Page 60 of Thiago
“You said your lupus has been under control for years. When was the last time it was… out of control?”
“About five years ago. I was in the hospital for about a month.”
“I remember you took a leave of absence around that time. I believe you were gone for two months or so?”
She nodded. “A total of ten weeks. Your father was very kind and gave me time off to recover. He held my job for me, and I’ll forever be grateful.”
“Well, this conversation has been eye-opening. I certainly did not know you had lupus, and I have been pushing you and pushing you.” He shook his head.
She touched his forearm. “I’m fine, Thiago. I’m not solely dependent on my medication. I’ve learned to minimize the symptoms in other ways. I meditate in my office. I do yoga, get massages, drink herbal tea with anti-inflammatory properties. There are so many options to help keep it under control. I’m obsessed, really, because that’s how my mother died. She also had lupus, and it damaged her heart.”
“I am so sorry.” Thiago had heard her talk about her mother and grandmother but never her father. “What about your father?” he asked tentatively.
He saw an immediate change come over her. “My father and I haven’t had much of a relationship since I turned eighteen and he was no longer responsible for my support. He barely provided support anyway. Eventually, we fell out of touch.”
Pain flitted across her face, so fleeting, he almost missed it. She stared at the fingers of her left hand spread out on the island countertop. When she spoke again, he could tell by the lack ofemotion in her voice that she was in another world—a world filled with pain and disappointment.
“He was an artist. My mother said that’s where I got my talent from because she couldn’t even draw stick people.” She smiled faintly. “As an adult, it made me feel connected to him, though… though we didn’t have much of a relationship. Two years ago, I saw my father at a gas station, and he didn’t recognize me, Thiago. He walked out of the convenience store and walked in my direction, where I was pumping gas. He had an unlit cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth. I was about to greet him when I received the shock of my life. He used to call me Indy, but he never said a word. He… he nodded and walked by me to his truck. So much time had passed he didn’t recognize me, his own daughter.”
He couldn’t bear to hear the thick pain in her voice. “And then you stopped drawing.”
She nodded, and he pulled her into the safety of his arms to shield her from the horror of the memory.
“Dios, I’m sorry,mi amor,” he whispered.
“His own daughter,” she said again, her voice quivering.
Thiago easily lifted her from the floor and walked back to the bedroom with her cradled in his arms. Under the covers, she remained curled up against him, her tears leaving damp spots on his shirt.
When she finally stopped crying, she lifted her head from his chest and wiped at her wet cheeks. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” Thiago swept his thumb across her jaw to remove a teardrop she had missed.
“I’ve never told anyone about that incident. It’s so embarrassing.” She kept her gaze lowered.
“You could still have a relationship with your father.”
Thiago and his father didn’t always see eye to eye in business, but he couldn’t imagine not having a relationship with him at all,and it was clear India wanted to be closer to her father. One of them needed to make the first move.
“I will never have a relationship with him,” India said with iron in her voice.
Thiago propped up her chin, forcing eye contact. “Never say never. You don’t know what the future might bring. Reach out. It is not too late.”
“He’ll have to make the first move. I’m not setting myself up for any more hurt.”
By the resolve in her voice and the firm set to her jaw, Thiago didn’t doubt she meant every word.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As Thiago dealt with the bellman and their luggage, India walked across the carpeted floor of their suite at the Copacabana Palace on Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro. The iconic hotel opened in 1923 and was a well-known landmark, famous for being one of the most luxurious hotels in South America.
Thiago had booked them a top-floor suite that included daily champagne, butler service, and a breathtaking view of the beach from their private veranda. Stepping outside, India leaned against the railing, shielding her eyes from the warm sun as she surveyed the beachgoers splashing in the waves or lounging on the sand.
Thiago slipped his arms around her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck, and she leaned back against his solid frame.
“I assumed there’d be more people on the beach,” India remarked.
“It’s the time of year. The beach is much more crowded in the summer months with tourists andcariocas,” he said, referring to residents of Rio. “But the weather is still perfect for us to enjoy ourselves. We’re going to take it easy today. I don’t want you to overdo it,” he said.
