Page 51 of Consequence of One Reckless Night

“I was shocked at your reaction to the baby,” she shot back, her voice cracking. “You sat there like a statue, not moving, with an indifferent expression on your face, and I thought you hated seeing...seeing our child.”

Getting up from the chair, Alexandre knelt at her feet, his hands cupping her face, tilting her head so he could look into her eyes. “Do you think I hate this child?”

“You did ask me to get rid of it,” she reminded him.

He flinched, her words piercing into his flesh like poisoned barbs. “That day, when you told me about the baby, I was immediately taken back to the time when my father said something similar to me. He wanted my mother to get rid of me, but she didn’t. She kept me so she could extort my father, and he hated it. So much that every time I did something to annoy him, he would remind me that my mother should have gotten rid of me.” He scoured her face with sad eyes. “I was plunged into that memory, and I think I must have said those words out aloud.” He shook his head as if trying to dispel the painful memory from his mind. “I would never ask you to kill my child. It’s the only family I’ve got.”

Leaning forward, Raquel kissed him on the lips, her thumbs caressing his bristled cheeks. “I’m your family, too, am I not?”

Beautiful black eyes shone with hope. “Yes. You and this child. And I promise to do everything in my power to take care of you both,” he vowed, kissing her and drawing her into an embrace.

Raquel returned his hug, aware that he hadn’t promised to love her, or the child. Pain stabbed her heart, but she clung to a small ray of hope. Someday, she hoped, he would come to love them both.

****

“We truly live in paradise!” Raquel exclaimed, looking out of the window as they drove along the beautiful Goan coastline.

She could see the blue sea on which bobbed small fishing boats, and much bigger ones on the horizon. Tall palms stood majestically beside trees of mango, jackfruit, and cashew. Plants in full bloom, from frangipani to bougainvillea, orchids, and gulmohar cheered on as they drove out of the city and toward the small island of Pérola.

The last time she was on Pérola had been the night of the pre-engagement dinner where she’d met Leandro for the first time. It was where she’d discovered Alexandre’s identity. Though the memory wasn't a pleasant one, she was glad she encountered Alexandre that night. If she hadn't, her life would certainly have taken a different turn, and not a pleasant one, she admitted ruefully.

How would she have managed motherhood without the support of a family and a job?

“You’ve yet to tell me what I missed from your conversation with Anabela,” he reminded her, taking her back to the night when she had quite literally seduced her husband.

She colored as she turned to look at him. Alexandre looked wonderful in a navy-blue t-shirt and dark jeans, his hair slicked back, the long strands falling past his shoulders now. She didn’t know why he didn’t trim his hair, but she’d grown to like it. She loved clinging onto those strands when he kissed her and loved how they brushed against her body when he feasted on her.

“You mean what you missed while eavesdropping?” she asked, her lips quirking.

“I didn’t eavesdrop,” he corrected her, his lips turning up at the corners. “I just happened to be there at the time.”

“You could have come into the room.”

“I meant to,” he told her honestly, “but when I heard you speaking about me, I thought it was best not to interrupt. So tell me the rest.”

Raquel chewed her lip, unsure if she should reveal what she’d told Ana. Her relationship with Alexandre had certainly improved since the night they made love by the pool, but she wasn't ready to tell him that she was falling for him.

“I’ll tell you when the time is right,” she said instead.

Alexandre protested loudly. “You can’t do that! You can’t leave me wondering!”

“That’s your punishment for eavesdropping,” she quipped.

He groaned, knowing that she wasn't going to enlighten him further.

The drive to Pérola was filled with lighthearted banter and laughter, and Raquel couldn’t remember a time when she was so happy and—carefree.

The memories that she had of Pérola, weren’t happy ones. She’d lived on the island till the age of seven, after which her mother moved them all to the mainland to their new home, the Casa DaCosta.

Her early memories were of her father lying drunk in some corner of the house while her older brother took care of the three girls their mother had left behind when she’d gone to America to work as a nanny. Her aunts had checked in often and had quite literally raised them while her mother had worked abroad to support her family while her father completely succumbed to alcohol.

Though she didn’t hate the island like her mother did, there certainly wasn't anything on the island that would bring her back, and Raquel wondered why they were visiting the island. Alexandre had merely told her they were visiting friends, and she wondered who these friends were. She only hoped they weren't another group of celebrities, like most his friends were, because she certainly wasn’t dressed to meet the rich and the famous. Like him, she was dressed casually in a modest tunic top, paired with a pair of dark cotton trousers.

As they traversed the bridge which linked Pérola to the mainland, she glanced at the sea around them, the turquoise waters gleaming in the sun as boats bobbed in the water and a group of boys cannon-balled from a wooden pier, the sure way to cool down on a hot sunny day.

They drove off the main road to a part of the island she hadn't visited before.

Sun shone brightly down on them as they drove past small fishing villages where men sat on beached boats mending nets, while women dried fish in the sun. The smell of dry fish slipped under the closed windows and Raquel wrinkled her nose as the pungent odor filled the car.

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