Page 201 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘Those places attract all sorts of types,’ she continued, and now her voice started to sound a little wobbly, which was exactly what she didn’t want.

Don’t feel sorry for me.

Sometimes, growing up, it felt as though her dignity was the only thing she had. She didn’t want to lose it now. ‘Drug addicts, wastrels...predators.’

Santos tightened his hand on hers, so she winced as he squeezed her fingers, and he murmured an apology as he loosened his grip. ‘Dios benedito...What are you telling me?’

‘There were a few dicey situations,’ she admitted. ‘Heaven knows, it could have been worse. I was never... Well...’

She drew in a hitched breath. ‘But a couple of times it was close. Some guy would sidle up to me, or corner me somewhere alone, tell me how pretty I was, try to... Well, you can imagine.’

Santos swore under his breath, his expression turning thunderous.

‘I got used to being on my guard,’ Mia explained. She’d slept with a knife under her pillow sometimes. ‘And used to not trusting people, I guess. Making myself invisible...and always moving whenever I needed to, just the way my mother did.’

Santos’s face was pale, his golden-brown eyes wide and dark. He looked seriously shaken. ‘Mia... Dear Lord. Did you never tell your mother about any of this?’

‘I tried, at first, but she wasn’t really interested. She’d never actually wanted me, you see. At least, that was what she told me, but she kept dragging me around, so who knows? Maybe she did.’

She let out a sound that was meant to be a laugh, but definitely wasn’t. Mia dragged in a breath, determined to recover her dignity.

‘It was a long time ago, Santos, and I’ve moved on. I’m only telling you now because the way I grew up made a difference to who I am as a person. It made me guarded, I suppose, underneath...’

She swallowed, trying to ease the ache that had formed in her throat. Shenevertalked like this.

‘I ended up choosing to live like my mother—moving around a lot, keeping everything easy, but underneath I’ve been someone different. Someone I never show to the world. Someone I haven’t always showed to you.’

‘And who,’ Santos asked in a low voice, his mind reeling from everything Mia had told him, ‘Is that person? How is she different from the face you show to the world?’

Mia stared at him, her lovely blue-green eyes so dark and fathomless. She wore her hair back in a loose braid and a few auburn tendrils had escaped to frame a face that was far too pale. He ached to hold her, comfort her, but she was holding herself slightly apart, her hand very still in his, as if she were fragile and about to break.

Maybe she was...and he’d never realised how much. He’d though he was able to be the light and laughing person he was in her presence because she was the same. But what if she wasn’t? What if it was all an act? What did that make her, or him, or their marriage?

‘Mia?’ he prompted quietly.

Mia slipped her hand from his and brought her knees up to her chest, curling her arms around them and hugging them tight. A few more wisps of hair had fallen from her braid and curled about her face, making her look young and somehow vulnerable.

‘I didn’t mean to say all that,’ she whispered.

‘But you did.’

A sigh escaped her, long and lonely. ‘It all sounds a bit melodramatic.’

‘Your childhood was dramatic,’ Santos reminded her. ‘You’re allowed to show some emotion.’ Rather ironic advice for him to give, since he liked to keep his own emotions under such tight control, and yet Mia had changed that about him. Maybe, against all odds, he could do the same for her.

Mia gazed down at her knees, her braid falling over one shoulder. ‘Like I said, I’ve been guarded, I suppose,’ she said at last, her voice so soft Santos strained to hear it even though he was sitting right next to her. ‘Careful. I’ve acted like I don’t care about many things because then people can’t hurt you.’ She looked up, her eyes wide with a glassy sheen. ‘But it’s not the same as actually not caring. Underneath, I care. I’ve always cared.’

‘Caring is a good thing, surely?’ Santos suggested, reaching for her hand again.‘Querida?’

She let him take her hand but kept hers limp against his palm. ‘Yes, except when it hurts.’

He knew immediately what she was talking about: the miscarriage; how he’d left her alone. Guilt swirled in his stomach like acid. ‘Mia...’

‘Santos, there’s something else I haven’t told you,’ Mia said in a rush. ‘About...about the baby.’ She gave a little gulp. ‘Part of the reason I wasn’t as thrilled as you were was because I’ve always been scared to be a mother. To care about someone that much... And I’m afraid I’ll mess it up. What on earth do I know about being a mother? I didn’t exactly have the best example.’ She tried to laugh, but the sound was jagged and broken.

Santos gathered her up in his arms, needing to hold her. ‘Mia, I think you’ll make a great mother.’ He could already picture her, her face suffused with wonder and love as she gazed down at their baby in her arms. ‘You have so much love to give,’ he insisted. ‘You just haven’t been able to give it before.’

‘But I mess things up,’ she whispered. ‘And when things get hard—when I feel like I could get hurt—I run. That’s what I’ve always done, Santos.’ She wriggled away to peer up at him, her expression turning serious, a little fearful. ‘That’s how I operate, how I’ve always operated, as a child and as an adult. Maybe I don’t know any better.’

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