Page 176 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

Mia turned from the railing, managing a smile for the young, round-faced woman. ‘Señor Aguila is waking up,’ she said. ‘And after sleeping for so long I’m sure he’s hungry. Could you please prepare something for him to eat? Maybe just some fruit and tapas—I don’t know how much he’ll want.’

Gabriela nodded her assent. ‘Of course,señora.’

‘Thank you.’ It still boggled Mia’s mind that Santos’s staff had to cater to her whims. She’d been earning her living waitressing or housekeeping in a variety of low-brow places since she’d been sixteen. The idea that someone would have to serveher, and in such elegant, extravagant surroundings, had seemed ludicrous. In her three months living with Santos at his estate, she’d never really got used to it. She had always felt like an interloper, an intruder.

No one, not even Santos, had made her feel any different. Santos had been too busy, having to make up for the time he’d taken off work when they’d married. His mother had not known what to do with her; maybe she’d been hoping Mia wouldn’t last. The staff had been scrupulously polite without actually being friendly. Mia knew she couldn’t really have expected anything else. Santos had completely shocked everyone by bringing home a wife—a wife he barely knew, a footloose and fancy-free American who was nothing like what they must have been expecting.

Mia straightened, steeling her spine. She was going to convince Santos that they were better off apart—an amicable divorce, maybe even an annulment, if a lawyer could make it stick. There had to be some sort of grounds, considering how brief their marriage was. Then he could go on to marry someone far more suitable—some Spanish heiress, perhaps. And what would she do? Move on, Mia supposed, fighting a sense of desolation at the thought—as usual.

‘Here you are.’

She turned to see Santos standing in the doorway of the lounge, its louvre doors open to the deck. He was wearing a cream linen shirt and loose dark trousers. He looked refreshed and frankly wonderful, his dark hair still damp from the shower, the smell of his cologne spicy and clean. For a second, no more, Mia had an urge to rush into his arms and let them enfold her. She smiled instead, one hand still resting on the railing to anchor her.

‘Here I am,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘Gabriela was going to put some food out in the dining area. What is that called on a yacht—a galley?’

‘A galley is the kitchen.’ He smiled, strolling towards her. He seemed far more relaxed than he had back in his cabin when he’d been lying in bed, still recovering from the aftereffects of his migraine, as well as purposeful. ‘I think I’d just call it the dining room.’

‘Right. I thought ships had special names for all the rooms, but I guess they don’t.’ How stupid could she sound? Mia cursed herself for feeling so unsteady in his presence. He was standing right in front of her and it was taking all her strength not to step close and curl into him. She wanted to rest her head on his solid chest, wrap her arms his waist, press close and feel both subsumed and safe.

She recalled how safe she’d felt lying next to him that first night, her head on his shoulder as he’d slept. He hadn’t even been aware she was there, but they’d slept the whole night together before she’d slipped away in the morning, not wanting anyone to know, trying to convince herself that she didn’t really miss him.

Santos leaned forward to lift the end of her plait from her shoulder, his fingers brushing her collar bone as he gently placed it behind her back, his fingers sliding along the knobs of her spine. ‘Thank you, Mia,’ he said quietly.

‘Thank you?’ Mia’s voice was unsteady as she stared at him, conscious of the way his fingers had trailed up her spine as he’d removed his hand, trailing sparks of heat wherever he touched. ‘For...for what?’

His golden-brown gaze rested on hers, as molten as a pool of honey. ‘For staying. For being willing to talk things through.’

She was only doing that so he’d let her go, Mia reminded herself. This was about convincing him they should divorce, nothing else, even if she could still feel the brush of his fingertips along her spine, never mind that he was no longer touching her. Even if her head was starting to feel as if it were full of cotton wool, and all she could think about was how he’d touched her, how he looked and even how he smelled—like trees and sunshine with a hint of leather. She wanted to bury her nose in the hollow of his neck and just breathe him in. Once, she’d had that right, but no longer. She wouldn’t let herself.

‘We have unfinished business, Santos,’ she forced herself to state, thankful her voice came out strong...stronger, anyway. ‘If we talk, maybe then we can both move on.’

A frown settled between his dark, straight brows. ‘Is that why you stayed—simply to convince me tomove on?’

‘For both of us to move on,’ Mia amended. ‘It’s for the best, and I think you’ll realise that eventually, if you don’t already. Maybe we both need closure.’

His frown deepened, although when he spoke his voice was mild. ‘So, you still think our marriage was a mistake.’

Mia shook her head slowly, not in denial of what he’d said, but rather in disbelief that he could act as if she was the only one with that notion. ‘Be honest,’ she told him. ‘Never mind what you’ve said about vows and all that—don’tyouthink it was a mistake?’ How could he not? They’d known each other for just two crazy, passion-filled weeks before they’d married. Admittedly, they’d spent just about every second of those two weeks together, but it had still just been a fling, an infatuation.

The best thing that had ever happened to her.

‘Señor? Señora?’Gabriela appeared in the doorway. ‘Your meal is ready.’

‘Gracias, Gabriela,’ Santos murmured before turning back to Mia, his forehead still furrowed. ‘I’m going to answer that question you just asked,’ he promised. ‘And we’re really going to talk—properly—about everything.’

A shiver of apprehension and even fear rippled through Mia.Everything?She wasn’t remotely ready for that, and she didn’t think Santos was either.

With trepidation bordering on terror, she followed him back into the yacht to a meal that was starting to feel like her last.

CHAPTER FOUR

GABRIELAHADOUTDONEHERSELF, Mia thought, as she came into the dining room with its cherry-wood table that seated twelve and matching chairs with cushions of cream leather. Built-in cabinets of glossy wood housed a set of expensive-looking porcelain, with Aguila’s eagle crest and trademark stripes of gold and grey.

On one end of the long table, several dishes had been laid out—the typical tapas of Seville including Iberian ham, manzanilla olives, spinach and chickpea tapenade and pork in whiskey sauce. There was also a bowl of ripe, succulent fruit, as well as freshly baked bread and a round of Manchego cheese. Two place settings had been laid, complete with crystal glasses and linen napkins, the chairs perpendicular to each other.

It was a cosy, inviting spot. Santos, chivalrous as ever, pulled out the chair at the end of the table for her. With murmured thanks, Mia sat down. She was trying not to freak out about the thought of talking about everything. Surely he hadn’t actually meant it? He’d never wanted to before...and neither had she.

He sat down in the seat perpendicular to her, close enough that his knee nudged hers, and the warmth of his leg against hers was enough to send her heart rate skittering as awareness rippled along her skin. Had he done it deliberately? He didn’t seem bothered by the contact, but Mia was. Everything about this experience was making her feel uneasy and anxious, as well as hyper-sensitive, as if her nerves were being scraped raw. She couldn’t handle being so close to this man, not with so many memories between them—the beautiful, bittersweet ones, and the painful ones that still caused her shudders of agony. The sooner they agreed to go their separate ways, the better. She wasn’t sure she could survive much more.

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