Page 191 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘Well?’ she demanded, her voice ringing out loud and hard.

Irritation flickered through him. It wasn’t unreasonable of him to wonder why his wife would be on birth control when they’d been apart for so long. ‘I just asked a question,’ he replied coolly. ‘One that, for some reason, you haven’t seemed willing to answer.’

For a second, he saw hurt flash through her eyes and her face started to crumple. A sudden, crippling guilt assailed him. What was he saying, thinking, aboutMia?

‘Mia...’

Her chin came up as her expression ironed out into something hard and unyielding. ‘I believe your question was, how long have I been on the pill? I’d bedelightedto answer you, Santos. I’ve been on the pill since the obstetrician who delivered our dead baby offered it to me after the procedure. You weren’t there for the conversation, you see, because you’d walked out of the room.’

And then she did exactly that, storming past him back into the penthouse. He heard the slam of the bedroom door and bowed his head. He felt like an utter ass, an idiot, abrute. He hadn’t really thought... And yet, for a few damning seconds, he’d acted as if he had. He knew it, and it made guilt and regret churn acidly inside him. He turned to go after Mia and then decided to give her—and himself—a few moments to cool down. He needed to work out what had been going on in his mind and, more importantly, why.

Slowly, frowning in thought, Santos walked to the bar and poured himself a large whisky. Why, he wondered, had he jumped to such conclusions, and so quickly? And had Mia really faced that alone? She’d said he’d walked out of the room back at the hospital.

Those grief-stricken hours felt like a blur. She’d barely spoken to him, and he’d felt so helpless in the face of their loss—a loss he hadn’t been sure she felt, at least not the way he had. The loss of their baby had brought up so many memories, stirring to life the old grief for his father that he’d thought long buried. He’d never explained any of that to Mia, had never even tried to tell her how his father had died or how guilty he’d felt. The burden of carrying on his father’s name had sometimes been too heavy to bear. But surely they both had enough to be going on with without having to think about all that now?

And yet...what if it was all related—the assumptions he’d made about Mia now as well as then?Why?Because, Santos acknowledged starkly, on some level he felt he hadn’t really known her. How could he have after just a few weeks? It was a point she’d made herself, and he hadn’t been truly honest with her about his own doubts. Not that their marriage was amistake, precisely, because he still meant what he’d said about taking his vows seriously. But maybe it had been precipitous, a point his mother had made with both acerbity and alarm. It had also been so utterly out of character for him; afterwards, he’d half-wondered if he’d been possessed not just by passion but by some deeper, driving need to be happy...to befree.

Maybe these were some of the thoughts he needed to share with Mia, instead of stubbornly insisting he hadn’t had any doubts. Santos drained his whisky and then set the empty glass on the bar. Slowly he walked towards the bedroom, pausing before the closed door before he tapped once and then opened it.

Mia was curled up on the bed, her knees hugged to her chest, her tangled hair spread across the pillow and covering her face. It made pain lance through him, the regret he felt, before sharpening to an agonising point.

‘Mia, I’m sorry,’ he stated quietly.

She took a hitched breath, the sound making him ache. ‘What,’ she asked, her voice muffled and clogged with tears, ‘Are you sorry for exactly, Santos? I’m just curious.’

He perched on the edge of the bed, close to her tucked-up legs. He wanted to touch her, but he decided to wait.

‘For making assumptions. Not just about the birth control thing, but before, about...about the baby.’ The words came stiltedly, but he still meant them, and he hoped Mia knew it. ‘I know you said you weren’t ready to have a baby,’ he continued, ‘But that didn’t mean you weren’t sad when you miscarried. I do realise that, even if I didn’t show it or say it.’

Mia pushed her hair away from her tear-streaked face as she scooted up against the pillows. ‘Why didn’t you say it, Santos?’ she asked quietly. ‘It would have made such a difference to me.’ A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away, sniffing.

‘I...don’t know,’ he admitted, although that felt like a cop-out. Itwas.

‘I thought you blamed me,’ she whispered. ‘Istillthink you blame me, at least a little bit, for not wanting the baby in the first place. But we’d been married for two weeks, Santos!’ She blinked at him through her tears as she shook her head slowly. ‘We’d known each other for little over amonth. It all felt like it was happening way too fast.’

‘I know.’ He’d felt that too, even if he’d been pleased. He’d always wanted a family, and in all fairness he’d supposed having a baby together would cement their marriage—legitimise it in a way a barefoot ceremony on the beach in Portugal hadn’t; not entirely, anyway. Perhaps he’d felt a baby would bind Mia to him more than a piece of paper did. On some level he’d been thinking that way without even fully realising it.

But he hadn’t fully realised a lot of things back then, Santos acknowledged, and maybe he still didn’t. He hadn’t realised how Mia had struggled with so much, including adjusting to life in Seville. He hadn’t considered how having a baby in that new environment might make her feel even more uncertain and afraid. And he wasn’t entirely sure what was going through her mind now...but he wanted to know. He wanted her to tell him.

‘Sometimes,’ Mia whispered, ‘I wonder why you married me. I wonder why you don’t seem to regret it. Maybe you do, and the whole “vow” thing is a millstone around your neck; I don’t know.’ She paused and then met his gaze directly, seeming to summon her courage before she asked bluntly, ‘You told me you loved me, but I... I don’t know if I believe you. I believe you think you love me—’

‘Mia—’ he protested, although he wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Did he want to double down on saying he loved her now, when she clearly wasn’t going to say she loved him? Surely love wasn’t a tit-for-tat thing? And yet...he felt vulnerable enough already.

A sigh escaped Mia, long and low. ‘Why did you marry me, Santos? Really?’

Santos stared back at her, knowing she needed his honesty, yet not quite sure how to give it. Did he even know himself? ‘Mia, if I had an easy answer, I’d give it to you,’ he said slowly. ‘The truth is, I... I don’t even know. All I can say is, when we met, when we spent time together, I felt happier than I had in a long time—maybe ever. And I wanted that to continue.’ He paused, his throat working as he continued raggedly, ‘Ineededit to.’

To his surprise, she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. ‘Why?’ she asked softly. ‘Weren’t you happy before?’

The questions were becoming even harder to answer. They felt more painful, more revealing.

An Aguila must always be master of his own mind and heart.

To him that had meant not admitting his weakness, his need. And yet maybe that was what Mia needed. Maybe it was what he needed too. There was a positive side to this sort of vulnerability, opening up, as well as giving. ‘Not like that,’ he confessed in a low voice as he gazed down at their twined fingers. ‘Never like that.’

Gently Mia squeezed his fingers. When he risked a glance at her, he saw her smiling softly through her tears, and he felt a sudden pressure in his chest, a lump in his throat. Somehow, in that moment, neither of them seemed to need any more words.

CHAPTER TEN

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