When I spoke to him at the hospital I discovered that he was just as proud and stubborn as she is.
He told me that he regretted not speaking to Cristina when she visited him. That he had always loved her and wanted to reach out to her but was too scared of being judged for the actions he had always regretted but never had the courage to face.
He also told me how very proud he was of Cristina—not just her career but her courage—and that had he been brave enough to do so he would have been proud to call her his daughter.
Unfortunately, as we both know, Cristina did not get a chance to learn of Enrique’s true feelings for her. Nor would she believe me if I told her. I feel, though, that she would believe you. I therefore ask if you would share this letter with her so that maybe, finally, she can believe in herself.
Please take care of her for me.
Yours sincerely,
Luis
The words were swirling in front of her eyes. She knew that Luis loved her. He had told her so. But what she hadn’t realised until now was that she loved him too. Loved him so much that her heart felt as though it would burst.
‘Oh, Laura.’ She looked up, tears spilling over her cheeks. ‘What have I done? What have I done?’
*
Stopping at the edge of the cliff, Luis gazed out towards the horizon. The sun had already burned away the early-morning haze of cloud and was now shimmering like a huge golden orb in the sky. Past the dark grey rocks, white-topped waves were slicing through the smooth blue surface of the water. It was going to be a glorious day.
He glanced at the sea longingly. Maybe next time he would take the boat out—right now, though, he wanted to go swimming.
Stepping back, he made his way down the cliff path towards the tidal pool. The beach was his usual destination for an early-morning swim, but he was feeling lazy today. Today he simply wanted to enjoy the delicious and still novel feeling of playing truant in the sunshine. And what better way to do that than by lying on his back and gazing up at this cloudless sky, buoyed up by the warm Mediterranean water?
The last four weeks had been some of the busiest and most chaotic in his life. Having decided to move back to Spain permanently, he had finally sat down with his father and the lawyers yesterday and formally taken over as chairman of Banco Osorio. And last week he’d flown back to California to sort out his business affairs and arrange the sale of his properties.
Returning to Segovia, he’d known immediately that he’d made the right decision. Even without his parents’ joy it had felt as if he was coming home.
But, although he was happy to be back, he felt Cristina’s absence every minute of every hour. At times he thought he was losing his mind with the misery of losing her. Just like with Bas, he felt as if a part of him was missing—almost as though when she’d walked away she’d taken something with her.
His legs slowed to a halt and, closing his eyes, he let the pain wash over him.
That was why he’d returned to the island alone. To face the pain head-on in the place where he and Cristina had become lovers.
He might have met her in that club in Segovia, but that night had been about sex and oblivion.
This was where the miracle had happened—where the barriers he’d built between himself and the world had started to crumble. And this was where he needed to be to start the long process of rebuilding his life.
Without her.
Opening his eyes, he breathed out slowly. Cristina was gone from his life, and only by exorcising the memory of her and his hopes for what might have been could he hope to move on.
The ache inside his chest was suddenly so big that he thought it might break through his skin. He didn’t want to move on. He wanted to go back in time—go back to the moment when she’d needed him.
Except that wouldn’t work, for even if he could stop time it wouldn’t change the eventual outcome. Cristina didn’t love him, and however painful it was to accept that fact he needed to do it.
Bas’s death had taught him that.
Life was for living, not for grieving.
But he did just want one last moment before he reset the clock for ever…
From somewhere nearby he heard a splash, and the sound pulled him back to the present. Theoretically he could stay here for as long as he wanted, but he’d made a deal with himself. One last swim and then he would go home.
Turning towards the oval of clear blue water set into the rocks, he made his way across the warm limestone slabs—and abruptly stopped.
A woman was swimming smoothly beneath the water.
He couldn’t see her face, but then he didn’t need to. Even with the sun glaring off the water, dazzling his eyes, the curve of her back was unmistakable. Unforgettable.
Staring down at her, he felt his stomach seem to go into free fall, just as though he’d dived off the rock to join her. He watched, dry-mouthed, as she slow-crawled to the side and pulled herself up onto one of the flat plateaux that edged the pool, blinking water out of her eyes, leaving her hair—her brown hair—clinging to the contours of her skull.
Cristina.
He forced himself to say her name inside his head, and just as though she’d heard him she turned and their eyes met.
For the longest moment neither of them moved. They just gazed at one another. And then suddenly she was walking towards him.
His skin was prickling with shock.
It must be a dream. Or some kind of optical illusion. Maybe he was hallucinating…
He stared at her in silence as she picked her way across the rocks, his breath catching fire in his throat as she stopped in front him.
Since she’d walked out of his life he’d thought about her endlessly, replayed every glance, every word they’d shared, imagined whole conversations inside his head, and he knew that he should say something—that he needed to say something. Yet now she was here both his mouth and his brain seemed to have stopped working.
But as he looked down into her face it suddenly didn’t matter what he said, for he could see her tears mingling with the drops of seawater and he knew that no words were needed.
Her heart belonged to him just as his heart belonged to her.
And, reaching out, he tugged her to him, an ache of love and longing swelling inside his chest.
‘You came back,’ he said softly, fighting back his own tears. He felt her nod against him. ‘But how did you know I was here?’
Cristina swallowed. ‘I spoke to your father.’
‘My father?’
She almost laughed at the shock in his voice.
‘He was so sweet. And kind.’
‘He likes you.’
She felt Luis’s lips brush against her hair.
‘And I like him. But I like you more—so very much more.’
His heart gave a thump as she tilted her head back and he saw that fresh tears were sliding over her cheeks.
‘I love you, Luis. I have done for ages, only I was too scared to let myself feel it. And then, when you told me that you loved me, I was too scared to trust you. I just couldn’t believe I could have a place in your life.
‘So what changed?’ he asked shakily.
She smiled weakly. ‘I realised that you are my life.’
Her eyes were soft and unwavering.
‘I’ve missed you so much. Every day I woke up thinking of something to tell you, and you weren’t there. Every street I walked down I’d reach out for your hand, and you weren’t there. And every night when I fell asleep I wanted to feel you next to me, but you weren’t there.’
Luis could hardly breathe. She was baring her soul to him, proving not only that she loved him but that she trusted him too.
His arms tightened around her. ‘I felt the same way. Nothing matters without you, Cristina. You’re my life. My world. Mi corazón.’
And, taking her face between his hands, he kissed her fiercely.
Finally he raised his head, fixed his grey eyes on hers. ‘I love you.’
; Cristina felt her heart contract. He sounded so serious. So full of certainty…
She glanced up him, her lips trembling—and not only from the force of his kiss.
‘Enough to marry me?’ The words scrambled from her mouth before she could stop them.
He drew back, his eyes widening with shock and surprise, those beautiful grey eyes that she had missed so much searching her face.
‘Are you asking me to marry you?’
Cristina held his gaze. The certainty she had craved for her entire life rose up inside her and she nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
She held her breath, her pulse jumping with hope and love, and then with joy as relief and happiness spread across his face and he kissed her again.
‘Is that a yes?’ she croaked, when finally he lifted his mouth.
He pulled her closer, steadying her body against his, his eyes as dark and damp as the surf-splashed rocks beneath their feet.
‘No. But this is.’
And, lowering his mouth, he kissed her again, pressing her so close that nothing could come between them.
*
Coming next month
KIDNAPPED FOR HIS ROYAL DUTY
Jane Porter
Before they came to Jolie, Dal would have described Poppy as pretty, in a fresh, wholesome, no-nonsense sort of way with her thick, shoulder-length brown hair and large, brown eyes and a serious little chin.
But as Poppy entered the dining room with its glossy white ceiling and dark purple walls, she looked anything but wholesome and no-nonsense.
She was wearing a silk gown the color of cherries, delicately embroidered with silver threads, and instead of her usual ponytail or chignon, her dark hair was down, and long, elegant chandelier earrings dangled from her ears. As she walked, the semi-sheer kaftan molded to her curves.
“It seems I’ve been keeping you waiting,” she said, her voice pitched lower than usual and slightly breathless. “Izba insisted on all this,” she added, gesturing up toward her face.
At first Dal thought she was referring to the ornate silver earrings that were catching and reflecting the light, but once she was seated across from him he realized her eyes had been rimmed with kohl and her lips had been outlined and filled in with a soft plum-pink gloss. “You’re wearing makeup.”
“Quite a lot of it, too.” She grimaced. “I tried to explain to Izba that this wasn’t me, but she’s very determined once she makes her mind up about something and apparently, dinner with you requires me to look like a tart.”
Dal checked his smile. “You don’t look like a tart. Unless it’s the kind of tart one wants to eat.”
Color flooded Poppy’s cheeks and she glanced away, suddenly shy, and he didn’t know if it was her shyness or the shimmering dress that clung to her, but he didn’t think any woman could be more beautiful, or desirable than Poppy right now. “You look lovely,” he said quietly. “But I don’t want you uncomfortable all through dinner. If you’d rather go remove the makeup I’m happy to wait.”
She looked at him closely as if doubting his sincerity. “It’s fun to dress up, but I’m worried Izba has the wrong idea about me.”
“And what is that?” dpg!
“She seems to think you’re going to…marry…me.”
Copyright ©2018 by Jane Porter
Continue reading
KIDNAPPED FOR HIS ROYAL DUTY
Jane Porter
Available next month
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Surrender to the Ruthless Billionaire Page 17