Page 181 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘No,’ he said firmly, although he was thinking on his feet. He had at least a dozen meetings scheduled for next week in Madrid and Rome, as well as estate business to see to back in Seville. Every moment of every day was accounted for, as it always was, but just then none of it mattered. ‘We don’t. We’ll go somewhere else.’

The idea unfurled inside him, blooming into something both cautious and wonderful. ‘We’ll go somewhere just the two of us together. I have a villa in Greece, on a little island.’ It was a place where he’d dreamed of staying for weeks at a time, but he’d never managed it. Not yet. ‘We could go there for a little while. We never had a honeymoon, after all. Maybe now is the time.’

‘Ahoneymoon...?’

The look of blatant scepticism on her face would have hurt him once, but now it just made him more determined. He’d come to Ibiza to find his wife and he’d go to Greece—he’d move heaven and earth—to win her back. Whatever had happened in the past, they could get over it...together. He’d make sure of it; he’d put in the work that he’d said every marriage needed. He’d put in the work for Mia, because this wasn’t just about keeping his word or being an Aguila—it was about what they’d shared, and what they could share again. It was, he decided, time to woo his wayward wife.

CHAPTER SIX

MIAWOKESLOWLYto sunlight, her whole body aching as if she’d taken a physical battering. She felt as if she had, emotionally at least. Yesterday had been...intense. She closed her eyes as the memories washed over her of their blazing argument; the sobs she’d tried to keep in; the guilt she still felt that she hadn’t been able to bear explaining to Santos. All of it together felt like too much to process, and she had no idea at all where they stood with each other. Yet somehow they were going to Greece.

When Santos had suggested heading to his villa—something else she hadn’t known about—Mia had agreed in a moment of weakness or maybe strength; she wasn’t actually sure which. She was tired of fighting, of running, and she had no money, no energy or no hope. Maybe a few days in a private villa, away from all the stresses and strains, would be a good thing. She hadn’t let herself hope it could actually repair their marriage, although Santos seemed to think it would.

‘This will be good for us,’ he’d told her, his hands still resting on her shoulders. ‘This could be exactly what we need.’

As if a holiday would sort everything out. Well, at least it would be a rest, Mia thought wearily. But she wasn’t ready for round two of picking apart the past. Talking about her miscarriage as much as they had had been hard enough, and there was still so much that hadn’t been said. She feared Santos would never truly understand how she could both have not wanted the baby and been saddened by the loss. Mia falling pregnant just two weeks after their wedding had not been in either of their plans. But birth control had failed, as it did sometimes and, improbably, Santos had been delighted—Mia very much less so.

‘But Mia...’ He’d looked confused, even hurt, when she’d seemed decidedly less than thrilled with the results of the test, staring at the two blazing pink lines. ‘It’s a baby. Aniño! Orniña. Either way...’ The smile he’d given her had been endearingly crooked, his eyes warm with excitement and love—or what she’d thought was love. How could it have been love, considering what had happened later and how quick he’d been to blame her? ‘Our child.’ He’d taken her hands in his. ‘I know it’s soon, very soon, but I am pleased. And excited. I’ve always wanted a family.’

And then he’d registered the look of misery on her face, perhaps had felt how icy her hands were in his, and he’d frowned. ‘What’s...what’s wrong?’

‘Santos, I...’ Even then she hadn’t wanted to admit it, but why hadn’t he been able to understand? They’d known each other for amonth. ‘I’m not... I’m not ready to have a baby.’

He’d grinned at a problem easily solved. ‘It’s a good thing then that it takes nine months for one to grow! You’ll be ready by then.’

‘No, I won’t be.’ Her voice had been flat, and his grin had vanished, replaced by something far worse than a frown. That had been the first time of many she’d seen his narrow-eyed look, the way his mouth both pursed up and turned down.

‘So...what are you saying?’ His voice had been dangerously soft.

‘I... I don’t know,’ she’d admitted helplessly. ‘I’m just... I’m not ready.’ Although in truth she hadn’t known if she’d ever be ready. What could she possibly know about being a good mother, considering her own upbringing? Yet she hadn’t wanted to explain that to Santos. He wouldn’t have understood; he’d have dismissed her concerns and insisted it would all be fine. She’d known that already. ‘This wasn’t in our plan...’ she’d tried again. Not that they’d had much of a plan, getting married so precipitously. They’d both just been carried along on a tide of feeling, of desire and joy. But she’d been only twenty-six years old, and they’d been married for a matter ofweeks. It surely hadn’t been what either of them wanted.

He’d stared at her for a long moment while she’d looked back miserably, the pregnancy test still held in her hand. She’d only taken it because her period was usually like clockwork but she hadn’t actuallythought...

‘I hope,’ he’d told her in that same ominous voice, ‘That you are not suggesting what it sounds like you are suggesting. Because this is my baby as much as it is yours, Mia. No matter what you think about such things, I do not believe you have the right to take away my child, my flesh and blood.’ His voice had thrummed with anger, his body with tension.

‘If you’re talking about me having an abortion,’ Mia had replied, her voice trembling, ‘Then, no; I’m not thinking that.’ She’d still been reeling from shock. ‘I don’t... I don’t know what I want, Santos. I just... I didn’t want this.’

If she’d hoped he would be understanding of her uneasy ambivalence, he hadn’t been. His tone had been flat as he’d turned away from her. ‘Well,thisis a child we created together,’ he’d said. ‘Andthisis what we are dealing with now.’

It had been the end of the conversation.

With a sigh, Mia swung her legs over the edge of the bed and gazed out through the porthole at the aquamarine sea, its surface dancing with sunlight. She was so lucky, she told herself. She was on a multi-million-pound yacht with a man who wanted to be married to her, who had professed to being committed to making their marriage work. If she stayed with him, she’d never want for anything materially again. Emotionally it would be another matter, but even so, maybe she needed to start counting her blessings—think about what she did have, rather than what she didn’t.

The need to protect herself was deeply ingrained; she’d had too many years of her mother’s determined indifference and sometimes wilful neglect not to be cautious with her own battered heart. Mia had long ago learned to be wary and guarded with strangers; it came with the territory of a wandering lifestyle, first with her mother, and then chosen as an adult because it was all she’d been ever known. Her own guardedness had made her initial response to Santos all the more surprising. She’d trusted him from the start—against her better judgement, perhaps, but not against her instinct. She truly believed Santos was a good man at his core. Yes, he could be intractable, intransigent,stubborn. He could also be arrogant, autocratic and bossy. But she had her own faults that he’d had to deal with. If they really were both committed, maybe they could make their marriage work. At least, they could try.

And yet Mia wasn’t even sure where to begin...or if she could. Did she really have that emotional resilience after everything? Running—and keeping on running—felt safer. Maybe stronger too, even if she knew it really wasn’t.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and went to shower and dress. All she could do, she told herself, was take this—them—one day at a time.

Twenty minutes later she left her cabin below deck and headed up to find Santos. It was a beautiful summer’s day, the air soft and balmy, the sky a hazy blue fleeced with puffy white clouds. She found Santos at the helm of the yacht, the breeze ruffling his dark hair, his eyes hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. He was wearing white linen trousers and a loose button-down shirt in navy, his skin like burnished bronze against the fabric, his whole body seeming both relaxed and in control. He smiled when he saw her, his teeth gleaming in his tanned face.

‘Sleep well?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ She’d been so exhausted by everything that had happened that she’d practically fallen into a coma the second her head had touched the pillow. She pulled her thin cardigan around herself as the breeze buffeted her. ‘What’s the plan now, exactly?’

‘We’re on track to sail to Amorgos, where I have the villa.’

‘I didn’t know you owned a Greek villa.’

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