A choice she was not willing to make.
‘I know you’re trying to help, but it’s not the same,’ she said flatly. ‘You and I are not the same.’
Her heart began to beat faster as she remembered how she had allowed herself to imagine being not just in Luis’s bed but in his life. Maybe if Luis had been a different man from a different background, and they had met under different circumstances, she might have let herself be swept away by his tenderness and support, given in to some kind of romantic fantasy.
But there was no point in reading anything into his gesture. Luis might be loyal and strong and handsome like a prince, but he was also wealthy like a prince too. Wealthy, privileged, and with all the expectations of his birth.
Her mouth tightened. Expectations that would never include her. This wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Not just because they came from opposite ends of the social spectrum, or even because she was illegitimate. It had to do with her, and what she knew deep down to be true and immutable about herself.
That beneath all her bravado she was a let-down.
‘I’m not going back to see my father. There’s no point. I’m done with that part of my life now. It’s time to move on and…’ She hesitated, but only for a moment. ‘And I’m not going back to the island with you either.’
It had been hard enough saying the words inside her head. Speaking them out loud made her stomach turn inside out with misery. But that was nothing to the pain she would feel if she went back with him and waited for him to end it—as he surely would.
Luis stared at her in shock, his hands tightening on hers involuntarily. She had stilled, her body tensing, and he could sense that already she was retreating—just as she had before.
The breath in his throat felt thick and cloying, and panic rose up inside him as he imagined the island without her—his life without her.
He’d seen the doubt and fear in her eyes when he’d asked her to trust him, and he knew that he needed to do something, say something to calm her, to stop her closing off and withdrawing from him. To make her trust him.
‘I know how much your father’s hurt you, Cristina. He’s hurt you and that’s why you don’t want to go and see him again. You don’t trust him not to hurt you more.’
He paused, the doubt and fear on her face staying his words for a moment, and then he breathed out slowly.
‘I know you don’t trust me either, and you think I’m going to hurt you too. But I could never hurt you, cariño.’ Heart thumping, he held her gaze. ‘I love you, Cristina.’
Her brows drew together and she looked up at him uncertainly.
It wasn’t that he was lying. She knew with absolute certainty that he believed what he was saying. Just as her father had believed it when he’d stood in front of a room full of witnesses and told her mother that he’d love and cherish her for ever.
But the problem was that she didn’t believe it.
Worse, she knew how it would play out, for she’d been in this exact place before, with previous boyfriends. Only she had never felt like this before, and that was what was scaring her the most.
She already cared far too much about Luis. Soon she’d panic like she always did, about losing her place in his affections and then it would just be a matter of time before he realised that she wasn’t worthy of his love, his time or his attention.
Better to get out now, with her dignity and her heart intact.
Gently, she slid her hands from beneath his. ‘One day you are going to find thewoman who will make you happy.’
There was a long, loaded silence. He stared at her, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, as though he hadn’t quite understood what she had said—as though she had spoken in a foreign language.
‘I have found her,’ he said finally.
She shook her head. ‘I like you, Luis, and I’m grateful—’
‘Grateful!’
The word sounded harsh as it echoed around the beautiful room.
‘Yes, for everything you’ve done, for your help and support. But that’s all I feel.’ She clenched her jaw, biting down on the lie. ‘We said we didn’t want anything serious. Don’t you remember?’
She watched his face shift and harden as anger replaced confusion.
‘Yes, I remember. But that was before all this.’
‘This doesn’t change anything.’ She spoke quickly, for with every passing second it was getting harder to believe that leaving Luis was the right thing to do. ‘I’m sorry if you thought it did, but it doesn’t. My life is a big enough mess right now—I don’t need or want any more complications.’
‘And that’s what I am, is it?’
His voice was steady, but the expression on his face made her want to curl up somewhere dark and private.
‘A complication?’
Luis stared at her in silence. His head was spinning; anger and misery were rippling through him in waves, tangling up with his breath so that his chest felt full of knots. He knew she was scared of being hurt, and that she found it hard to trust. So he’d offered himself and his feelings up like a sacrifice to prove that he could be trusted.
He’d thought it would be enough.
But he’d been wrong.
Trust wasn’t the issue. She just didn’t want him.
For her this had only ever been a fling. A short-term sexual liaison.
His anguish felt like a living thing.
Not just because he was losing her but because he saw now that he’d never really had her.
Something seemed to fall forward high up inside him.
He’d fallen in love and he’d wanted her to feel the same way—so much so that he’d trusted his emotions over the evidence, put feelings before facts. It was the emotional equivalent of a HALO jump without a parachute. The ultimate gamble.
And he’d lost.
He hadn’t heard her leave the room but she must have done, for suddenly she was standing there with her bag.
‘I’m going to stay in a hotel.’
‘There’s no need,’ he said flatly. ‘There’s no reason for me to stay now, so you might as well use the apartment.’
Cristina shook her head. Her body was so rigid with misery that it hurt to make that tiny sideways movement, but she didn’t care. In fact she was grateful, for it gave her something to concentrate on aside from the crack opening up inside her heart.
‘Thank you, but no. I’d rather stay at a hotel.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ll write to your parents.’
He nodded. ‘What about your things? On the island?’
She shrugged. ‘Throw them away. I have everything I want.’
It was a lie. The thought of walking away, of leaving Luis behind for ever, was like staring into a star as it exploded. She knew that afterwards she would be left blind and broken, but there was no alternative—or none that she could imagine. It was like trying to picture what lay beyond the horizon.
To stay would only prolong the agony.
There was nothing left to say.
As she lifted her bag and walked towards the door Luis watched, his body frozen, his brain silently pleading with her to stop and turn around. His heart aching for her to change her mind.
But she didn’t so much as hesitate, and he was still standing there when he heard the door close behind her and felt the silence of the empty apartment rise up around him.
CHAPTER TEN
SCOOPING HER HAIR up into a ponytail-cum-bun, Cristina sat down on the bed in her Madrid hotel room and breathed out slowly, trying to control the irregular beat of her heart as she looked down at her phone.
She scrolled slowly through the messages and missed calls. She’d already checked twice that morning, and she knew—knew—that there was no point, but she couldn’t stop herself from doing it.
Just in case by some miracle Luis had texted or called her.
Don’t cry, she told herself. You promised that today you wouldn’t cry.
She blinked furiously.
Switc
hing off her phone, she swallowed past the lump of misery wedged in her throat. It had been the same every day since she’d walked out of the Osorios’ apartment. No text, no message. Nothing.
That had been a month ago.
A month spent trying not to think about Luis.
Trying and failing not to think about Luis.
Her chest felt heavy and tight. Even now she could remember that look on his face as she’d left, his hurt and confusion as he’d tried to hold himself together.
Suddenly she was fighting to catch her breath, fighting not to give in to the tears that had fallen ceaselessly since that last day with him. She’d even woken at night and found her face wet and her pillow damp.
She had never felt more miserable and desperate, and the fact that her misery was self-imposed was no consolation at all. Life—hers and other people’s—had just stopped mattering, and she wanted to do nothing but lie in bed in her pyjamas with the curtains drawn.
It was Laura who had helped her. Her half-sister and now her friend. It had been Laura who had booked her into the same hotel as her. Laura who had fed her and forced her to get dressed, listened to her talk and cry—sometimes both at the same time.
She breathed in shakily. At least she had been able to support her half-sister when their father had died quietly in his sleep ten days ago. It was the main reason she had chosen to stay in Spain. And even though she hadn’t gone back to see Enrique again Laura had understood. Just as she had understood Laura’s need to be by his bedside.
Since his death Laura had been tied up with arrangements for the funeral, but they met for breakfast or lunch most days, and supper every evening, and Laura had already begged Cristina to come and stay with her in America.
America.
She stared lethargically across the room. Six weeks ago she would have killed to do something as glamorous and exciting as go to New York. And she was excited about going, but also a little nervous too—for Laura wanted to introduce her to her mother, Nina, the woman who had been her father’s wife and then ex-wife.
Cristina had been shocked to learn that Nina and Enrique had been divorced for seven years. Shocked too by how that made her feel. Given everything that had happened with her father, it would have been logical and completely understandable for her to feel that he’d got his comeuppance. Instead, though, she simply felt sad.
But it was a sadness that she could contain, for Enrique had been absent from her for so long that it felt as though she’d already spent almost half her life grieving for him.
In contrast, Luis’s absence felt like a raw wound, an ache that would never heal. How could it? He had been a part of her, and without him she would never feel whole again.
She felt the sting of tears and, brushing at her eyes, stood up quickly and looked round for her handbag. As she did so she caught sight of her reflection in one of the gilt-framed mirrors on the wall and, pausing, reached up and touched her hair.
It had been auburn for so many years but now it was what her mother called ‘mouse’.
She looked familiar, yet different. It was like meeting someone from the past, and in a way she was. ‘Mouse’ had been her father’s nickname for her, and that had been one of the reasons she had decided to dye her hair in the first place. It had been a teenager’s angry response to being forgotten—a way of standing out and mattering.
It had taken a long time, but it had worked.
Grace had been delighted with her photos of Agusto and Sofia. So delighted that she had instantly commissioned Cristina to do an interview with an award-winning madrileño actor, and to shoot the French-born striker who had just won his third Golden Boot trophy for a cover.
But despite earning herself a permanent position at the magazine, and loving spending time with Laura, she still felt listless—numb, almost.
And lonely.
Her throat tightened. All her life she had been chasing a dream. A dream of being accepted. Of belonging. But now that her dream was a reality she realised that it wasn’t enough. That there was only one person whose acceptance she craved. Only one person to whom she truly wanted to belong.
Only he wasn’t here. She had pushed him away and then walked away from him. And now she would never see Luis again.
She breathed in, consciously refusing to let her thoughts spiral down again. It was done, and she’d had no choice. Letting Luis get close to her was too big a risk to take.
All she could do now was focus on the positive—her job and her sister.
Her sister! Glancing at her phone, she swore softly.
The sister she was supposed to be meeting for lunch in fifteen minutes.
If she left now, she thought, she might just get there on time. And, snatching up her bag and room key, she ran towards the door.
*
She was hot and sticky by the time she arrived at the café.
‘Sorry,’ she said, throwing her bag down onto the spare chair and then kissing Laura on both cheeks. ‘I completely forgot the time.’
Her sister rolled her eyes. ‘It’s fine. I only just got here myself.’ Leaning back, she squinted up at the sun. ‘I thought we had long meetings at the museum, but I honestly thought the one I had this morning would never end.’
Cristina felt a pang of guilt. Following Enrique’s death, Laura had been saddled with meeting the various lawyers and bankers that her father had employed to manage his business affairs.
She frowned. ‘Can I do anything? Oh, thank you.’ She glanced up as the waiter put two bottles of water, some bread and olives on the table. ‘I know I’ve been pretty useless lately, but I want to help.’
Tearing at a piece of bread, Laura shook her head. ‘I know you do. But I’m just whining, really.’ She glanced at the menu. ‘Is there anything you particularly want? Or shall I just order for us both?’
Cristina glanced inside the café to the counter, where dark grey slates were piled up high with grilled chorizo and white asparagus wrapped in Riojan cheese.
‘No, you choose. But be quick.’ She grinned at her sister. ‘I’m starving.’
The tapas arrived before they’d finished the bread. They were hot and moreish and full of smoky flavour.
As the waiter arranged the small terracotta dishes efficiently over every available space on the small table she felt her mouth start to tingle. Despite the family atmosphere of the café, some of the tapas were so beautiful they looked like canapés at some upmarket party, or starters from a Michelin-starred restaurant.
Her fingers tightened around her fork.
Damn. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t think about Luis over lunch, but her brain had made the leap from Michelin-starred restaurant to that meal with his parents with astonishing speed.
‘Are you okay?’ Laura was looking at her anxiously. ‘Did you burn yourself?’
Cristina shook her head. ‘No, I was just thinking—’
‘About Luis.’ Her half-sister finished the sentence for her.
‘Not really—’ Catching sight of Laura’s expression of disbelief, she sighed. ‘Well, okay—yes, I was. But it has been at least three minutes,’ she joked weakly. ‘And, on the plus side, I haven’t cried at all today.’
Reaching across the table, Laura squeezed her sister’s arm reassuringly.
‘I’m fine—honestly. And if eat everything on this table I’ll be in so much pain I won’t be able move, let alone cry. So pass me the alcachofas…and I’ll have some of that mojama too.’
Looking over at Laura, she felt her smile fade from her face. She had expected to see her sister smiling back at her, but instead Laura was gripping the edge of the table, and her light brown eyes were watching Cristina with a mixture of uncertainty and fear.
‘What is it? Has something happened?’ She felt a rush of panic and remorse. Laura was always so calm, so steady. ‘Did something happen at your meeting?’
Her sister shook her head. ‘It’s nothing to do with the meeting or with me.’ She hesita
ted. ‘It’s about you. Only—’
‘Only what?’ Cristina breathed in sharply, trying to shift the knot of fear lodged in her chest as her sister’s fingers clenched and unclenched against the table.
‘I want to tell you, only I’m worried it’s going to upset you—’
‘What are you talking about?’ she said hoarsely.
There was a short, tense silence, and then Laura reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. Cristina felt her mouth turn dry as she spotted the familiar crest above Laura’s name and the address of their hotel.
She stared at it numbly as Laura cleared her throat.
‘It’s from Luis. It came a couple of days ago.’ She bit her lip. ‘I know I should have given it to you right away, Chrissie, but you’ve been so upset. And then, when you started to seem a bit happier, I didn’t want to make it worse again.’
Looking up into her sister’s anguished face, Cristina drew in another breath, still trying to stay calm.
‘Why did he write to you?’
Laura held her gaze steadily, but when she spoke there was a quiver to her voice.
‘He came to the hospital the day after…you know…’ A flush of colour spread over her cheeks. ‘After you left him. He asked to see Papá alone.’
‘Why? What for?’ Now it was Cristina’s cheeks that were burning.
‘Just read the letter, Chrissie. Then you’ll know why.’
Laura held out the envelope, and after a moment or two Cristina took it.
She stared at the cursive handwriting on the front, watching the letters slip in and out of focus, and then with hands that were surprisingly steady she pulled out the letter and read it.
Dear Laura,
I was so saddened to hear about the death of your father. Please accept my condolences. I know from the short time of seeing the two of you together that you were close, and that he loved you very much. But you don’t need me to tell you that. You were at the heart of your father’s life.
Sadly, however, the same was not true for Cristina.
She believes that she meant nothing to her father, and that she had nothing in common with Enrique.
But she is wrong on both counts.
Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire Page 16