“Please understand, Alejandro, I couldn't stay with your father. If I'd known he was married, I never would've been with him in the first place.”
Alex held up his hand. "I don't want to hear any more. I can't believe this. You lied all this time, and he deserted me. You say he even knows where we lived and used to send us money. But he never came to see me. What kind of man is he? I don't understand this. You mean we don't have to be living here in this dump, but we do because you are too proud to live an ugly life, as you say — taking money from a guilty man who took you into his bed and left you to this horrible life where you work like a slave?"
The words sliced through Marta's heart like a jagged dagger. She bowed her head, choking back her tears. She reached over to hug Alex. "It wasn't like that at all. Your father and I loved each other very much. It's that sometimes people can't get past their differences.”
"He certainly didn't love you enough, and I can see he didn't care about me."
"Please, don't say that. Please."
"I don't want to know anymore. I'm going out for awhile." He stormed out of the door without looking back.
Marta ran to the door, crying in desperation, "I'm sorry, Alex. Come back. Don't go, please don't go." It was too late. She collapsed in the old rocking chair next to the fireplace, the same one she'd used to rock Alex to sleep in for many years. Her heart ached as she longed for those days once again.
She'd never felt so alone before, not even when she'd left Mexico for the first time. She knew she'd made a mistake telling Alex the truth. But the biggest mistake, she now realized, had been keeping the truth from him all along. Her lies were as bad as Antonio's.
She longed to hold Alex and comfort the hurt she knew he was feeling, but she had no idea where he'd gone so she rocked herself rhythmically in the old rocking chair, until she finally drifted into a restless sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
JAVIER THOUGHT OVER EMILIO'S PROPOSITION. HE HAD MADE some good points. Maybe it was about time the business did expand. How could Antonio refute the case for making so much more money? After all, Antonio had always been greedy, but when Marta left him that second time, making it very clear that she and her son wanted nothing to do with him, Antonio had become hungrier for the almighty dollar. It was as if, in his mind, only buying all the goods in the world could make him happy.
Javier shook his head as he sat behind his desk going over his financial statements. It seemed that his second wife shared Antonio's philosophy, forever buying something, decorating this or that. She claimed to be bored at all times, and her complaining was beginning to drive him crazy. Her looks, once akin to Sophia Loren, had changed drastically, as she'd never lost thirty of the fifty pounds she'd gained during her pregnancy with their son, Stefan, who sadly enough had not brought their family together as she'd insisted he would. Instead his birth had driven quite a wedge between the two of them, which had begun the day she'd won the argument to send Bella and Miguel away, and now she constantly nagged him to have another child.
“That is really what we need, Carlotta. The children we already have, you send away to expensive schools. And you say you want another one?”
“I know why you won't have any more children,” she remarked as she paced back and forth, her hands on her richly clad hips. “It's because of Stefan. You're afraid I'll have another retard.”
“You selfish woman,” he yelled. “How can you speak of our son that way? He is not retarded. He's deaf. You certainly ought to know the difference, because there is a huge one. He is anything but stupid. He's extremely intelligent. I've spoken to his instructors at your expensive school for the deaf. They say that he is bright, and very popular with all the children and teachers.”
“What is your complaint then?”
“My complaint is that you, Carlotta, are an uncaring mother.”
“I certainly don't see any of our children complaining. Not even your own sweet Isabella who, from everything I've been told, is very happy she's in France.”
“The only reason those children like it better where they are is because they don't have to live with you. Unfortunately, I do. I wish you'd find me some school to go to!”
“That shouldn't be too hard to arrange. I'll send you to the school for the mentally incompetent.”
“That's it. Get out of here! You will not speak to me like that in my own home.”
“Fine, Lord and Master.” She'd stormed out of his office and hadn't spoken to him in days. This suited Javier fine. He had come to realize by now that the biggest mistake he'd ever made in his life was marrying her. Pedro had been right about Javier thinking with the wrong head when he'd put that damn ring on her finger. Lately, that particular head didn't seem to get much exercise, anyway. His reasons for marrying her turned out to be basically futile ones, except for the son their marriage produced.
He loved his son as much as he loved the estranged Bella, that is to say, with every fiber of his being. In a way, he was glad that Stefan was living in the United States, at a school in Texas where he was receiving the attention and special skills he would need in order to make it in such a difficult world.
As he was finishing going over his reports, Javier heard the front door open and the sound of Miguel's voice. “Hello, I'm home.”
Of course, Carlotta had stormed out of the house to go shopping, so Javier went to greet both him and Pedro, who had always been fond of the boy.
“Miguelito. Ah, look at you.” Javier smiled and held his arms out wide to embrace the young man he thought of as his own — and a man of God at that.
“Papa, I missed you,” Miguel responded, wrapping his arms around Javier. “And I missed you, too,” Miguel told Pedro.
“Come, sit down. You must be exhausted,” Pedro remarked as he slapped Miguel on the back.
“I am,” Miguel replied. He walked into the living room with them and sat down on the white leather sofa Carlotta recently purchased. “Where's Mama?”
“Out spending my money.”
“Some things never change,” he laughed. “I've missed this place so much.”
“How long are you staying?” Pedro asked, sitting down in a chair across from him.
“Not long. They're expecting me in a few days at St. Peter's Church. Believe me, if I could, I'd stay longer. But the Lord doesn't like to be kept waiting,” Miguel said with a chuckle. “I wish Bella were here.”
“We all do,” Javier replied.
“And Stefan, too.”
“Yes, but Christmas will be here before we know it, and we'll all be together again,” Javier said.
“But you're surely going to see Bella before then,” Miguel replied.
“I hadn't planned on it, unless she's making a surprise visit I'm not supposed to know about.”
“I thought you'd be going to see her next month, when she competes at the horse trials in Italy.”
“What?” Javier's mouth flew open. Isabella had never said a single word to him about a major horse trial event. She'd always let him know about her big events in the past, and he always made a huge effort to attend each one of them. He knew of her Olympic dreams and he supported her completely. He couldn't understand why she hadn't made him aware this time. Yes it was true that they weren't as close as they once were, but she'd always kept him abreast of how she was progressing with her riding. He sighed heavily.
“You mean, you didn't know?”
“No, we didn't,” said Pedro, answering for Javier, seeing the shock and disappointment in the old man's eyes.
“Oh, Papa, I'm so sorry. I assumed she'd written you about it when she wrote me. Once I received her letter, I called to let her know I would be coming back here, and going to work for the Church. She sounded a little upset. I was certain that she would want you to be there.”
“I don't know. I guess I don't know my daughter as well as I once thought I did.”
No one said anything. Javier looked out the large bay window to what now appear
ed to be an ominous sea. He knew Bella had drifted from his life, but he'd hoped he'd remained in her heart as she had in him. He'd rather die than consider that he'd lost his daughter forever.
CHAPTER FORTY
ROSA AND FELICIA WALKED BESIDE ANTONIO, EACH HOLDING a hand on either side of him. There was a light drizzle along the Seine, whose beauty had always entranced Rosa, inspiring her to draw it many times. Shortly after her mother's death, Rosa had retreated so severely that her one means of communication became her drawings.
The first time Antonio heard her speak again was two years after Lydia's death, when he took both girls to Paris. It was the first time Rosa had seen the Seine.
“It's beautiful, Papa,” she had whispered.
His eyes filled with tears hearing his daughter speak for the first time in so long. He thought he had lost her forever, as he had lost Marta. He took her in his arms. “You spoke! Merciful God, you spoke!” They cried together while holding onto each other for a long time. She still spoke only when absolutely necessary. Antonio knew she'd never be quite the same. There would always be an underlying sadness in the child's heart.
But now it was her art that made her happy. He had asked many times if she wanted to go away to school, where she could learn to develop her gift, her talent. But she'd always refused his offers. He knew that going away to learn her trade would benefit her, maybe get her to open up to others. And, although her talent was evident, the morbid and dark themes that seemed to be the focus of her art frightened him a bit and he wished she'd paint more lighter, brighter scenes. She did a lot of paintings with dead angels who looked remarkably like her mother, and other paintings with what Antonio could only classify as demons who looked to be battling child-like angels. Out of fear of putting her work to a halt, Antonio never made any suggestions about her art, and she continued to deny the need to go to art school. It was as if she were afraid to be around people, unlike her younger sister Felicia, who was the outgoing wild one. She had bright eyes and her mother's beauty. Possessing a mind full of questions, she was a perpetual chatterbox.
“Papa, Papa,” Felicia said as she tugged at his coat. She always needed to be the center of attention.
“Yes?”
“I'm going to be a famous French model.”
“Really? How interesting.”
“You're not French,” Rosa interrupted her tartly.
“So? When I was out shopping today, while you were wasting your time doodling, a man from the Marie Claire agency approached me. He told me that I was very beautiful, and that I should come to see him. He said he would take photographs of me to see if I am as beautiful on film.”
“He was probably a con man,” Rosa commented, as they walked across the street to the restaurant where they were to meet Bella.
“No, he wasn't. He gave me his card.” Felicia pulled a card out of her coat pocket and dangled it teasingly in front of Rosa.
“Let me see that,” their father ordered, taking the card from Felicia. Scanning the information on the card, he saw that it bore the name “Mark Le Blanc” on the front. At the top of the card were the words Marie Claire.
“See, told you so. Can I at least go talk to the man, Papa?”
“I'll think about it, but understand that I will go with you. You will not go alone.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you. You wait, big sister, I'll be on the cover of every magazine in the world!”
“Good for you,” Rosa muttered. She couldn't stand Felicia's childish antics, and prayed that she'd curb her obnoxious behavior in the restaurant. Even though Bella and Felicia were closer in age, her friend had always seemed to gravitate more toward Rosa. Bella was special to Rosa. She was the only one who never asked her why she had stopped speaking during all those years. Whenever Bella had come to visit, she would play with Rosa quietly in her room, as if she, too, were mute, a normal condition. Rosa had always appreciated her friend's consideration.
As they walked into the candlelit restaurant, mouth-watering aromas teased their taste buds. Antonio approached the maitre de to ask if Bella had arrived. Finding she hadn't, they made their way into the bar near the main room of the restaurant to wait for her.
Not long after taking their seats at a cocktail table, Bella arrived. Although disheveled from wind and drizzle, she still appeared as feminine and pretty as ever.
If anyone should be a model, Rosa thought, it should be Bella. However, Bella did not possess the height and trendy beauty her sister Felicia had. Bella was beautiful in both an exotic and classic way. Her green eyes and dark looks made her exotic, but the elegant bone structure of her face gave her a classic look, the kind even age couldn't diminish.
“Hello,” she greeted them breathlessly. “It's so good to see all of you.” She kissed each on the cheek as they stood to greet her. “I'm so sorry I've gotten you wet,” she said to Antonio, holding out her raincoat. The maitre de walked over.
“May I?” he asked.
She handed her raincoat to the man who asked if they'd like to be seated in the dining room. Antonio nodded and they all followed him into the restaurant.
Antonio laughed. “No need to apologize.” He held out a chair for her.
“Thank you,” she replied. “Tell me, what is new with all of you?”
Immediately, Felicia answered, “I'm going to start modeling.”
“Really?” Bella inquired, smiling knowingly at Rosa.
“Yes, haven't you heard? She's going to color her hair blonde and become the next Cheryl Tiegs,” Rosa teased.
“Shut up. You're jealous. You wish you were me. All you do is waste your time drawing your stupid pictures.”
“Girls,” Antonio warned.
“How is your art coming along, Rosa?” Bella asked.
“It's wonderful. She draws and paints such beautiful pieces of work, it never ceases to amaze me,” Antonio said.
“I'd really like to see some of them. You know, my horse trainer has a friend who is an art dealer. Maybe I could put you in contact with him.”
“Oh, no, Bella you don't have to do that,” Rosa protested. She shyly looked down at the hors d'oeuvres the waiter placed before them.
“Why not? I think it's a wonderful idea,” Antonio said.
“Don't be silly, Papa, my art isn't nearly good enough yet to be seen by an art dealer.”
“Now there you go again, doubting yourself. Your art is magnificent. If Bella can help, then let her.”
“He's right, Rosa. I'm sure your art is very promising. I'd love to help in any way that I can.”
“Well, all right, thank you, Bella,” Rosa whispered.
She could not help but remember the words her demon uncle had spoken to her years ago, the words that echoed in her mind the whole time he'd committed his sins against her: You will never be anything, Rosa. Only a mute child. And if you ever tell anyone about our private meetings, I will see to it that everything you've ever loved will be destroyed, everything.
It was that same day Rosa saw him playing with her sister Felicia's hair in the courtyard. He'd glared at Rosa, but she'd vowed to protect her sister from harm, and thus far she had. Now Felicia was grown, and Rosa felt certain Emilio had never harmed her. He'd started leaving Rosa alone as well, once she turned fifteen. There had been no explanation, and she certainly didn't ask. She had been enormously grateful she no longer received his unwanted attention.
“Wonderful, I'll speak to Jean Luc about it tomorrow. He'll talk to Pierre, and see if we can't set something up for you.”
Rosa was elated about the idea of a real art dealer seeing some of her work, but her self-doubt still plagued her, and Uncle Emilio's words haunted her memory.
“Tell us, word has it that you'll be heading for the Olympics,” Antonio said.
“I don't know about that,” Bella replied. Her cheeks flushed.
“Come on, tell the truth.”
“Well maybe in a couple of years to Barcelona. I hope.” She held up crossed fingers
. “I have an important trial next month in Italy, and Jean Luc says there's a good possibility I could actually make the French team if Delilah and I have a good go.”
“That's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I think we'll have to make a special trip to come and see you and cheer you on. Your father will be here, won't he?”
“I don't know,” Bella paused, picking at her chateaubriand with her fork.
“Of course he'll be here. I know how proud he is of you, Bella. He wouldn't miss this for the world.”
“I really don't think he'll be here. I wrote him a letter telling him about it. When he didn't write or call me back, I figured he couldn't be here. I finally called him yesterday, and Carlotta said he wasn't in. I asked her if she knew whether or not they were coming. She said that they couldn't because they were going to visit Stefan in Texas. I think he has a soccer tournament going on with his school.”
“I can't believe your father would choose to go to Stefan's tournament, instead of seeing you in a major horse trials, young lady. In fact, if I know your papa, he would bring Stefan along. Your brother would want to see you, too. It's too important for them to miss.”
“I mentioned that to Carlotta, but she said the teachers at the school had told her that the soccer matches were really important to Stefan's self-esteem. How could I argue with that? He's such a sweet little boy, and he is my brother. I believe anything that would help him is all for good.”
After they'd finished dinner, Antonio sat back in his chair and pulled a cigar from a long silver tube in his coat pocket. He mulled over Bella's story. Something didn't sound quite right. He doubted Javier would miss such an important event in Bella's life. He would make an appointment to visit him when they returned, and find out the truth. Antonio suspected that Carlotta was behind this slight. He hadn't liked the woman from the beginning, when she had been so unscrupulous about sending Miguel and Bella away. He hated the way Javier allowed her to control his life like that. Thinking about this made him recall Marta's attempt to control his own life, as the girls chatted on about horses, modeling, and art. Antonio tried to convince himself over the years that he was happy that Marta left after her attempting to make him change his ways. What a fool she was for leaving him. He would've given her everything she'd ever wanted. It angered Antonio that he hadn't even been allowed to raise his own son. However, it was clear to him that it had all worked out for the best. But how sad that his daughters suffered so much at that time, especially Rosa. Springing Marta and Alejandro on them might have caused them irreparable harm. Yet his heart still ached for them both. He wondered how they were and what they were lives were like now.
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