Page 162 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

She wandered away and, drawn by the silence of the massive antechamber, went in. There was a row of deep-set, floor-length windows in square-cut embrasures along one of the stone walls. Seeing the fluttering of a light drape in the nearest, she walked across and discovered that the window behind it had been opened.

She stood there, eyes closed, breathing in cool air scented with pine. It was when that scent became mingled with the heavy, cloying expensive perfume that always cloaked Aria Perez that she opened her eyes.

The other woman was standing a few feet away, watching her with a cat-like intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

Clemmie chided herself for her reaction. There was nothing this woman could do to her.

‘I came to say I am sorry.’

Clemmie’s jaw dropped. Shock and suspicion fought for supremacy in her head.

‘Sorry...?’

‘I’m sure your mother will find another job easily enough... But one that comes with a home...?’ She gave a sigh. ‘Not so easy for a woman her age.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’ she exclaimed, evincing surprise. ‘I have decided to divest myself of Maplehurst Manor. The sale went through today, and I seriously doubt the new owner will want to keep your mother on.’

Clemmie felt the blood drain from her face. ‘But...’ She looked past her wildly, instinct making her search for Joaquin. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Oh, I’ve been thinking about it for some time and—’

‘When Joaquin finds out he will...’ Her voice faded. If this was true. what could Joaquin do?

‘Joaquin knows.’ The woman searched her face and gave a crow of laughter. ‘He didn’t tell you? Oh, priceless! But that is the sort of man you are marrying, my dear. He knew this was going to happen. I told him that if he brought you here, if he did not break this connection with you, I would sell the place.’

Clemmie shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you!’

The older woman shrugged. ‘Have it your way. I actually don’t care. I’m just glad to be rid of the place...too provincial. I have my eye on a villa that has just come onto the market, right next door to...’

Clemmie stood there, watching the woman’s lips moving, the rest of her words an incoherent static buzz.

Joaquin had known.

He had lied to her again!

‘Excuse me, I must...’

She tipped her head to indicate the conversation was over. Her spine ramrod-rigid and her chin up, she painted an expression of serene calm over the chaos of her swirling inner thoughts.

She must have presented quite a picture, because she had the mild satisfaction of seeing an expression of thwarted confusion drift across the older woman’s face before she walked away.

She had no idea where she was going... She just walked, her thoughts not on the stone floor, nor the priceless art, nor the curious glances.

She was just thinking of betrayal.

She had made Joaquin out to be someone he was not; she had fallen for an illusion. He was someone with the bare minimum of decent human feelings. And she hated the weakness in her that made it so hard for her to believe this.

It was a lie—it had to be a lie.

The Joaquin she knew would not do this...

Then the ice-cold in his eyes came back to her.

Could his need to punish his family really make him not care about the hurt he caused to others in the process? And not anonymous others, but her mum?

And he knew how much she loved the house...the memories it contained of her twin.

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