Honeymooning with Her Brazilian Boss

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘You’ve made your mind up then?’

  ‘Harriet, it never changed.’

  She nodded, a dignified acknowledgement—or capitulation—and his heart cracked, knowing he had just pushed away the one person who might have saved him.

  ‘Fine. I’ll get dressed and then book the car and the hotel.’ She walked, straight-backed, past him and into her bathroom, the door shutting firmly behind her. Deangelo stood watching the door for a few seconds, wondering what would happen if he was brave enough to tap on it, to ask her to help him be someone new, to help him move on. But as he moved he caught sight of his reflection, the faded scar reminding him of a duty as ingrained as destiny and, turning, he scooped up his laptop and headed out to the terrace and coffee to work.

  But as he walked out Harriet’s words from the other day returned to him. Was this what his mother would have wanted? She had been fiery, yes. Passionate. Quick to anger, quicker to laugh. And she had loved him. Wholeheartedly. The only person who ever had. Would she have wanted him to lock himself away? If she was looking down, was she proud of all he had achieved—or grieving who he had become?

  How could he answer that? All he knew was that revenge had driven him all these years and he had no idea how to stop.

  He’d always been able to lose himself in work and today was no exception. Opening his laptop allowed him back into a safe world where all he had to lose was money. He opened a report on potential investments and concentrated on projections and strategies, ruthlessly shutting out the birdsong, the sigh of the waves, the view. This was his life, the rest just a distraction. And if his chest felt hollow and his throat ached, well, he’d just drink some more coffee and carry on. It was all he knew how to do.

  The report was absorbing enough to allow him to slip back into his safe space until a cry brought him back to awareness of his surroundings, the sun hot on his back a reminder he wasn’t at his desk. Another strangled sob brought him to his feet and back into the bedroom before he was even aware what he was doing, pulse hammering.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you hurt?’

  Harriet was sitting on the bed, her phone in her hand, face white, eyes wide in shock. ‘I...’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s my dad. He’s had a stroke. The home just called. They said I need to get back straight away. Oh, Deangelo. I think he’s dying. I’m going to be all alone. What will I do?’

  * * *

  The next couple of hours passed in a blur, Deangelo ruthlessly taking control, sending Harriet to pack while he organised a car to take her straight to the airport where his pilot would be waiting for her. After her bags were packed she made call after call, to her friends, to the hospital and, fruitlessly it seemed, tried to track down her sisters.

  She was making another attempt to find her sisters when Reception alerted Deangelo that the car had arrived and that a porter would be there to collect Harriet’s bags in the next few minutes. Deangelo walked back into the room. It looked bare and lonely with Harriet’s possessions missing, the suitcases by the door poignant. If he was the kind of man to indulge in poignancy, that was.

  Walking over to the sofa where she sat hunched, phone clamped to her ear, Deangelo laid one hand gently on her shoulder. ‘It’s time,’ he said.

  Harriet only nodded as she laid the phone in her lap. She sat very still, as if gathering her strength, then rose stiffly to her feet. As she did so the porter rapped gently on the door and, after a quick consultation with Deangelo, took her bags.

  ‘The car will take you straight to the airport. Tony is waiting there for you and will fly you straight back to London, where another car will meet you.’

  ‘Fine. Thanks. Oh, my clothes? My own clothes?’

  ‘Already on board.’

  ‘Great. I’ll have these returned to you after...once I’m home.’

  ‘Keep them; they look better on you.’ But the feeble joke didn’t raise even a glimmer of a smile.

  ‘I can’t. It doesn’t seem right.’

  ‘Consider them a bonus,’ he said, more bitterly than he intended, but she didn’t respond. He’d seen Harriet worried before, upset before, but never this bleak. Hopeless, hands twisting as she stood there.

  ‘Oh!’ She stilled her hands, staring down at them. ‘The rings.’

  ‘They were made for you. Keep them.’ He’d ordered them weeks ago, designed them just for her, the entwined branches and leaves symbolising her strength and ability to renew and carry on, the sapphire matching her eyes.

  ‘They are the most beautiful rings I have ever seen. But I can’t keep them, Deangelo.’ As she spoke she slid them off her finger and laid them in his palm, closing his hand over the delicate circles. ‘Right.’

  ‘I’ll walk you to the car.’

  ‘No. Please. I can manage.’ She touched his cheek, the scarred cheek, with one gentle caress then walked to the door, stopping just before she stepped outside and turned, eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I’m frightened, Deangelo. My father is all I have. Without him I am truly alone. I don’t know if I can do this by myself.’

  ‘Hey,’ he said roughly, trying to push the emotion away, to stay strong. ‘If anyone can handle this, you can.’

  ‘Why do people always leave me?’ she whispered, and his heart twisted.

  ‘Harriet, you and I know that the only people we can rely on are ourselves. It’s not easy, but that’s the way it is. At least we don’t get let down this way.’

  ‘If that’s true, why did you need me for this trip?’

  It was his turn to freeze. ‘I knew you’d get the job done. I trusted you.’

  ‘I can’t be the only person you trust.’

  ‘It was a business decision, pure and simple.’

  But was it, or had it been simply that he couldn’t have faced coming home without her? No. That wasn’t how he operated; it couldn’t be. It would make him weak, vulnerable, to need someone else in that way.

  ‘Come with me,’ she said, and his chest thumped painfully at the hope in her voice, in her expression. ‘Walk away from revenge and anger. I don’t want to do this alone, Deangelo. I want to do this with you. With someone who knows me, who notices me, with someone I trust...’ She took a deep breath. ‘With someone I love.’

  The pain in his chest intensified, the roar of his blood competing with the thud of his heart. For one moment he considered agreeing, leaving Brazil, the Caetanos, his revenge behind, flying back with her, supporting her the way she needed him to. The way she hadn’t been afraid to ask him to. He envied her courage. ‘Don’t waste your love on me, Harriet. I’m not worth it.’

  She nodded, one tear falling as she tried to smile. ‘That’s not how love works, Deangelo. I hope your revenge is worth it.’ And then she turned and was gone, leaving him alone once again. Just as he was meant to be.

  Only it hadn’t hurt this way for a very long time.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘HERE—EAT THIS.’

  Deangelo’s aunt placed a plate of warm, spicy cookies in front of him, adding a glass of milk, as if he were still the skinny, lost ten-year-old who had come to live with her. Her house was bigger now, thanks to him, but it had the same feel as the old overcrowded cottage clinging to the hillside, her eclectic taste marrying vintage with modern, brightly coloured pictures and ornaments jostling for prominence, the walls and shelves covered with photos of her children and grandchildren. In the centre of the bookshelf was a photo of Deangelo and his mother, a formal one taken when they still lived on the estate. She followed Deangelo’s gaze and her face softened.

  ‘She looked so happy. She was so happy. She loved him, your father, never doubt that.’

  ‘But did he love her?’

  ‘I believe so. She believed so. She would never have stayed if she didn’t. And she never blamed him for how things turned out. Whether he mad
e a will and it was suppressed, or he forgot to write one we’ll never know. But she was never bitter. It was the way things were.’

  ‘She would never have died if she hadn’t lost everything.’

  ‘We don’t know that. All we can do is live with how things are. Find happiness in what we have. Have you heard from Harriet?’

  The last question was shot straight at him. His aunt had taken to Harriet and was sad to hear of her troubles. ‘No. I don’t want to bother her when she has so much to worry about.’

  ‘Nonsense—why would you be bothering her? She’ll want to know you’re thinking of her.’

  ‘We’re not together, not like that. She worked for me, that’s all.’ The lies were bitter on his tongue and he wasn’t surprised when his aunt laughed.

  ‘You tell yourself that, but I know when two people are mad about each other. I was the eldest of five and I had eight children of my own. You think I haven’t seen couples fall in love over and over again? The only thing I don’t understand is why you are still here and not back in England, helping her. You know how hard it is to lose your only parent.’

  ‘She lost her father long ago in some ways.’ But he knew, despite the illness and the toll it had taken on her whole life, it would devastate Harriet if her father died. ‘What did you mean, mad about each other?’ His heart thumped as he asked the question. His aunt probably saw what she expected to see in a young couple. But curiosity won out all the same.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s the way you moved, like you were dancing, always in time. The way you would watch each other, almost surreptitiously, checking you were both okay. Little smiles, little touches, moments when it was as if you were alone in the universe. There’s a rhythm with a couple in tune, and you two had it. So why did you let her go alone? Your mother would be very disappointed in you.’

  ‘I let everyone down, Tia Luisa.’ As he said the words he saw the sorrow in Harriet’s eyes as she had asked him to come with her—and the sorrow when she’d told him she loved him. She’d known it was hopeless, that he was hopeless, but she’d tried anyway. ‘She’s better off without me in her life.’ She’d get over him soon enough. Find someone who loved her the way she deserved. His hands curled into fists at the thought but he relished the pain. He deserved it.

  ‘You’re letting her down right now. By doing nothing.’ Her voice softened as she sat next to him, one warm hand on his arm. ‘You have all the money anyone could want, Deangelo, but if you are too afraid to love then what good is it? Your mother would want you to live, to dare to love, to take that risk. Of course there are no guarantees; humans are built that way. But that’s the adventure. Your mother risked it all for your father.’

  ‘And she lost.’

  ‘She didn’t lose. She had twelve happy years and she had you. She wouldn’t have changed any of that for anything. Believe me.’

  ‘I let her down. I was so angry with her when we came here, acted so badly, couldn’t get her the money she needed...’

  ‘All she wanted from you was for you to be happy. To be the good, honourable man she knew you could be. Maybe Harriet will make you happy, maybe not, but if you don’t try, and keep trying, then you dishonour your mother. But you can never dishonour her by love.’

  ‘I promised I would get my revenge, that I would wipe the Caetanos out of society.’ He was pleading for his aunt to understand, to sanction his actions.

  ‘Your father was a Caetano. She would want you to preserve his legacy and show his children the mercy they didn’t show you. It’s your decision, Deangelo, and I will stand by you whatever you decide. That’s what families do. But tonight I will pray that you choose love. It’s what your mother would want for you. It’s what you should want for yourself.’

  She squeezed his arm before heading out of the kitchen, leaving him alone with the milk and cookies and wondering if his mother wouldn’t want him to pursue vengeance then who was all this really for?

  And, more importantly, wondering if Harriet was coping, or if she still had that lost, scared expression in her eyes. His aunt was right—she needed him. Maybe she loved him, maybe not, but he loved her and she needed him. He was doing no good, skulking here, like Achilles withdrawing from battle, revenge no longer the driving force it had once been. If he let Harriet face her father’s illness alone then he didn’t deserve any happiness. It was time to let go of his hate and his fear. It was time to hope.

  * * *

  ‘Can I get you anything?’ Amber asked, her voice hushed, as it had been since Harriet returned home a week ago.

  Harriet shook her head. ‘No. But thank you.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten anything.’

  ‘I know. I don’t mean to be ungrateful; you have worked so hard...’

  But her friend waved the comment away. ‘When I’m stressed I bake; you know that. I don’t know what else to do.’

  ‘It’s appreciated, it really is. I just can’t seem to get hungry somehow.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Emilia came into the little sitting/dining room they used at the back of the house. ‘The rest of us are eating like kings. Or queens. That broccoli quiche was especially good, Amber. Feel free to stress-bake that again. How’s your dad doing today, Harriet?’

  The churning in her stomach intensified. ‘The same. He just hates being in the hospital so much. He has no idea why he’s there and why he can’t get out of bed. The sooner he gets back to the home the better.’

  ‘Have your sisters been to visit again?’

  ‘No.’ Harriet grimaced. ‘I’m such a fool. When I saw them I actually thought things might change, that they’d want to be involved, especially when I reassured them that I wouldn’t be asking for money any more. But their faces... They were disgusted by him, by their own father. All those years I thought that one day we might be a family again. But now I don’t think I can forgive them for their rejection of Dad, even if I can for the way they treated me.’

  Amber squeezed her hand sympathetically before retreating to the kitchen, murmuring something about Bundt cakes and a new recipe she wanted to try out. Emilia hovered for a moment, her expressive eyes dark with sorrow. ‘Don’t let it define you, Harriet. Families are complicated beasts; that’s why I am eternally grateful we have each other.’

  ‘Me too,’ Harriet reassured her. ‘You and Amber and Alexandra are the sisters I chose, and I know how lucky that makes me.’ But the anger she felt towards her actual sisters shocked her in its righteousness and heat. She’d spent so long wanting their approval and acceptance, to be part of their closeness, dreaming of weekend barbecues and long Sunday lunches; now she didn’t care if she never saw them again. Was this how Deangelo felt? Had he always wanted his older, legitimate siblings to accept him; had their actions not just scarred him physically but emotionally as well? Did his desire for revenge stem from more than his loss of his home, from more even than his mother’s death, but from not being thought good enough to be part of their family? Harriet knew how that felt. She’d always known, but she had still hoped.

  Without that hope her feelings were dark and murky. It was easy to see how they could harden and warp. She had friends who loved her to steer and guide her, to remind her of what love and real family bonds were, to pull her back into the light. Who had helped Deangelo? His aunt had done her best, with eight children of her own and an uncertain income she had managed to keep him clothed and fed, sorted his education, but would she have had the time to see the hate festering behind his grief?

  Probably not. Deangelo needed understanding and patience, just like she did. Was it too late? For him? For them?

  At that moment Amber returned bearing a tray heaped with a teapot and cups, cake and scones and sat it down on the table in front of Harriet. ‘House meeting,’ she announced.

  By the time the tea had been poured and cakes and scones distributed, Alexandra had arrived back and joined th
em. Looking around at her friends, Harriet felt a twinge of optimism. None of them had had it easy the last few years, yet here they were, planning for the future with hope. Buoyed by the thought, she managed a couple of mouthfuls of scone and a bite of cake, to Amber’s beaming approval.

  ‘So,’ Emilia said, pushing her plate away. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No.’ Harriet smiled gratefully at her friends. ‘You’ve all done more than enough, covering my work, coming to the hospital with me, unpacking my bags, even...’

  ‘She doesn’t mean talk about your father, although obviously we’re here if you need to,’ Alexandra added quickly. ‘But Em means do you want to talk about your trip to Brazil?’

  ‘You’ve been withdrawn since you got back, beyond your worry about your father. After all, he was out of danger by the time you landed. I know that’s still stressful, but your loss of appetite, the way you keep drifting off into a daydream, the fact you’re not sleeping. It’s a small house.’ Emilia smiled at her apologetically. ‘We just want to know you’re okay. It’s not that we’ve been discussing you behind your back; it’s more that we’re all worried and realised that we’re worried about the same thing.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ But her voice squeaked on the words, the lump in her throat preventing her from saying anything more.

  ‘Harriet, sweetie, did something happen between you and Deangelo?’

  ‘Define “something.”’

  ‘I knew it!’ Amber said.

  ‘Oh, Harriet. Are you okay? Do you need us to go over there with lighted pitchforks and tear his castle down? Because we will.’ Alexandra could be downright scary when she wanted to be.

  ‘No. No, not at all. I am fine. At least, I will be.’

  ‘You fell in love with him,’ Emilia said.

  ‘She was always in love with him.’ Alexandra reached over and covered Harriet’s hand. ‘She’s just realised it, that’s all.’