Page 184 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

He paused, feeling hesitant, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because last night, whether she’d wanted to or not, Mia had shown him how fragile she truly was. Fragile, and yet also wonderfully strong. But he felt the need as well as the desire to treat her tenderly, as well as giving her agency and choice, even in matters as small as this.

‘I thought perhaps we could stop in Barcelona,’ he suggested. ‘And do some shopping. You’ve only got that back pack you brought with you, and as it happens I didn’t pack for a significant time away. We could stay in the city for a few days and then head to Amorgos after, if that’s agreeable to you?’

Mia considered the matter, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side. ‘I feel bad, buying more clothes when I have a whole wardrobe back in Seville.’

None of which she’d taken with her. He’d bought them for her gladly, wanting to shower her with presents, but she’d barely worn any of the clothes or jewels. He hadn’t quite clocked that until now. Why hadn’t she? Santos decided it wasn’t a question for just then.

‘Unfortunately, your clothes are in Seville and not here,’ he replied lightly. ‘And I imagine you could do with a few more items, as could I. Besides...’ He kept his voice light, even a little suggestive. ‘It could be fun.’

Their gazes met and held, memory unspooling between them in a long, lovely, golden thread. Memories of all they’d shared together, physically and, yes, emotionally, because making love with Mia had felt emotional. Spiritual, even, if it wasn’t too crazy to think that way, their bodies joined, their hearts and minds as well.

And two nights in a five-star hotel in Barcelona sharing a bedroom...abed...well, yes, Santos thought that could be veryfunindeed. It had been a long time since they’d so much as kissed—months...since before the miscarriage, even. Things had become tense when Mia had clearly been less than pleased about her pregnancy. Santos had hoped she’d come round, but the pregnancy had ended before she’d got the chance...and made everything worse between them.

Looking at Mia now, seeing the way her eyes darkened and her lips parted, her breath coming out in a soft, unsteady sigh, Santos wanted that part of their marriage back again—badly. Because that part had always worked exceedingly well...and maybe it would even help to heal the other parts too.

Mia kept his gaze as she answered, forming the words slowly, with clear deliberation. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, a small smile curving her lips, and Santos’s blood surged. ‘That would be...fun.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

INALLHERtravels Mia had never been to Barcelona. The city stretched before her now in a sea of terracotta buildings and stretches of vivid green grass punctuated with the electrifying and elaborate architecture the city was known for. Before her lay the prow-like Natural History Museum, the rumpled roof of the Santa Caterina market and, of course, the wedding-cake spires of Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia cathedral, still unfinished after nearly one hundred and fifty years. All of it was a feast for the eyes, the senses, and Mia could scarcely take everything in as she and Santos left the confines of the yacht for the city.

They’d moored the yacht at the exclusive Marina Port Vell right in the centre of town. Santos had arranged for a car to be waiting for them to whisk them away to the penthouse suite of the Mandarin Hotel on Passeig de Gràcia, in the beating heart of the city’s luxury shopping district.

Even though Mia had lived with Santos in some style for several months, the wealth and luxury had never quite felt real; she’d never felt as if such things could be trusted. In the imposing rooms and galleries of the Aguila hacienda, with its ancient oil paintings and ornate woodwork, Mia had felt like a gawking visitor, and sometimes an unwanted one at that. Certainly his mother, although doing her best to be gracious, had been unenthused by her only son’s choice, and in truth Mia could hardly blame her. If she’d been in a similar situation, she would probably have been horrified.

During their short time at the estate, she and Santos had never ventured far, save for a few dinners out in Seville, and the days had often been long and empty because he’d been so busy with his work. She remembered wandering the rooms of the hacienda, feeling entirely out of place, his mother eyeing her narrowly, no doubt wondering how long she’d last. Well, not very long, as it had turned out. She hadn’t even met Santos’s sister Marina, who lived in Madrid.

Now, strolling into the elegant foyer of the hotel as the porter sprang to attention to take their bags, Mia felt as if she was experiencing something else entirely—truly the honeymoon they’d never had.

‘I’ve never actually been in a penthouse,’ she remarked when they’d taken the lift up and she walked through the stylised rooms of the hotel’s best suite on the top floor. Everything was sleek and sharp, with lots of streamlined angles and modern art. A set of sliding glass doors led to their own private rooftop terrace overlooking the old town. There were two bedrooms, including a stunning master suite with its own sumptuous bathroom, its gold-plated fixtures gleaming; a kitchen, a living room, dining room and a study. They had a butler at their beck and call and the use of a private car for their entire stay. It felt extraordinary...decadent.

Admittedly, she’d had similar privilege back in Seville. The staff at the Aguila estate numbered in the dozens, and everything had been the height of old-world luxury. Yet somehow this felt different—more personal, perhaps—because it was just the two of them. There were no sober-faced staff standing by to intimidate her, no censorious mother-in-law to impress or avoid.

Until she’d fled, she hadn’t realised just how oppressive she’d found the whole experience, Mia reflected—such as her mother-in-law’s careful yet pointed reminders of which fork to use for which course at the elaborate family dinners, while Mia had fumbled and dropped a spoon. Such as her remarks about how Mia would have to educate herself on Spanish customs and manners, making her feel like an absolute yokel. She recalled howbusySantos had always been so busy, managing a massive estate. And how extraneous she’d seemed to everyone, wandering around the empty rooms, trying not to feel lost, homesick for...what?...a place she’d never even known.

Yes, thankfully this was all different. She could breathe more easily here...except when she thought of what might happen later that night, and then her breathing hitched as her heart started to race with anticipation. She didn’t think she’d imagined the look of blatant intent simmering in Santos’s eyes when he’d suggested coming to Barcelona. Was he expecting her to share his bed tonight? Did she want to?

Part of her, a very large part, ached to be in his arms again. Ached to feel loved, even if she knew she still couldn’t trust that it was real. Another part told her to be cautious, to guard her body along with her heart. They hadn’t so much as brushed lips since before the miscarriage. There had been a reason for that.

‘Why don’t you relax?’ Santos suggested as he strolled through the penthouse as if he owned it. He was a man totally at ease in this world in a way that Mia doubted she ever would be. Yet another difference between them—she was mentally chalking them up, trying not to let the sheer number dispirit her. They were there, though, and they mattered. She had convinced herself they didn’t when she’d been swept away in the first whirlwind of their romance, but over the difficult months of their marriage she had come to realise just how much they did...whether Santos was willing to acknowledge it or not.

‘When are we going to go shopping?’ she asked.

‘I called a few boutiques and arranged for them to stay open for us privately,’ Santos told her, as if it was a small matter to arrange such a thing. ‘So, we can suit ourselves with the timings, but we do have a dinner reservation for eight. I thought we’d appreciate not having to deal with the crowds.’

‘Thehoi polloi?’ Mia replied wryly, and he shrugged.

‘Yes, if you like. Do you feel differently?’

She knew he was doing his best to be thoughtful and considerate, and she appreciated it; shedid. And yet... ‘No, not really, but...I’mthehoi polloi, Santos.’ It simply had to be said. ‘The great unwashed, as it were.’ She was not even half-joking although she kept her tone light. ‘I hope you don’t mind rubbing elbows withme.’

He frowned before deliberately turning the corners of his mouth up into a smile. ‘You know I don’t, Mia.’

‘I know, it’s just...’ Heaven knew, she wasn’t trying to pick a fight, but these things had to be pointed out. Theymattered. ‘Another way in which we’re different,’ she finished before adding resolutely, because perhaps this needed to be said too, ‘Maybe too different.’

Santos folded his arms, his expression turning obdurate in a way she remembered all too well. He really could be the most stubborn man. ‘You seem determined to believe that such things are insurmountable.’

‘I’m just trying to be a realist.’

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