by Eva Charles
He nods. “I did.”
His words and his expression are devoid of emotion. I don’t know what to make of it.
We had sex. And there was a barrel. And begging. And an orgasm. What if it wasn’t a dream? Oh my God.
“Did we have—sex?” I ask, swallowing the embarrassment.
His expression is hard now—or maybe serious. “We did.”
Public betrayals don’t warrant private punishments. “Were people watching?”
He shifts on the bed. “The punishment was heard by anyone in the vicinity. Including your screams. But no one saw anything,” he adds quietly.
“They heard us having sex,” I mutter under my breath, trying to remember what anyone might have overheard.
“No. No one heard us having sex. I had the area cleared before we had sex.” He reaches for my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles. “The sex had nothing to do with the punishment.”
I nod, cringing inside as I remember more and more about the sex. It might be easier to digest if he said it was punishment, but I know it wasn’t.
I remember wanting him inside me. No. That’s much too mild to describe what I was feeling. I was desperate to have him fuck me. Desperate for release. I was out of my mind with need, and I would have done anything to make it happen. The truth sits painfully in my chest, elbow to elbow with the unbridled shame.
He doesn’t say anything. He sits quietly, his hip against my thigh, letting the memories tumble back.
“Did you use a condom?” I ask, staring at light peeking through the shutters so that I don’t have to look at him.
“You’re on birth control,” he replies, fingering the tiny insert under my skin.
“That’s not the only reason to use a condom. I can’t believe you would take the risk. And how do you know I’m on birth control?” I ask, glaring at him.
“I have your medical records. In case of an emergency.”
“How?”
“Medical records aren’t difficult to access.” He pauses. “I’m clean, and I’m very careful about using protection. I don’t intend on using a condom when having sex with my wife. But you need to know, I’d never take that kind of risk with you. Ever. I might be a monster, but I’m not that kind of monster.”
I don’t know if it’s true that he would never risk my health, but I don’t respond. As my memory starts to slowly return, I have so many questions. I don’t want to talk about condoms anymore.
“How did this get here?” I ask, tugging on the nightgown I’m wearing. It was in my closet at the house a few days ago. I’m positive.
“I sent someone over to the house to pick up a few things for you. Paula packed a bag. After you ran, her weekend off was canceled.”
My stomach churns. I gave her the weekend off so that she wouldn’t be there when they found me missing. I thought it would be easier on her.
“Alma’s here,” Antonio says. “Do you remember my mother’s cook?”
Yes, I remember Alma. She would sneak me extra treats whenever we visited the Huntsmans. “The one who makes the mouthwatering caramels?”
He smiles. “The very same. She’ll make you breakfast, and then you can have a shower, and when you’re ready, someone will drive you back to the valley.”
Victor and Paula. I betrayed them too. Especially Paula.
“I need to go, but there are a couple things I want to talk to you about.”
Although I don’t have a clue about what he’s going to say, my stomach clenches.
“First, the race is Saturday, and the ball is on Saturday night.”
The race and a grand party take place every year in Porto, on a Saturday around the time the camellias are at peak bloom. On Sunday, the vines are blessed, and everyone prays for an abundant harvest. “It’s Camellia Weekend?”
He nods. “You’ll sit in my box during the race. I’ll send someone over to make sure you have the appropriate clothing. Buy what you want. It won’t come out of the money you send Isabel. Be extravagant. It’s your reintroduction into the world you walked away from six years ago.”
The last time I attended the race, my mother was alive. I’ve never been to the ball. Although when I was a little girl, my parents always went. My mother promised that one day I would go too. Sadness unfurls inside my chest every time I think about my mother. Time hasn’t made it any easier.
“While the stylist is there,” Antonio adds, “talk to her about a wedding dress. Now that more people know you’re here, I don’t want to wait to get married.”
A lump forms in my throat, making it harder to breathe.
“When is the wedding?”
“One week from Saturday. I’ll have the wedding planner get in touch with you too.”
My stomach is turning somersaults, and if I have to hear too much more, I’m going to vomit all over the luxurious comforter.
“When you get back to the house, call Isabel and calm her down. After what happened, I’m sure she’s beside herself. I can’t have her skittish. She could create problems. You might want to let her know that there is a guard stationed at the house around the clock. They’ll ensure her safety and that of her daughter.”
I grab Antonio’s wrist. “Are they in danger?”
“We left a guard on the ground as a precaution when you came back to Porto. Isabel and Valentina are not in any danger that I’m aware of.” He studies me carefully. “Do you have any reason to believe they’re in danger?”
I shake my head, but I’m not entirely sure. “No. Nothing aside from the usual danger that comes from living in an impoverished city.”
“The guard should ease your mind.”
“What should I tell her about us?”
“Tell her that you’ve decided to honor your father’s wishes, and you’re going to marry me.”
She’s never going to believe that.
“You can also tell her that you’ll be in regular contact, including video chats, and that we’ll be visiting Fall River as part of our wedding trip.”
I stare at him, searching for some sign that he’s taunting me. But there’s nothing, and a sense of excitement starts to bubble up inside me. “Do you mean it? The contact, and the trip? Because they’ll be so disappointed if we don’t go.”
“What about you? Won’t you be disappointed?”
I nod. “Heartbroken. But I can take it. Isabel’s fragile, and Valentina is a child. We don’t make promises to her we can’t keep.”
“Princesa, unless you’ve pushed me to the brink of insanity, I never say things I don’t mean.”
He inches closer, and for a moment I feel like he might kiss me, but he pulls back. “I have a meeting. It’s been days since you’ve had any food. Make sure you eat breakfast before you leave.”
“Will I see you tonight?” I ask.
“I’ll be out of the country until the end of the week, on foundation business. You can call Cristiano if there’s a problem. I’m running a day behind schedule, and I’ll be difficult to reach.”
When he shuts the door behind him, a wave of disappointment breaks over me. Not a heart-wrenching surge, but a ripple. Still, it takes me by surprise.
As I get out of bed and into the shower, I don’t think about Antonio. I don’t think about how much I wanted him to kiss me. And I don’t fret about the wedding. It’s merely a vehicle to get me back to Valentina and Isabel. Not forever, but for a few days.
I’ll take it.
57
Daniela
“Bom dia,” I say to the older woman bustling around Antonio’s kitchen in a colorful bib apron, with her hair coiled into a tight bun. I’d recognize her anywhere. Not as the Huntsmans’ cook, but from Santa Ana’s, where she sings like an angel on Christmas Eve.
“Look at you,” she cries. “So beautiful, like your mother.”
I want to leap into her arms, but I squeeze her hand instead. “Every Christmas I think about you, Alma, singing in the church. You were my favorite part of Midnight Mass.”
She laughs, but her eyes are wet. It seems more like sadness than nostalgia.
“What’s wrong?” I ask gently.
“Were you the woman whose screams were heard coming from the caves?”
Public betrayal. Public punishment. The words are tattooed on my brain, and I knew my screams were heard by God knows who, but the reality still stings. I draw a large breath and nod. My head is so heavy it barely moves.
Alma places a hand over her heart. “Was my son involved?”
She knows the answer, though I’m sure she hopes I’ll prove her wrong. I won’t lie to her, but I soften the blow. “Cristiano has shown me as much leniency as he can.”
“Lydia will be livid. She will never allow this.”
“Antonio isn’t a boy. His mother doesn’t have control over his decisions. My father and Antonio entered into a betrothal agreement before my father died.”
“Your father?” she asks, skepticism in every syllable.
“My father,” I reply, my tone tinged with disgust.
“That would have never have happened if your mother was alive.”
My mouth curls into a sad little smile. “That’s for sure.”
“How can I help you?” she asks.
My heart clenches at the sincerity of the offer.
“You can pray for me, but please don’t interfere in any way. That will only make matters worse for me. It was not my agreement, and I was appalled when I first learned about it. But I’ve decided to marry Antonio, and to make the best life for myself that I can.” I say the words with as much dignity as I can muster.
“You’ve decided,” she mocks, mostly to herself, knowing full well I never had a choice.
“That’s my decision.” I take her hand. “If you want to do something for me, you could make me some caramels.”
She smiles. “I loved your mother. She had so much spirit. I’m always here for you. Lydia isn’t going to be happy about this. If you change your mind, I can call her. Don’t forget that.”
The punishment for going behind his back to his mother would be enormous. At the very least, there would be no wedding trip to Fall River. Lydia won’t be able to stop the wedding, and the risk isn’t worth it to me.
Victor answers the door when I get back to the valley. “Senhora Daniela,” he says, greeting me with a smile.
“Hello, Victor.” As much as I’d like to hide, I look straight into his eyes. “I’m sorry about any trouble I might have caused for you, or the staff.”
He waves me off. “We all do what we need to do in life to survive. Those of us in power need the pushback the most.”
I smile softly at him. He’s not talking about himself. He’s talking about Antonio.
“Is Paula upstairs?” I ask. “I need to apologize to her too.”
“I honored your wishes and gave her a couple days off. It wasn’t the weekend, but she was still very happy. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’m going to go upstairs and settle in. I’ll come down for dinner.”
On my way upstairs, I avoid looking out the second-floor window. My hope is to start fresh. To accept my fate, even if I don’t like it.
I open the suite door, and everything looks the same. The phone Antonio had given me is on the desk. I pick it up and take it over to the chair that overlooks the garden, and I call Isabel, bracing myself for the sea of emotions she’s going to unleash.
“Hello,” I say, the guilt from what I put her through hitting me hard.
“Daniela,” she says breathlessly. “What happened?”
“First, I’m fine. My plan to escape was never going to work.”
“I was so worried about you going down to the docks. Young women disappear from there all the time.”
I’m sure Isabel was haunted by her own memories as she thought about my plan. I should have never given her the details.
“Where are you now?” she asks.
“I’m at Antonio’s house in the valley. I made a decision to honor my father’s wishes and marry him.” It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would to say the words out loud. Maybe I’m already resigned to the idea. Or maybe, after being on the run, it no longer seems as dreadful as it once did.
She starts to sob quietly, and my heart breaks.
“Isabel. I’ve done everything I can to get back there. Marrying him is the best thing for all of us.”
“What have you told him?”
“Just that. That I’m going to marry him. Sometimes saying less is more.” This conversation is probably monitored. I hope she gets the hint. “You’ll have money to live, and if all goes well, we’ll have enough to send Valentina to college when she’s ready.”
“What did you give up for this?”
I hear the grief in her voice.
A lot less than I’ve given up in the past to hold on to secrets.
“I need you to remain calm. Stop fretting about me. I’m safe.” My safety is the one thing I’m sure about. Antonio’s not going to kill or maim me. But I’m not sure whether to tell Isabel about the guard, although I can’t see how it can hurt.
“You and Valentina are also safe. There’s a guard watching the house at all times. You don’t need to worry. It’s merely a safety precaution.”
“My English,” she says. “How am I going to raise Valentina alone in a strange country?”
“Listen to me, Isabel. We fight the battle one hill at a time. What I haven’t told you yet is that after the wedding, we’ll be coming to see you. I’m not sure how long I can stay—probably just a few days. Please don’t tell Valentina about the marriage until I get there. I’d like to tell her myself, and it might be easier if she meets Antonio first.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea to bring him here?” she asks with some trepidation. The Huntsmans will always be the enemy. She’ll never forgive them for what they did to my mother. Not even Antonio, who wasn’t there.
“I want to see you, and I don’t have a better idea about how to do that. I’m hoping after he gets to spend some time with both of you, he’ll want you to come back to Porto. Let’s see. I know it’s not fair to ask you to keep the secret from Valentina, but I’d like an opportunity to break the news to her.” I have no idea how Valentina’s going to react, but I’m convinced I can smooth things over better than Isabel can.
“When is the wedding?”
“One week from Saturday,” I say softly.
“Your mother,” she cries, “she wanted so much for you.”
“I have so much. Marrying him is a small trade-off for all of us to have the things we need. It’s our best chance to be together again.” I say the words, and to some extent I’ve come to accept marrying him, but it’s not a small trade-off, and we both know it.
She sighs.
“I love you, and I’ll call you often. I’m going to give you my new phone number, and we can talk every day.”
“Can we video-chat again? It was so good to see your beautiful face.”
I smile. It’s funny to hear Isabel talk about video-chatting. “We can. Antonio has agreed to allow it. A big hug to you, my friend. And give Valentina one from me too.”
58
Antonio
The driver pulls up to my mother’s London apartment.
Instead of getting some work done like I promised myself as I boarded the plane, I spent the entire trip indulging in my favorite new fantasy. The one that involves me fucking Daniela on a Port barrel in a dimly lit cave. Her eyes rolling back in her head as she comes all over my dick.
Christ. I’ll never get another damn thing done if I don’t stop thinking about how amazing her tight little pussy feels around my cock.
I refuse to beat myself up over whether or not I should have let things get that far after the day she had. Although I won’t deny that I’m an asshole. I am.
But the one thing I was absolutely right about is that passion burns hot inside that woman. She needs to be freed from the mindset that ho
lds her back. And I fully intend to be the man who frees her.
What bothers me most about that night is when she asked for two favors: money for Isabel and the kid, and a quick death. When she could choose only one, she chose Isabel and Valentina.
Faced with what she believed was repeated rape and death, no one—no one—would have made that choice. That sacrifice was too big to make for someone who isn’t a close relative. I don’t care what she says about family. It doesn’t add up. I need Lucas to step up his research on Isabel.
I ring the bell to my mother’s apartment. I’m not looking forward to breaking the news about Daniela to Lydia Huntsman, or Lydia Huntsman Taft as she’s now known.
Several years after my father died, my mother married the former British ambassador to Portugal, to everyone’s delight. The British and the Portuguese have a special relationship, established around Port, that dates back to the mid-fifteen hundreds. Many families in Porto were created around that relationship. My mother’s family is Portuguese, and my father’s ancestors are from England. I’m a mongrel.
“Antonio, my love,” my mother cries, opening the door, “I don’t know if I’m shrinking, or if you’re getting taller.” She throws her arms around my shoulders, holding me tight.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not grateful she’s safe and happy.
“How was your trip?”
“Uneventful.”
“Just the way it should be. Take off your suit jacket. The queen’s not joining us for lunch.
“I had dinner with Rafael on Friday,” she continues while hanging my jacket. “He doesn’t seem too broken up about Abel.”
“I can’t say I blame him.”
“It’s heartbreaking, really.”
“Edward at work?” I ask, changing the subject to something far more pleasant. Her husband couldn’t be any more different from Abel, or my father. Edward treats her like a queen, which keeps him on my good side.
“He’s going to try to sneak away to see you, but he didn’t want to promise. Come into the kitchen while I put the last touches on lunch.”