Page 29 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

‘You never said.’

‘She’s his fourth wife since my mother died. It won’t last. They never do.’

Unsure how she was supposed to respond to this, Flora decided silence would prevent her from saying the wrong thing, and popped a cube of jellied apple into her mouth. A taste sensation exploded on her tongue.

‘He’s retired and has a few billion in the bank,’ he explained. ‘What better way to spend it than with the latest model of your preferred type of woman?’

A roll of nausea sloshed through her belly as she imagined herself years from now—a few years maybe, or maybe longer—pushed aside for a younger, prettier version of herself.

But she could only be pushed aside if she became his lover as well as his wife.

‘Isn’t he even curious about meeting his grandson?’ she asked.

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s curious. Just not curious enough. I told you before—he’s selfish. He’s always been selfish but age has made him worse. Once I came of age he decided his presence in my life was no longer required and has done exactly as he pleases since.’

Whispers of a remembered conversation floated in her head and before she could stop herself Flora blurted out, ‘He went to Martinique.’

‘Sorry?’ he asked.

‘Your father. Years ago. Justin invited me to stay at yours for the weekend but Mum would only let me go if you weren’t there—she loved you to pieces but she knew when you and Justin got together, trouble followed. You were supposed to spend the weekend with your dad in Barcelona but when you got there he’d flown off to Martinique instead so you came back to Oxford.’ And hooked up with a lady friend.

He simply stared at her.

‘What?’ she asked.

‘That must have been ten years ago.’

‘Eleven. Nearly twelve,’ she added helpfully.

A slow smile spread across his face. ‘That is some memory you have.’

No way was she admitting why that particular weekend had stuck in her memory so she gave another shrug, and hoped it covered the disquiet racing through her as, for the first time, she considered that Ramos’s father had stood him up that weekend. His own father.

‘Was a lady involved in Martinique?’ she asked in the same light tone, being careful to sound conversational rather than probing.

‘With my father, there’s always a lady involved,’ he answered wryly. ‘My mother never trusted him not to stray—when I was a child she always insisted we travel with him.’

‘Did that stop him?’

‘I don’t know. His opportunities to stray were limited.’

‘Why did she stay if she thought he would cheat?’

‘For me.’ He raised a shoulder. ‘She believed children do better living with both their parents and she was right. We had a good life together, the three of us.’

She caught a momentary trace of wistfulness on his face and gently forked her last croquette to stop herself from extending a comforting hand to him.

‘I’m sorry you lost her so young,’ she said quietly. ‘That must have been devastating.’

Losing her mother at twenty-two had been devastating, but trying to imagine going through that at the age of ten when the worst nightmare she’d ever had was of being in a department store and losing sight of her mum, a dream she’d woken from sobbing... It would have ripped the soul from her.

‘It was.’ His eyes narrowed and flashed. ‘But it toughened me up. When you lose the person you love most in the world at a young age, you learn that nothing can beat that. Nothing. There can be no greater pain. The worst thing that can happen to you has happened. There is nothing left to fear and nothing can hurt you again.’

Flora’s throat had closed up and she had to work hard to open it enough to swallow her last mouthful.

Ramos took another drink of his wine then bestowed her with the devilishly handsome smile she hated and adored in equal measure. ‘Seeing as the show will start soon, why don’t you tell me the storyline so I can know what’s going on?’

She knew a deliberate change of subject when she heard one, and she was grateful for it. Imagining Ramos as a vulnerable, heartbroken boy filled her with too much compassion for him.

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