Page 202 of Modern Romance November 2024 5-8

‘If I can change,’ Santos said after a moment, ‘And become Mr Touchy Feely...’ this elicited a soft laugh from her, which heartened him ‘...then you can learn to stop running. To stay and trust me. Because I swear, Mia, on my life, that I won’t let you down. Not this time. Not ever.’

Her face softened as she gently pressed one hand to his cheek. ‘It’s not about you letting me down, Santos, remember? It’s about the two of us together, working it out. Making it work.’ Her breath hitched. ‘I want to believe we can, but...’

She trailed off, shaking her head, and he frowned. ‘But what, Mia?’

‘I’m not exactly Aguila matriarch material,’ she said after a moment. She slipped out of his arms, tucking a few tendrils of hair behind her ears as she composed herself.

‘My mother will come round,’ Santos insisted. He couldn’t believe that was all that was bothering her. His mother was a force of nature, it was true, but she was just one person. Whatever insecurity Mia felt, it had to go deeper than that.

She let out a small sigh. ‘Maybe,’ she allowed. ‘But what about everyone else? What about you? Once...once the novelty wears off?’

Santos frowned, struggling not to feel a sense of hurt that she thought he might be so fickle, soshallow. ‘Do you really think that I wouldtireof you?’ he asked, unable to keep from sounding insulted.

‘Maybe,’ Mia replied bleakly. ‘I don’t know. This is still new, Santos. Greece has been wonderful, incredible, but we both know it’s not real life. And back in Seville my deficiencies will become all the more apparent—and I’m not just talking about not knowing what silverware to use.’

He folded his arms. ‘What are you talking about, then?’

She brushed another strand of hair from her forehead as she shrugged her slender shoulders, her blue-green gaze moving around the lush garden.

‘Everything. Your world isn’t mine, Santos, and I’m still not sure if I truly have a place in it. And,’ she continued, cutting him off before he could protest, her voice turning fierce, ‘I don’t want to be a problem you have to solve. I don’t want to be your responsibility, another burden you have to carry that you feel the weight of, that you come here to escape.’

She turned back to gaze steadily at him, while Santos strove to keep his emotions under control. He should never have admitted how he felt, how oppressive he sometimes found his own role.

An Aguila is master of his own heart and mind.

There was a reason for that, he realised. A reason he should have acknowledged and accepted. He did not want Mia worrying about him, thinking he couldn’t handle life with her.

‘That’s not what marriage is,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s not what it should be.’

‘We can be each other’s responsibility, then,’ Santos replied, although he wasn’t sure he entirely meant it. He never wanted Mia to feel burdened by him.

‘How will that work?’

An exasperated breath escaped him before he could stop it. ‘I don’t know the ins and outs of it all, Mia, and neither do you. We can’t, until we try. We can hash it out, and deliberate and dither, but in the end we’ll still just to have jump in and try.

‘And,’ he added, his tone turning implacable, although he hadn’t meant it to, ‘The truth is, I have to get back to Seville. To work and, yes, to real life, because you’re right—this isn’t it.’ He knew he sounded autocratic, and he wanted to stop himself but, heaven help him, he’d bent over backwards to show Mia she could trust him. At some point, she was just going to have to do it.

Mia stared at him for a long moment, her expression pensive and a little resigned. Santos met her gaze with an obdurate one. He wasn’t going to beg her to come back with him, he realised. Not this time. He’d made his assurances and his promises more than once. Mia was the one who needed to take the next step now—for both their sakes.

‘All right,’ she said softly and, with a flicker of hurt and treacherous annoyance, he heard how sad she sounded. ‘When do we leave?’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THEMUSTARD-YELLOWWALLSof the Aguila estate rose up towards the achingly blue sky as the luxury SUV turned through the heavy wrought-iron gates. Santos reached over and touched her hand and Mia forced a smile. She was dreading this, and Santos probably knew it, but she would do her best to act as if she wasn’t.

It had taken them three days to sail from Amorgos to Cadiz, where Santos moored his yacht. Two cars had been waiting to take them to the estate, his staff accompanying them—including Ronaldo, whose attitude towards Mia had thawed only a little.

The ninety-minute trip had been conducted mostly in silence, with Santos going into full work mode checking emails and sending messages, a furrow between his eyes as his fingers flew over his phone. He’d also reverted to Spanish when speaking to various staff, a necessity that made Mia feel more left out because, while she could get by in Spanish, she was still far from fluent. Maybe, once they were back at the hacienda, she would take lessons. It would be a way to show Santos she really was trying because, she told herself, she did want to try. Even if her stomach churned with nerves and dread as the hacienda came into view.

Not only did she have all the painful memories to deal with but also the intense awkwardness of returning as the prodigal wife. Santos had gone to fetch her and had now brought her back. Even though their relationship was restored—mostly, anyway, although she still had her fears—Mia worried at how the optics would appear. It would be as if she was an unruly child who had been disciplined and returned with her proverbial tail between her legs. She knew she shouldn’t care, because Santos didn’t think that, but it still wasn’t something she was looking forward to at all.

And sure enough, that was exactly how it seemed as the car pulled up in front of the magnificent mahogany front doors and Santos’s mother, Evalina, came out, unsmiling and severe. She was a striking woman, slender and elegant, her dark hair, barely streaked with silver, pulled up into a chignon. She wore tailored cream trousers and a silk blouse in chartreuse, with a matching set of diamond-and-emerald earrings, bracelet and necklace. As always, she had that look of seamless elegance that Mia had noticed in so many Spanish women.

She’d taken care with her own appearance that morning, and wore a pair of wide-legged linen trousers and a bright-blue top with a scalloped edge, but she suspected compared to her mother-in-law she looked something of a mess. She suppressed a sigh as she gave Santos what she hoped was a bright smile.

‘Welcome home,querida,’ he said softly, and her smile briefly faltered. The Aguila estate did not feel like home and Mia wondered if it ever would.

Evalina now gave a fixed smile, her eyes narrowed as one of the estate staff opened the car door and Mia carefully climbed out. She forced herself to meet her mother-in-law’s gaze with a smile even though inwardly she quailed at the flinty look on her face.

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