Page 185 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘Which is what all pessimists say,’ he teased, unfolding his arms and walking towards her with them held out, as if he was going to catch her up into an embrace, although he stopped short of that as he came to stand in front of her. ‘No, you’re not of some ancient, aristocratic lineage. So what? I don’t care.’

‘Maybe you should,’ Mia returned, feeling compelled now to an honesty to which she’d never dared give voice before. Once she started, it felt hard to stop. ‘Your mother does, I imagine, and don’t you think your father would have as well? Maybe your sister, too?’

As soon as she asked the question, Mia realised she’d struck a nerve, a painful one. Santos stilled, the teasing smile dropping from his face like the mask it clearly had been, his arms falling to his sides. ‘This isn’t about my mother,’ he said after a moment, his tone repressive, hinting at a latent anger underneath. ‘Or my father. And my sister definitely wouldn’t care about anything like that. She lives her own life as a textile designer in Madrid.’ His expression softened briefly. ‘I hope you meet her one day. I’m sorry you didn’t before.’

Mia suspected she hadn’t because his mother hadn’t wanted her to. She’d wanted to keep Mia apart, to wait and see if she lasted.

‘Isn’t it about them, at least a little bit?’ Mia challenged quietly. ‘You told me yourself you wanted to follow in your father’s footsteps, and that you feared you never could. Marrying me... Isn’t that part of all that fear? Your father must have wanted you to marry some—some blueblood, someone of your social standing and pedigree.’

Notan illegitimate American waif who had never had a home to call her own. In light of all that, Mia supposed his mother had been as welcoming as she possibly could have been. Her frostiness had to have been expected; at least she hadn’t been outright cruel, even if Mia had longed for so much more. She’d wanted a home, a family, and she’d found neither.

Santos swung away from her. ‘Let’s not talk about all that, Mia,’ he said gruffly. ‘I don’t want to be mired in the past. We’re here now. Let’s enjoy ourselves.’

Which was a pretty effective way to shut down the whole conversation without addressing any of the issues, but Mia accepted it...for now. She was as weary as he was of raking over the past, and they only planned to be in Barcelona for a few nights. She wanted to enjoy herself just as much as he did.

‘Okay,’ she said, and then, wanting to be as honest as she could, added, ‘I’m not trying to pick a fight, Santos, or make things more difficult than they need to be. It’s just... I’m afraid that this stuff matters.’

He turned back to her with a smile that seemed forced, his eyes still shadowed. ‘I know,’ he said, coming up to her and resting his hands on her shoulders. ‘I know.’ He gazed down at her for a moment and then slowly he drew her towards him. Mia came in a few faltering steps, her heart starting to beat rather hard. Was he going to kiss her? His expression looked too sorrowful for that.

He drew her right up to him, so her breasts were brushing his chest, making them ache with both memory and desire. Every time he’d touched her, she’d come alive. She’d had no idea a man could make her feel that way, like little sparks setting off all over her skin.Thathadn’t changed, she acknowledged as she felt the warmth of his palms through the thin cotton of her T-shirt.

His breath fanned her hair and his hands were warm and solid on her shoulders. For a few seconds, they simply stood there, breathing each other in. The ache of desire inside Mia was spreading, taking her over and making her sway. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her. He must feel how much she wanted him to.

Then slowly, deliberately, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Mia closed her eyes. There was something infinitely sweet and tender about the gesture; it felt like a seal as well as a promise. His lips lingered on his skin and then he eased back with a smile, although his eyes still looked sad.

‘We’ll get through all this,’ he told her. ‘We will. But today...tonight...let’s just have fun. We haven’t done that for quite a while.’

Not since those first heady days in Portugal, when everything had felt electric. ‘I know,’ she whispered, and for the first time since he’d come back into her life she felt a pang of genuine sorrow for the loss of all they’d once shared. Shemissedthe way they’d been together.

Once she’d made the decision to leave, she’d been so determined to convince herself it hadn’t been real. She’d been so desperate to write her feelings off as foolish infatuation, as a dreaded fling, that she hadn’t let herself think about just how sweet, how powerful and poignant things had truly been between them...at least at first. Now, for a few achingly sweet moments, she let herself remember. She let herselffeel...and want.

Gently, Santos squeezed her shoulders. ‘The shops should be opening for us in about an hour, if you want to get ready.’

‘All right,’ she whispered, and she slipped from beneath his hands, her whole body aching with remembered and reawakened desire.

As Mia disappeared into the bedroom, Santos swung away from her, fighting a rising tide of sexual frustration as well as alarm and even fear at what she’d brought up.

Don’t you think your father would have as well?

The question had been painfully pointed, more than Mia could possibly know, because he absolutely knew, one hundred percent, that his father would have wanted him to marry elsewhere. His father had picked out his bride when he’d been just seventeen years old—Isabella Ruiz, the daughter of an old business associate with a lineage as esteemed as his own. Santos had nothing against the girl. He’d met her on various occasions and found her meek and willing, obedient and hopeful. He’d told himself he would be willing to marry her eventually, and yet as the months and then years had passed, and his reluctance hadn’t faded, he’d realised the only thing to do was put them both of their misery.

He’d asked her to meet him for dinner and explained that he didn’t feel they were suited. He hadn’t gone deeper than that, and in the end he hadn’t needed to, because Isabella had been relieved. She’d fallen in love with someone else and, while she would have married Santos out of duty, she was glad to be free...and so was he.

His mother had been disappointed, but Santos had assured her that he would find a suitable bride. And so he had, although he acknowledged Mia was hardly what his mother had expected. Still, with time, he’d believed she would come round.

‘I’m ready.’

He turned to see Mia come out of the bedroom; she’d changed into a pale-pink sundress with straps that tied on her shoulders, and made Santos instantly, overwhelmingly, want to release the bows and watch the dress slither down her body, revealing the perfect, golden flesh underneath he remembered so well.

Later, he told himself. He hoped...

‘Wonderful.’ He kept his gaze on her face even though he ached to let it rove over her curves, slender yet lush. ‘Shall we go?’

Almost shyly, she nodded. This was new for both of them, he realised—the seeming normality of it. They were moving on, not just from the pain surrounding the miscarriage, but the novel, heady passion of those first few weeks together.

Real love is something that roots down and grows, Mia had said. Santos hoped that was what was happening right here. He hadn’t let himself think about love when he’d first gone to find Mia; he’d just known that he wanted her back in his life. He’d told himself he was being a man of his word...yet already he knew his feelings for Mia were so much than that. Maybe they really were love, or at least the start of it.

He took her arm as they strolled into the lift, and she let him, resting her hand on his forearm. ‘So, what boutiques do you have this private arrangement with?’ she asked a bit teasingly.

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