by Amy Ayers
I wish that were true.
With that, Marco headed up the stairs and found himself in the massive hallway that led to both Senna’s rooms and Max’s nursery. He had an overwhelming desire to hold his son. It was close to midnight, and he could hear soft snores coming from Madame Marchande’s room. He didn’t want to disturb her, and he wouldn’t be that long.
Pulling an overstuffed ottoman from its position next to a rocking chair, Marco set it next to Max’s crib and sat down to watch his son sleep. The soft glow of his night-light drenched the room in a hazy glow emphasizing Max’s puckered lips and the way his eyelashes nestled against his cheek.
When he found out about Max, he was wild with anger. It was like something had been stolen from him, a possession, and he was going to get it back. Reuniting with Senna was equally infuriating—until he realized she was a victim as well.
Suddenly exhausted, his neck sagged, his head felt heavy. He didn’t love Brynn, not the way a man should love a woman he’s about to marry. That he knew. He loved his father and wanted to do everything to uphold his family’s expectations of him.
But Senna. The feelings she stirred in him shocked him. He hadn’t meant to kiss her, but how could he let one more minute pass without tasting her, holding her? Could he really follow through with his plans to take away her access to Max? Especially when it meant he’d be depriving himself of her presence at the same time?
Everything had seemed so clear a week ago.
Max stirred in his sleep clutching Lambie closer before quieting once more.
It was this little guy. This perfect little package of innocence and love that was changing everything. A path that was so clear just a short while ago was suddenly murky. Max was a gift, of that he was sure. And wasn’t it up to him to protect Max from family machinations that could negatively affect him in any way? Wasn’t that what fathers did? That was what his own father had done. Hadn’t he?
Marco threaded his fingers between the slats on Max’s crib to stroke his cheek. Don’t worry, petit rei. Papi will take good care of you.
Chapter Seven
After her glass of wine and jet lag, Senna slept deeply. She woke up once to stumble across the hall to get Max. She brought him back into her bed, too tired to even sit in the glider and feed him. At some point Madame Marchande came and collected him back to his nursery. If she had been more awake she would have protested. She’d co-slept with Max since he was born, and she didn’t have any desire to stop now. But it was just one of the many things she was learning just weren’t done in the Medina family.
She dreamed of Marco’s mouth on hers, gentle, then firm, insistent. Her body followed his every demand and matched his fervor at every turn. She’d awakened with her heart pounding and her hands clutching her pillows—a poor substitute for Marco’s heated, muscled form.
Had it been that way before? The first time they were together was a haze, a memory she hadn’t let herself revel in. As a matter of self-preservation, she’d extinguished all feelings she had for Marco until her desire for him was only a pathetic pile of smoking embers.
When the fire did ignite again it was in the form of anger, hurt, and embarrassment. He’d left her alone, vulnerable. And it was still sinking in that he really had no idea about Max all this time. Seeing how tender he was with his son was a soothing balm on her fiery emotions. Was it possible to pick up where they left off? Did they have anything else besides a physical attraction and a six-month-old baby?
These thoughts consumed her, taunting her because she already knew the answers to the questions she kept asking herself. There was no chance for either of them to act on any feelings, current or residual. Marco may think that it was fine to kiss her and show up in her bedroom unannounced, but as far as Senna was concerned he was an engaged man and off-limits. She refused to set herself up for failure.
After waking with too many heavy thoughts, Senna decided she’d spent too much time inside. Her room had a beautiful view of the surrounding countryside. The green rolling hills leading toward the craggy bases of the Grand Pyrenees looked like they had been hand drawn. She could even make out a small blue lake in the distance, a beautiful jewel in an already impossibly gorgeous crown of Catalan countryside. She was desperate for fresh air, and she knew it was time to explore.
She found something that passed for casual wear in her cavernous closet and made a quick stop next door to pick up Max.
Senna entered the nursery and was immediately assaulted by Max’s searching cries.
“What happened?” Her voice was panicked, shrill. Senna had never heard him cry like that.
“I think he’s cutting a tooth.” Madame Marchande answered with a calm born from years of experience. “Actually he may be cutting a few. Look.”
She handed Max over to Senna, and he quieted for a moment, then began wailing again. Madame Marchande gently moved his lip out of the way and Senna could see the bright red bumps on his lower gum line.
“Oh, my poor baby.”
“I just gave him some ibuprofen and put some numbing cream on his gum. I think if you feed him, he’ll take a nice nap.”
Senna sat down and adjusted herself to feed him.
“Did I hear Max crying? Is he all right?” Marco blustered into the room, interrupting Max’s feeding and leading him to shriek again.
“He’s teething, Marco.” Senna leaned over and spoke some soothing words to Max and he latched back on to finish his breakfast.
They settled into a silence; the noisy smacks Max made as he ate the only sounds between them. Marco had positioned himself at the edge of the room looking out the windows onto the grounds. Senna got the distinct feeling he wanted to be looking anywhere else besides in her direction.
She’d never felt self-conscious about nursing her son. She felt lucky that Max was a champ at it and her supply had kept up with him. Max took the breast and the bottle without complaint. At home she’d tried to build up a backup supply of milk for when she was working, but Abby supplemented with formula now and then, and it had never been a problem. That was what Madame Marchande was doing when Max needed to eat and Senna was otherwise engaged.
But now sitting in a room with just Max and Marco, she felt a little awkward. Yes, Marco was Max’s father, but she and Marco were…were…what? What exactly are we?
Thankfully, Max finished and started dozing peacefully. She stood up quietly and settled him in his crib. Marco came behind her, and Senna felt his warmth as he leaned over the crib next to her.
“Don’t forget Lambie, petit rei.” Senna smiled as Marco took the stuffed animal at the end of the crib and tucked it next to sleeping form. Something about hearing Marco, powerful CEO of a multibillion-dollar international conglomerate saying “Lambie” made her want to giggle.
Madame Marchande came back into the room with a basket of folded laundry in hand. She spoke in a low tone, careful not to wake the baby.
“I have a whole bag of tricks for teething babies. He’ll be just fine. You two go on about your day, and don’t worry.” Senna smiled at the kind, motherly Madame Marchande. She could sense the nanny’s affection for Max, and that made her feel more secure leaving him in her capable hands.
Shutting the door behind them, she and Marco found themselves in the hallway, alone for the first time since their kiss in the library.
As was quickly becoming the norm, her body was at complete attention with Marco so near. They were side by side, and Senna had to resist the urge to thread her arm through his, lean her head against his strong shoulder, inhale his masculine scent.
“I don’t think he’s going to be up for a walk today.” Senna said, breaking the silence.
“Was that your plan for the day?”
“Yes. I thought I’d get out and explore a little bit. I’m just feeling cooped up. Mila wants to take me shopping, but I just can’t.”
“You must be the only woman alive to turn down shopping.” Marco chuckled. The sound was low and sexy and
ignited all sorts of Senna’s nerves.
“It’s just not my thing,” Senna looked up into Marco’s eyes. “Growing up, shopping showed me everything the world offered but we couldn’t afford. My grandmother called it window shopping and tried to convince me it was fun.”
Senna remembered those trips. Long, slow walks through stores and malls, her grandmother touching various items and sighing, the look on her face yearning, unsatisfied. She resolved not to look for joy in material things because only rarely did those things appear.
After her mother died, times were even tougher and money was counted out and hoarded down to the penny. They had bread without anything to turn it into a sandwich, or they had cheap cereal but no milk in sight.
Senna at least had meals at school to look forward to, and she ate them with a deep appreciation, knowing her free breakfast and lunch were likely going to be her only decent meals of the day. She’d worn jackets with deep pockets, even on the hottest Miami days, so she could stuff them with fruit and cartons of milk to be consumed for dinner. The cafeteria ladies took pity on her and conveniently left them out so she could discreetly stash them.
“I called Abby this morning. She went to visit my grandmother and said she was doing really well. I can’t thank you enough for having her moved.” Abby told her the nurses took great care of her grandmother, getting her yarn for her knitting projects and making sure she had her favorite candy, jelly beans, in her room. Apparently, her grandmother kept mistaking Abby for Senna and then Camila, Senna’s mother.
“I’m glad to hear that. Everyone deserves the dignity of quality care.” His tone was so earnest Senna couldn’t help but believe him. He was probably thinking of his father in that statement.
“It must be convenient to have your father here at home.”
“Yes, we’re lucky we can bring help in. He has the best. But even a rich man can’t buy good health once it’s been taken from him.”
“I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She was surprised at the truth in that statement. She knew what it was like to watch a loved one become a shell of their former selves. It was cruel and ugly. She’d do anything to bring even a little joy into her grandmother’s dark and tortured mind, a mind mired in distant memories and focused on people long past.
“Can I join you on this walk? Or would you rather be alone?” Marco asked.
Would I rather be alone? She wasn’t sure where she and Marco stood. She didn’t know if she wanted him to kiss her again or put herself and Max on a plane back home. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that she truly did not want to be alone. And this casual side of Marco was…charming. She’d felt drawn to the shrewd intelligence of his corporate persona; that was the man who had seduced her. But she was starting to see this kinder, gentler version of him. And he was just as intriguing.
“Come on, I could use a tour guide. This place is intimidating.”
Marco smiled. “That’s the point of a castle, to intimidate potential intruders. But it’s still a family home. Come, let me show you.”
Someone on Marco’s staff must be a mind reader. By the time they reached the kitchens, Rene was packing a bag with water and snacks. They slipped out the door and set out into the mid-morning sun.
The day was cool and temperate, so different than her humid hometown. The landscape was otherworldly. Lush rolling hills that came to abrupt ends against the steep foothills of the Pyrenees. The sky was the purest of robin’s egg blue and dotted with bright white cotton candy clouds. The landscape felt ancient and untouched, like they were the first humans to set foot on the steep walls of rock and rolling hills of green.
They walked in silence along a well-worn path that wound up and around the gentle swells and dips in the land. Marco led her into a clearing next to a still, blue lake, and she stopped breathing for just a moment as she took it all in.
It was silent, save for the occasional water bird offering up a cry or the rustle of the grass as the breeze set it in motion.
Marco knelt down and ran his fingers through the still water sending ripples toward the lake’s center. “This is one of my favorite places. Anywhere.”
The serene stillness lulled her. “I can see why. It doesn’t seem real.”
“Come, Senna, it gets better.” He took her hand and urged her forward.
He led her down a slight hill and came around on the path. In front of them stood a simple gazebo. Grape vines and honeysuckle threaded through the slats covering the weatherworn wood with verdant greenery and fragrant blossoms.
Inside there was a small bistro table set for lunch, complete with fine china and crystal stemware. The linens were rustic and complemented the outdoor setting. Off to the side were a couple of chaise lounges, perfect for reading, napping, and pretty much doing anything in a reclining position. Senna blushed. Just stop. Don’t go there.
He leaned over one of the bistro chairs and set down the backpack. It was a perfect vantage point for taking in his muscled backside. His T-shirt pulled up slightly, revealing a swath of golden skin, and Senna felt herself almost salivating at the view.
Heaven help me.
Marco turned to face her, and Senna felt like she’d been caught. But really, a man as beautiful as Marco shouldn’t lean over if he doesn’t want to make women swoon. He also shouldn’t wear fitted jeans that gripped his thighs but hung low on his hips revealing the chiseled definition of his waist. And while he was at it, why did he have to smell so good? Like spice and musk and—
“Senna?” It took her a moment to realize Marco was talking to her. “Are you okay?”
“No, Marco. I don’t think I am.”
His smug knowing smile faltered. “What’s wrong?”
She brushed past him and sat on one of the lounges that looked out over the lake.
“This lake is so beautiful. I’ve never seen something so dark blue, not even the ocean. Everything here is so beautiful, so impressive.” She took a deep breath forcing back the tears she felt forming. “Coming here with Max was the right thing to do. Even though your mother doesn’t like me, and Brynn would like to tie concrete blocks to my ankles and sink me in this lake, it’s important that Max begins to get a sense of where he came from, who he is. But this?” She waved her arms back and forth between the two of them. “This scares me Marco; it intimidates me.”
Marco looked confused, and Senna knew she wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. “I know it’s probably hard for you to understand, but not all of us grow up with people falling all over themselves to ensure our well-being. My father couldn’t even be bothered to tell my mother his last name.”
“I’m sorry you and your father weren’t close—”
“Close?” Senna shook her head and bit her lip. She hated that it still hurt. That her father’s disappearing act and complete rejection of her presence in the world could still wound her so deeply. He didn’t deserve her tears, Senna knew that, but it didn’t make them any less likely to fall. “His name is Kevin. That’s it. End of facts I have about my father. And even that could be wrong. Maybe he lied to my mother.”
“He was a fool. He missed out on being a part of your life, and it’s his loss. You can be proud of the woman you became on your own, without any help from an idiot like him.”
Senna was quiet. Marco hadn’t said anything she hadn’t told herself a thousand times before. So why did it have so much significance coming from him?
“Not knowing about Max until now will always be one of my life’s great regrets. I can’t go back and change the past.” He sat down on the edge of the other lounge. He faced Senna, and their knees almost touched. She suddenly craved his warm, strong embrace, and she had to resist the urge to crawl into his lap.
“But I can promise you that I’m here now, and you and Max are family. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I certainly won’t let you go without.”
“It’s not about financial security. I just want Max to feel loved, to feel wanted, by both of his parents.”<
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“He is loved, Senna. He is my boy, my son. He will always know his father wanted him.”
She nodded. Could she really ask for more than that?
“Just don’t let stepmother Brynn say too many mean things about me, okay?” She smiled a watery smile, only half joking.
Marco’s voice turned icy cold in an instant. “I will handle Brynn.”
“And if she tries to stand in the way of you being Max’s father?”
“I’ve never let a woman tell me what to do, and I won’t start now. My parents? Yes, because it’s my duty to try to honor their wishes. But I’m not doing this for Brynn.”
“Maybe it’s because I never had a father or mother, really, but I just don’t understand sacrificing your own future, your own happiness to please someone else.”
“You might be the lucky one then.” His words were cryptic, but somehow Senna knew he was walking a fine line, a line that was getting finer by the minute. He clapped his hands together, breaking the somber mood. “But come, lunch awaits, and I know how you get when you are hungry.” He was right. She was starving.
They sat down at the bistro table and Marco began pulling items out of the picnic basket. Breads, cheeses, meats, fruit—it was a European smorgasbord, and Senna couldn’t help but dive in.
They ate in comfortable silence for a few moments until Marco said, “Tell me about when Max was born. That must have been difficult to go through alone.” Genuine concern was etched on his face, and it melted Senna’s resolve even more.
Senna swallowed hard and wiped her hands on her fine linen napkin. “Um, well, it went fairly well. I’m surprised you don’t have video of it since your security team seems so adept at gathering intel on me.”
Marco’s smile was thin. “Well, I don’t. So a first-person retelling will have to do.”
Senna cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t have medical insurance and I knew the hospital wouldn’t admit me without a hefty deposit that I didn’t have. So when I went into labor I did most of it at home. When my water broke Abby drove me to the hospital but—”