been engaged. It was only by chance that he’d caught
sight of her as he was striding past the folly.
But as she’d turned to face him his anticipation of talking to her had given way to a mix of doubt and disquiet, for even if he hadn’t heard the urgency and panic in her voice, her cheeks were flushed with guilt.
‘Who were you talking to?’ He spoke calmly, but watching her trying to compose that beautiful face—that beautiful, disingenuous face—into a mask of innocence, he felt as though a hurricane was raging through his body. He remembered all the times her phone had rung and she’d ignored it.
She gave him an awkward shrug. ‘Oh, it was just Grace. I sent over some of the shots.’
‘What did she think?’
It was difficult to say what was more impressive, he thought savagely. Her ability to lie so efficaciously or the detachment in his own voice.
The flags of colour on her cheekbones grew darker as she smiled. ‘She hasn’t looked at them yet.’
Cristina thought her lips might crack with the effort of smiling. It felt wrong, lying to Luis, but what was she supposed to tell him? The truth?
Her stomach lurched. No, anything was better than that. Particularly as his mood seemed to have shifted.
Glancing at his face, she let her brain loop back to earlier that morning, and her heart thumped as she realised why he was acting so oddly.
‘So how did it go with your parents? Was it okay?’
He held her gaze. ‘Is that what this is about? My family secrets? If so, I hope they’re paying you well, because by the time you step off this island I’ll have made certain you never work again.’
The stone floor seemed to ripple beneath her feet and she took a step backwards. ‘What are you talking about? I don’t understand—’
‘Then let me enlighten you.’
He stepped forward and, taking the phone from her hand, swiped the screen. Then, eyes narrowing, he thrust it in front of her face.
‘According to your contacts list you were talking to Laura, not Grace, and that makes you a liar.’
Watching the shock and then resignation on her face, Luis thought he might throw up. He had believed her. Not just believed her but confided in her.
‘It—It’s not what you think,’ she stammered.
‘No,’ he said coldly. ‘It probably never is with you, Cristina.’ His mouth curled with contempt. ‘Now, I could make some accusations and you could deny them—but, frankly, I don’t want to waste that much time on you. So I think I’ll just call this Laura and find out which grubby little rag she’s working for—’
‘No. You can’t call her!’ Cristina lunged for the phone but he held it out of her reach.
‘But I can.’
His eyes were blazing with anger, and to her horror she realised that he was serious.
‘Please—she’s not a reporter. She works at a museum.’
He glanced over at her but didn’t lower his arm. ‘And she’s ringing you because…?’
She stared at him dumbly, pain swelling in her chest. ‘She’s my half-sister.’
Luis stared at her. No one except maybe a professional actress could fake the shock and pain in her eyes. She was telling the truth, but…
‘But why didn’t you answer her calls?’ He glanced down at the screen. ‘She must have rung you a hundred times.’
She was looking at him, but he could tell that she wasn’t really seeing him, maybe not even hearing him. Incredibly her shock and distress outweighed his own.
He lowered his arm. ‘I didn’t know you had a sister—half-sister, I mean. You haven’t mentioned her. Are you not close?’
Cristina shook her head. ‘Actually, I’ve never met her.’
Looking up at him, she saw the confusion in his eyes and quickly looked away. What had possessed her to tell him the truth? It had been stupid—but she wasn’t thinking straight.
‘So why does she keep ringing you?’
Her heart began to thump, but there was nothing left now but the truth.
‘She’s been trying to get in touch with me because…well, because my father’s in hospital. In Madrid.’ She took a breath. ‘He’s dying.’
‘Dying—?’
He sounded not just confused now, but stunned.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ His eyes were wide with shock and remorse. ‘Look, take the helicopter—please. Tomas will fly you wherever you need to go—’
‘No, thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Cristina, your father’s dying.’ He moved towards her. ‘Right now nothing matters more than you seeing him.’
‘I’m not going to see him.’
She couldn’t look at him any more.
‘Cristina.’
His voice was so gentle. Too gentle. It was making the ice in her heart melt.
‘It’s okay, cariño, I understand. You’re in shock…you’re not thinking.’
He reached out to her but she batted his hand away.
‘No, you don’t understand.’
She was almost shouting, and her body was shaking not with anger but despair—for his good opinion mattered to her, and whatever she said or did now he was going to end up thinking badly of her.
‘How could you? Your parents adore you. They are so happy just to be with you. I’m nothing to my father.’
Luis flinched inwardly. He couldn’t understand how this beautiful, vibrant woman should think something like that, and yet he could hear the lost note in her voice, could feel it piercing his heart.
‘You’re his daughter.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m his dirty little secret.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Laura’s his real daughter. Her mother is his wife, and she always has been his wife—even when he decided to marry my mum.’ Her hand balled against her chest. ‘That makes him a bigamist and me illegitimate.’
Illegitimate and therefore grotesque to a man like Luis Osorio. A man whose ties to his family were sacrosanct. A man who could trace his family back hundreds of years. He even had a castle—and a crest.
Luis took a deep breath. The pain in her eyes was like a band around his chest, and automatically he reached for her. She tried to back away but he gripped her shoulders and held her still.
‘So what? I don’t care.’
Her eyes widened with shock but, ignoring the expression of blatant disbelief on her face, he pulled her closer.
‘Half the thrones of Europe have been filled by illegitimate children. My family’s just the same.’
Thinking back to her childhood, she bit her lip. ‘Your family is not the same as mine, Luis. My father led a double life for fifteen years. He lied to my mum, and to me, and when we found out, he just left us. He just disappeared. It was like he’d never existed. But then I suppose he hadn’t really.’
Looking up, her mouth twisted.
‘I know what you’re thinking. You think there must have been some signs. But there weren’t. We were just really naive, and he was a very convincing liar.’
He held her gaze. What he’d actually been thinking was that now he understood why Cristina had reacted so strongly to finding out he was heir to the Osorio fortune. Given her father’s deceit, it was hardly surprising that she had been so suspicious and distrustful of him—a man who appeared to live two very different lives.
‘How did you find out?’ he asked gently.
He felt her shoulders stiffen. ‘He went to the airport and left his suitcase in a taxi. The driver dropped it back at our house, and when my mum unpacked it she found a letter to his accountant about a trust fund for his wife and daughter.’
Her face was rigid.
‘Only it wasn’t me and my mum. It was Laura and her mother. There was a photo of them too. When he rang, my mum tried to talk to him but he just hung up.’
‘Did he never try to contact you?’
She shook her head. ‘I found out later that he’d moved to New York. I did see him once, though.’ She hesitated. ‘About a year after he left. He came to London with his
family. His real family, I mean. I’d been stalking Laura on the internet and she was all excited about the trip. I spoke to his secretary. Pretended I was Laura. She gave me the address of the hotel where he was staying and I went there.’
Her mouth dipped at the corners.
‘He didn’t even want to acknowledge me at first. And then, when I wouldn’t leave, he pulled out his wallet and gave me a bunch of money. I threw it in his face.’
Luis squeezed her shoulders. Her voice was so steady, so matter-of-fact, but somehow that made everything worse. ‘He got off easy.’ It was a poor joke, but he had to say something to ease the pain in her eyes.
Cristina looked up at him, and tried, and failed to smile. ‘He’s my dad.’
He pulled her into his arms and suddenly it felt like the easiest, most natural thing in the world to bury her face against his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘For lying to you about the phone calls. Especially after what you told me about that reporter.’
He closed his eyes ‘I’m sorry too—for accusing you of all those terrible things.’
She felt his arms tighten around her.
‘So what happens next? Are you just going to ignore what Laura told you?’
Lifting her face, she looked up at him, confused. ‘I don’t know—’ she began.
But he just carried on talking as though she hadn’t spoken. ‘I suppose the easiest solution is just to pretend it never happened but…’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Nice try! But I’m not going to see him. I don’t want to.’
‘And I understand that. But I think you should go—no, hear me out,’ he said as she started to shake her head. ‘You told me that nothing can change the past, and you were right. But you also told me that letting the past ruin your future is wrong. So go and see him and free yourself. Otherwise you’ll put your life on hold forever just like I did.’
Her hands squeezed the fabric of his shirt. ‘I don’t think I can face him. Not on my own.’
‘You won’t be on your own.’
‘But I can’t ask my mother—’
Tipping her head back, he kissed her forehead gently. ‘You won’t have to. I’ll be there.’
She stiffened. ‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
He smiled. ‘You’re not asking me. I’m telling you that’s what’s happening.’
Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire Page 14