Chapter Seventeen
Siobhan didn’t let herself agonize over whether to leave. She knew she would always have doubts about Joaquin and his motives if she stayed.
So she left.
The safest thing would have been to go south, back to her sister’s, but she didn’t want to pretend for the children and everyone else that she was fine. She wasn’t fine. She was devastated. Brokenhearted.
She wanted to be alone. She felt foolish, exactly as she had after she had trusted Gilbert, so she went north. Home. To her mother’s empty house in London. Where she had gone the last time.
Her eyes stung the whole way, but she fought back the tears. She could accept that Joaquin wanted to vanquish his father, but why hadn’t he told her what he planned? She felt used again. Betrayed again.
And shut out. Why didn’t he ask her to help? She was actually a very spicy bitch when crossed. Had he not seen how she had treated that man who had grabbed her?
That gauntlet of photographers had actually been really frightening. Once she was in the car, all she had wanted was to be home with Joaquin. Safe in his arms.
He had made her feel safe. Until this.
Four hours after hastily packing, she arrived in Hertfordshire.
The house she had grown up in was an older home on a property of mature trees and well-tended flowerbeds. It had been bordering on shabby when she’d been young. Their mother had barely been hanging on to it. They had all worked to keep things afloat. Cinnia had had her estate practice, the middle girls had worked in pubs and shops. Siobhan had shared a room with Cin so her mother could rent hers out. Aside from earning a few pounds babysitting, Siobhan had been too young to contribute, which had always made her feel like a liability.
Once Cinnia married Henri, everything changed, insisting the house receive a complete upgrade so it had top-notch security and a twelve-foot wall around the garden.
As she entered the code for the door, and Qahira moved into the shadows to ensure the house was empty, Siobhan thought of that old song that began, Hello, darkness. Except it wasn’t her friend. It just made her feel melancholy.
“Clear,” Qahira reported.
Siobhan thanked her and moved through the house, turning up the heat and putting on some lights.
The decor had also been refreshed in recent years. The floor was now a posh golden hardwood. There was a piano beneath the floating staircase, and the potting shed was a proper guest cottage where Qahira would stay.
Siobhan went upstairs to unpack, almost turning out of habit into the room she had once shared with Cinnia. Rather than two singles, it now held bunk beds for the twins to use when Cinnia visited their mother here.
That had Siobhan remembering Christmas and the fact Joaquin had attended the festivities with her. At the time, she had thought he had gone for her. Now she was questioning his motives. Had he been wanting to speak to Henri all along?
No. He could have talked to Ramon when Ramon was in Madrid. The fact was he didn’t need her to use the Sauveterres. And Henri wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t allow himself to be used. He would have had his own reasons for helping Joaquin.
Even if Joaquin had gone there specifically to ask Henri for a favor, he had still helped her work through her anger at herself. He had helped her build memories she would cherish for a lifetime. He had restored her joy in the holiday.
She closed her eyes against emotive tears as she remembered the way he had brushed off Maya’s palm when she had stumbled.
“You need to kiss it,” Maya had insisted. So he had.
He was going to be a magnificent father. She knew that deep in her bruised heart.
She believed he wanted to be a supportive husband, too. That was why he was trying to keep her safe. He did care about her. He had demonstrated that in countless ways, but she had let her insecurities get in the way. She had jumped straight to being used because it was easier to believe that was where her worth to him lay than that he valued her.
She was still devaluing herself. Acting as though she was silly Dorry Whitley, whom people saw as a conduit to power and money, when Dorry Whitley was actually a powerful badass in her own right. Everyone online was saying so.
Joaquin had let her go, though. The same way he had let Esperanza go when her feelings grew deeper than he was comfortable accepting.
He didn’t love her.
Or did he?
What do you want me to do? Tell you I love you and beg you to stay here until I get back. You’re better off as far away from me as you can get.
Had he wanted to beg her to stay? And only pushed her away and left because he felt such an urgent need to protect her from his father? She knew what that man was capable of. She had kissed the scars on Joaquin’s skin.
Was she going to make him beg for her to come back? She should have stayed and showed him love really was a healing force. That it was safe to love her because she would stand by him no matter what.
Oh, God. She had made a terrible mistake.
Joaquin brushed past the tired-looking maid who opened the door of Lorenzo’s Madrid town house and walked straight into his father’s den.
Lorenzo was in his recliner, holding a cigarette and glass of brandy. He didn’t lower the footrest, only squinted at Joaquin through the smoke.
The smell was both pungent and stale. Sickeningly familiar, bringing back too many memories of being called on the carpet for beratement or punishment.
Joaquin refused to think of that now. He was as cold and detached as the man before him.
“I wondered why you were diddling your assistant. Do you really think threats from her family will scare me?”
“They should.” Joaquin set his phone next to the ashtray and sat on the chair beside his father’s. “You’re threatening an innocent woman who has nothing to do with you or me.”
“She left you? That’s too bad.” His father puffed smugly on his cigarette.
A deep, aching emptiness had opened in his chest on his way here. Joaquin had never been so terrified in his life as when he had watched Siobhan flip that man into the water. Then he had seen her pulling away from him because she believed he had betrayed her.
I thought it was safe to love you, but it’s not.
When she had said those words, they had lashed the back of his heart in the most painfully sweet way. All of him had stung as he absorbed something that ought to feel foreign. Threatening, even. Instead, his response had borne a strong resemblance to a soft, new tenderness that had been germinating inside him. He had wanted to catch her close and explore that, but no, loving him was not safe.
Until he left his father in a pile of his own ruin, Siobhan would never be safe.
So he had let her go, even though he had thought it might kill him. Even though walking out on her could break all those tiny threads that had begun to bind them together.
This had to be done. This bully would not rest until his ass was in the dirt and that was where Joaquin would put him, once and for all.
“I want the proceeds off the patent for the relay I designed.”
Lorenzo snorted. “Cash running low now you don’t have the backing of the Sauveterres?”
Joaquin didn’t bother correcting him on his very healthy bank balance. “Would you rather I sued you to prove I’m the rightful owner? That you stole that design from me?”
“Who would believe you? You were a child.”
“And yet I did it.”
“With the education I paid for.”
“And that gave you the right to take it as your own? I have since built up credibility in that field, in case you haven’t noticed. Meanwhile, everything you released after my design was a second-rate knockoff of a competitor’s design. Have you ever wished you’d kept me around to continue working for LVG?”
“No. I don’t like you. I never have.” He jabbed his cigarette stub into the pile of them in the ashtray.
“And why is that?” Joaquin asked, so filled with cold hatred, he no longer cared, but he made himself ask, “What did I ever do to you that I deserved to be put in hospital at eleven?”
“You’re too much like your mother. Fernando looked like me, at least. You…” Lorenzo curled his lip. “And you never knew your place.”
“You disgust me.” He really did. Joaquin’s stomach was turning. “I should have you up on charges for attempted murder. I was a child.”
“A clumsy one.” His father lit another cigarette.
“So you claimed. We both know what happened.”
“I know that you wouldn’t shut up about visiting your mother.”
“Why didn’t you let me live with her if you hated us both so much?” Joaquin was lancing a boil that had sat in him for too long, simply because he couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Tonight, however, he would get the answers he needed, no matter how unpleasant or painful.
“Because that’s what she wanted,” his father said with a cruel curl of his lip. “And so did you.”
“You put me in the hospital so I couldn’t go to her. And refused to let her visit.”
“It shut you up, didn’t it?”
“Do you revel in making people suffer? Is that it?”
“I like to win. It’s not my fault you’ve always been too weak to fight back.”
“I was a child,” he scoffed. “And I’ve never seen decency as a weakness. Another way I was like my mother, I suppose.” He twisted his lips with contempt. “But you’re right. I’ve always deluded myself into believing I could reason with you, but that’s not possible, is it? I thought cutting you from my life would be enough, but you can’t stand that I have succeeded in spite of you. In spite of your theft.”
“That really sticks in your craw, doesn’t it? Fine. I’ll trade the proceeds on what remains of the patent in exchange for your shares in LVG.”
“There are only a few years left on the patent. No. Go back to when I handed you the drawing and I’ll consider it, since that’s when the real money was made.”
“It doesn’t matter that you designed it. I funded the development of it.”
“LVG funded the development. Which is why I’m keeping the company, by the way.”
“I’ll burn it to the ground before I let you keep it.”
“Arson?” Joaquin rose and picked up his phone. “This is a useless conversation. As usual.”
“See?” His father lowered the footrest and hitched forward on his chair. “This is why I treated you the way I did. It’s so easy to best you. You never fight back. You don’t deserve to be my son and have what I have. You give in too easily.”
“I don’t want to be your son. And I haven’t given in.” Joaquin glanced up from tapping the screen on his phone. He waited until the whooshing sound confirmed the file had sent. “I’m playing your game. Doing whatever it takes. You lie and cheat and threaten and steal. So that’s what I’ve done.” He tilted his phone. “Our conversation is with my lawyer. You’ll be hearing from him on the stolen patent and the attempted murder that you just confessed to. And the arson you’ve threatened.”
Lorenzo made a scoffing noise and threw his head back, but his gaze followed the phone as Joaquin pushed it back into his pocket.
“How does it feel? Never mind. I don’t care,” Joaquin derided. “Your debts are being called. By me. You might hang on to this house, but you’ll lose everything in it. I’ve also decided to claim the artwork that was Mother’s. Her will stated one third to her spouse, two-thirds to her children. You didn’t know I knew that, did you?” He hadn’t wanted the hassle of going after it, but all bets were off now.
“I’ve put a lien on the yacht until the audit at LVG completes. There are a lot of unanswered questions around misappropriation of funds.” He started to leave then turned back. “The woman you keep in the pied-a-terre in Paris? She’s been informed that the money tree has been cut down. She’ll be gone by morning with whatever you might have squirreled in the safe there.”
Lorenzo was turning purple, eyes sparking with outrage, but all Joaquin could think was how pathetic he looked.
“I’m not throwing you into the street the way you did me. Not because I’m too weak to do it, but because I don’t need to. You’ll be there soon enough.” He started for the door.
The ashtray struck the wall beside the door, puffing ashes across Joaquin’s sleeve.
“You’re losing your aim, old man. I’m having restraining orders prepared. Zurina, the children, Siobhan. Me. We’re all off-limits. Never speak to any of us again.”
He walked out.
It was dawn on the first day of the New Year when Joaquin entered his empty penthouse in Barcelona.
He was exhausted, but he didn’t stop to sleep. He only confirmed that Siobhan had actually left him, retrieved a box from the safe, then headed back to the airport.
He had the sense to check the security log before he filed his flight plan and learned Siobhan hadn’t flown to Marbella as he’d thought. She had gone north, to London, so that was where he told the pilot to aim his plane.
It should have been a straight shot. New Year’s Day was a slow day for travel. Half the world was sleeping off their celebrations from the night before, but a freak snowstorm over France forced his plane to land at the private airfield in Paris.
Swearing wearily, he disembarked and had the concierge book him into the onsite hotel. It catered to traveling VIPs like himself so his luggage was handled for him and his room details were sent to his phone. He would catch a few winks until the skies cleared then finish his trip.
As he walked into the lobby, he texted Siobhan.
I’m on my way to London to see you.
No. Don’t come, she replied.
He stopped in his tracks, immediately swamped by grief. Not the grief that accompanied death, like Fernando. Not the loss of something taken, either. It was the loss of giving up something within himself, making himself vulnerable. Making his needs known. It was the grief of offering himself and knowing he would never be whole again because a piece of himself was hers now.
And she didn’t want him. He was being discarded.
His phone pinged. He almost didn’t look at it. It was all he could do to stay on his feet.
I’m on my way back, her text read.
To him?
For one second, he experienced that old feeling of desire. The one he tempered out of fear. What if he only lost her again a different way?
Hell, he might, he realized.
Don’t go to Barcelona, he quickly texted. I’m grounded in Paris.
In the same second that he heard a distant ping, he heard a feminine voice say a confused, “What?” It came from around the corner. “So am I,” she murmured. “Where in Paris?”
He took three long steps forward. His phone dinged in his hand, but he didn’t have to read the message because there she was, standing in front of the elevators, staring at her phone. She wore a pink puffer jacket and jeans stuffed into boots rimmed in faux fur. Her hair was sparkling where snowflakes had landed and melted.
“Are you at Charles de Gaulle?” he asked her, voice rasped by disbelief.
She picked up her head and her eyes welled as she stared at him. Her lips began to quiver and her voice hitched. “No. I’m here.”
He walked forward and snatched her into his arms.
They kissed forever. Hard enough to hurt, but it was a good hurt. It was the kind of hurt that uncramped muscle and knitted bone. It was the hurt of thawed flesh warming and prickling back to life.
It was the agony of apology and remorse and forgiveness.
“Um. Excuse me?”
They broke apart to see the doors had opened and a pair of well-dressed older women were trying to step out.
“We have a flight,” one said.
“Of course.” Joaquin steadied Siobhan as they stepped out of the way, then they both stepped into the empty elevator. “Have you been to your room? Come to mine.”
“Heard that before,” she said under her breath, then gave him a helpless, befuddled look. “I can’t believe we’re both here.”
“No? I’m not surprised.”
Fate? Did he really believe that?
He took her hand and led her to the room he’d been assigned, using his phone to access it then pulling her inside.
“I would have chosen to ground you here if I’d thought you’d be in the air. Were you really coming back to me?” He trapped her against the door. “Are you okay?” He ran his hands over her beneath her open coat, sparking need within her to be close, close, close. “Is the baby okay?”
“We’re both fine. And yes. I just…” She cupped his face and brought his mouth back to hers. “Can we—?”
“Yes.” He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and they stripped on their way to the bed.
Was it the most tender, prolonged lovemaking in history? Not at all. It bordered on frantic and stung a little because she wasn’t quite ready, but she needed this connection now.
She gasped and he froze.
“Hurt?” He cupped her jaw and started to withdraw.
“No. Stay.” She wrapped arms and legs around him. The sands in the hourglass stopped falling. Time itself halted as she kneaded her fingers into his hair and skimmed her thighs over his flanks and scraped her teeth against his whiskered chin.
“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” he groaned, burying his mouth in her throat.
“Shh. I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to feel you.”
“But I should have said it back, Siobhan. I love you. I love you so much…” His eyes misted. “Saying it aloud felt too dangerous. You wouldn’t have left and I was scared for you. You are very, very precious to me, mi amor.” He traced her eyebrow and followed an invisible line to the corner of her mouth. “You’re everything I want. You’ve become someone I need. You. I don’t know how to make you believe that.”
“I do believe you,” she said, letting the glow of it seep into the old fractures in her heart and heal them. Letting herself feel his love as the acceptance and celebration of her that it was. “I love you, too.”
She set about making sure he felt it, just as he imbued every kiss and caress with tenderness and worship. They sighed and whispered endearments and groaned with sweet torture. The feelings intensified as they ascended toward a heavenly peak, until they were both caught there, clinging and sweaty and joyous. Drunk on each other. On love.
“I want to stay here forever,” she gasped.
“We will,” he said. Then held her tight as they fell.
They did what they had wanted to do in San Francisco. They stayed in bed, dozing between making love and ordering food.
Their luggage turned up eventually, not that they used more than a toothbrush.
“Should we go into the city?” he asked at one point.
“Cinnia would give me the code for their penthouse. It overlooks the Eiffel Tower.”
It was already dark and they were comfortable in bed so they turned on a movie and fell asleep before it was finished.
She woke to find Joaquin wearing a frown as he read his phone.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Killian wanted me to know my father is catching a flight to Saint Lucia. They don’t extradite to Spain.”
“Will you have him stopped?”
“No.” He had told her about his conversation with his father. “As evidence goes, his confession was incriminating, but it still would mean years in court. That’s why I didn’t try something like it sooner. That, and I didn’t want to sink to his level.”
She shifted so she could see the scar on his ribs and bent to set a kiss there. “Do you want to tell me about that?”
“Do you really love me?” He tucked his hand at the side of her neck, expression grave.
She was shocked and a little hurt that he would question it. “With my whole heart.”
“Then no. I don’t want to tell you. It will hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”
And somehow, that hurt more. Because it was a kindness at his own expense.
She pressed herself half over him, pulling him under the shelter of her slender arm and leg, wanting to cry for him. For the boy he’d been.
“The one thing I have never wanted to be is like him.” He stroked her hair as he spoke. “But there was no other way to deal with him except to double-cross him. It felt wrong to do it. It’s not the sort of person I want to be, but when he caused you to be attacked, I wanted to kill him. I really did. That is not the sort of husband and father you and the baby need. The kind you deserve. I questioned whether I should come after you.”
She picked up her head, alarmed. “What changed your mind?”
“I thought of Fernando,” he said simply. “He was equally cold-blooded when he took over at LVG after Lorenzo’s heart attack. It was underhanded, the way he moved with the board to unseat him, but he had to do it. And he bore the consequences for years.” He ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Zurina still loved him. Which gave me hope that you would love me, too.”
She ran her teeth across the tingle he’d left in her lip. “I wasn’t sure if you loved me, but I thought you might, if I gave you a chance.”
“Of course, I love you. It sits like a beacon inside me. That’s what scared me. I had trained myself not to hope. I tried to hold back from you, but it’s there all the same. Hope and want and a craving for you like I crave air. Maybe you’re right. Maybe fate does want us to be together, but I need you to know that I’m choosing you, Siobhan. I’m choosing to love. To believe I can have you in my life. I’m doing this badly.” He scraped his hand over his face.
“No. You’re doing it right.” She spilled her naked body over his. Her own chest full of hope and joy and gleaming love.
“Okay, then. Will you… Wait one sec.” He rolled her off him and stretched to reach the sleeve of his coat, dragging it from the chair to the bed. He fished through the pockets. “Will you wear this?” He opened the ring box to reveal a square diamond on a split band encrusted with smaller diamonds. It sparkled and shot prisms into the backs of her eyes, dazzling her.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” A smile was taking over her whole face.
“Because I love you, yes. Because I can’t imagine my life without you. Because we’re having a baby and I want to give you the family that you long for.”
Oh. She blinked away fresh, emotive tears.
“Well.” She cleared her throat. “Since it would be very comfortable and convenient to have the person I love and want to make babies with be my husband, I accept.” She held her finger for him to put it on her.
“Brat.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her fingertips. “Never leave me again. That was among the worst moments of my life.”
“I never will,” she promised with a press of her quivering lips to his.
