Page 172 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

Her mouth twisted into something like a smile. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to kidnap me.’

‘I’m not.’ Even though part of him was actually tempted. He could give the order to sail right now, and there’d be nothing she could do about it, but that was not the way he operated. ‘You’ll come willingly, I hope, for the sake of our marriage.’

Slowly, despairingly, she shook her head. ‘Why, Santos? You know we weren’t happy together. We made each other miserable—’

‘Don’t.’ Now he was the one begging her to stop the reminders, because theyhurt. Yes, they’d been miserable—neither of them could deny it—but theyhadbeen happy once. Maybe they couldn’t be again—heaven knew there was a lot of surging, muddy water beneath that particular bridge—but they still belonged together. At least, they could. It wasn’t just about being a man of his word, he realised. He and Mia had shared something special and important. He didn’t want to walk away from their marriage...even if Mia had already tried.

But what if it’s the smartest, safest, most sensible option?

The possibility felt like a betrayal—and not just of his vows, but of himself. He was an Aguila: he was a man of his word. It had been instilled and drilled into him since he’d been a small boy, looking up adoringly at his father, a man who had spoken with such grave intent.

Never forgot you’re an Aguila. Never forget what it means.

The Aguila family had always been known for its loyalty and integrity. They’d never broken their word, never been questionable in business. All through Spain, the name Aguilameantsomething, his father had reminded him again and again—something both powerful and good. And, now that he was the only male left, the weight of that responsibility was all the heavier and more important.

‘Mia...’ he began, and then had to stop, because as he moved the pain in his head suddenly reached a shrieking crescendo. He blinked as the room swayed and blurred. With a hazy sensation of unreality, Santos realised he was about to pass out.

‘Santos?’

Mia stared at her husband in concern as his face leached of colour and he swayed where he stood. He blinked several times, but his gaze was unseeing, vacant. His jaw slackened and then, with obvious effort, tightened again.

‘I...’ he began, only to start slumping forward, one hand flung out to steady himself on the bar.

Mia rushed forward to try to catch him in her arms. She wrapped them around him, breathing in the familiar, pine scent of his cologne and feeling the warmth of his body that still managed to cause a treacherous tendril of desire to wind right through her, even though he was practically unconscious. What on earth was happening? She’d never seen him like this.

‘Ronaldo!’ she called, her voice hoarse and panicked as she attempted to keep him upright, his powerfully muscled chest pressed against her, his head lolling downward.‘Ronaldo!’

Santos had passed out now, his body a dead weight on hers as she staggered back. He wasn’t overly tall, just a hair’s breadth over six feet, but he was powerfully built, and he was heavy.

‘Ronaldo!’

The security guard burst into the room, flinging the doors back so hard, they hit the wall with a bang. Santos let out a groan.

‘Madre mia!’Ronaldo exclaimed as he rushed towards her. ‘What has happened to theseñor?’

‘I... I don’t know.’ Mia’s arms ached with the effort of holding Santos up, and her knees trembled with fear. Was he deathly ill? Wasthatwhy he’d come and found her? ‘He just...collapsed.’

‘Ronaldo,’ Santos mumbled, his voice slurred, as if he’d been drinking.‘Migrena.’

Ronaldo nodded and heaved Santos up with one powerful arm underneath his shoulders. ‘I’ll take him to his room,’ he told Mia, and it sounded cutting, like a dismissal.

‘I’ll come with you,’ Mia said.

Ronaldo frowned. ‘It is not—’

‘I’m hiswife,’ she reminded him. Even if she’d been trying to forget that fact for the last six weeks. ‘I’m coming.’

Mia wasn’t even sure why she insisted. Surely this was the perfect opportunity to leave the yacht and hightail it out of Ibiza so Santos couldn’t find her again? Except he would, because he’d found her once already; she had absolutely zero doubt that he would do it again. That didn’t mean she had to follow him into his cabin and act as his nurse maid, yet that was exactly what she was doing.

Ronaldo deposited Santos on the wide double bed and Mia found herself taking over.

‘He has a migraine,’ she surmised, from what Santos had said. Even she, with her very limited Spanish, had been able to understand that much.

Ronaldo nodded. ‘He gets them sometimes. Not usually this bad.’

Something she hadn’t known about him. Mia supposed there were a lot of things she didn’t know about her husband, considering how they’d only met seven months ago. ‘I can manage from here,’ she told Ronaldo. ‘I’ll take care of him.’

The security guard frowned. ‘I don’t...’

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