CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

H E ’ D SAID SOMETHING WRONG , though he had no idea what it could possibly have been. He was doing everything he could to make this easier for Libby, to offer her what he thought she wanted.

Here she was, sitting across from him, painting him a picture of a life without wings, a life in which she’d been trapped in a rut of hard work and little pleasure, from what he could tell, aside from her God-given ability to derive happiness from the mundane. So he was offering her the keys to the world and he wanted her to use them. He wanted her to realise that their marriage, while necessary for this baby, was not a prison sentence so much as a chance for freedom for her.

Because it was important to assuage his guilt at having pressured her into this?

He could have supported her financially, he could have made her dreams come true without marrying her, but he’d manipulated her emotions, preying on the similarities in their backgrounds to push her into this.

For the sake of their baby, he reminded himself, shifting a little uneasily in his chair, frustrated that the relaxed atmosphere had evaporated and the air was once more crackling with tension and, damn it, awareness.

He didn’t want to be aware of his wife.

He didn’t want to be aware of the way her silky hair brushed her soft cheeks, of the way her lips parted when she expelled those little sighs, of the way her dress clung to her body like a second skin, of her slender hands as she reached for her champagne flute and took another delicate sip of non-alcoholic wine.

He didn’t want to be aware of her in a way that made it dangerously simple to recall the way she’d felt as he’d sunk into her, making her his in a way that had sung to his soul.

‘You work very long hours,’ she said stiltedly into the silence of the room, and he barely heard her at first because he was absorbed by his own self-critical thoughts.

‘Yes,’ he agreed eventually.

Libby frowned. ‘Is that...have you always?’

‘Yes.’

‘So it’s not just since we...since I got here?’

His brows drew together. ‘Do you mean, am I avoiding you?’

‘It had crossed my mind,’ she said with a lift of one brow.

‘My job is demanding.’ That wasn’t strictly true, though. It didn’t have to be. Raul micromanaged out of habit but, for the most part, his team of executives was more than capable of running things with significantly less involvement from Raul. ‘It’s hard for me to let go,’ he explained after a beat. ‘I am, I suppose, what you might call a control freak.’

‘I’m shocked to hear that,’ she said deadpan, and he laughed.

‘I probably make my executives’ lives hell,’ he muttered. ‘But it’s something about having known that poverty, having been given the gift of a second chance from Maria and Pedro... I can’t squander it.’

‘So you’re afraid that if you take your foot off the accelerator you might lose everything?’

‘I’m not afraid of that,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And I don’t need anywhere near what I have. The money is beside the point. I’m not really that motivated by wealth. Once you can afford to have a roof over your head and three square meals a day, the rest is cream.’

‘So what are you motivated by, then?’

‘I like to win,’ he said simply. ‘Succeeding in business is a good metric of victory, don’t you think?’

Her smile was enigmatic, as though she were thinking things she wouldn’t say. ‘I suppose so.’

But that bothered him and he couldn’t understand why. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘Success in life is better.’

‘How do you measure success in life?’

Libby hesitated, looking self-conscious.

‘You can say it,’ he murmured, wondering why he was so desperate to hear whatever confession she’d been about to offer.

‘I gave this a lot of thought, growing up.’ She cleared her throat, then paused as the waitress returned with another course, setting the plates onto the table before disappearing. Libby’s eyes fell to the food, but she looked distracted. ‘I never wanted much. Just something different to my own experience of home life. For me—’ she lifted her gaze then, piercing Raul with the intensity and purity in her eyes ‘—it was simple. I just wanted a family.’ Her voice hitched as she spoke and something rolled uncomfortably in his gut. ‘My biggest aspiration was being in a happy marriage, with an army of kids,’ she added, a tight smile doing nothing to take away from the sting of her words.

Because how could Raul fail to hear the accusation in them, even when Libby had said and done nothing to make him feel that way? Their marriage, by its very nature, was a death knell to the hopes and dreams she’d clung to since childhood. They would have just one child, not an army. Raul could barely comprehend becoming a father at all—the idea of parenting more than one child was anathema to him. As for their marriage, while they’d agreed it would be based on respect and a level of friendship, it was never going to be the rosy, heart-warming vision Libby craved.

‘Sometimes life doesn’t work out how you plan it,’ he said gruffly. ‘But that doesn’t mean it cannot still be a good life.’

‘I know,’ she answered without missing a beat, expelling a quick sigh and fidgeting her fingers. ‘It’s okay. I always thought I would find someone who was like my other half. My soulmate. That I’d fall crazy, head over heels in love and live happily ever after,’ she added on a small laugh. ‘But that’s a fairy tale. A silly, juvenile dream.’ She rubbed her hand over her stomach. ‘I love our baby, Raul. That’s enough for me.’

He hoped with all his heart she was being honest, because it was the best he could offer.

Libby stared at the ceiling, ignoring the pang in the centre of her chest.

It wasn’t how she’d imagined spending her wedding night. Not that she’d spent much time imagining anything, but deep down, if she were honest, she’d hoped for more than this. She’d hoped against hope for love, real love, and no matter what she said to Raul, she’d never be able to ignore the emptiness inside her chest.

But she had to.

She had to learn.

Libby knew that Raul was right: life didn’t always work out how you wanted. In fact, in Libby’s experience, most of the time it didn’t. Being happy was a question of choice, and she’d always chosen happiness. She’d found pleasure in the small things in her life—the golden splash of sunshine against a newly painted fence, the smell of spring in the air and freshly cut grass, the feeling of wet sand underfoot—the things that were hers to marvel at and appreciate without anyone having the power to remove those small delights.

And she knew that the key to her future happiness relied on her ability to keep doing exactly that. To focus on the relief of being liberated from financial stress, the pleasure of growing life inside her belly, of knowing that while Raul might not love her, at least he loved their baby enough to want to be in their life. He would be a great father to their child, and for that she knew she had to be grateful. It had to be enough.

A week after their wedding Raul read his assistant’s email for the tenth time, a strange presentiment in his gut.

Will Mrs Ortega be joining you?

Such a simple, and normal, request. After all, Justine would naturally presume that, in the first flush of newlywed bliss, the couple wouldn’t want to be separated. Raul hadn’t explained to anyone except his lawyers the real reason for their marriage. It was no one’s business.

But what could he say in response?

Just a flat-out no? It wasn’t Raul’s practice to explain himself to anyone, so why start now?

However, given the necessity of a trip to Rome, the thought of leaving Libby at home made him feel like a bastard. He grimaced ruefully. It wasn’t about explaining himself to Justine, it was the thought of telling Libby that he was going to Europe and not bringing her. He’d wanted her to feel that this marriage was her chance to grow wings, hadn’t he?

Was this a way to assuage his conscience at what he knew he’d taken away from her? That being the hope of ever living out her childhood hopes and dreams for a fairy tale happy ending?

Yes, he thought, standing with frustration and pacing across his office. That was precisely the problem. He had a guilty conscience and he didn’t want to feel worse than he already did.

She’d cover her response quickly, he was sure, but she’d still feel it. Hurt. Offended. As if he couldn’t bear to be with her. Besides, it wasn’t like they would need to spend time together if she were to come. Rome was a big city and Raul was travelling for work. So long as he spelled that out when he invited her it would be fine.

With a growl low in his throat that spoke of the regret he knew he’d feel no matter what he chose, he moved back to his keyboard and typed out a reply before he could change his mind.

Yes.

‘Libby?’

She glanced at the bedside clock, frowning. It was after ten, and she’d been about to slip into bed.

‘Yes?’

‘Have you got a moment?’

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror with a sense of panic. Her pyjamas were hardly the last word in seduction—she wore a pair of comfortable yoga pants and a singlet top but, nonetheless, the idea of Raul seeing her like this did something funny to her insides.

‘Libby?’ His voice was stern, and it put paid to her indecision.

‘Okay.’ She wrenched the door inwards and almost lost her footing because he was right there , all handsome and businesslike in a button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and dark grey trousers that emphasised his slim waist. Her mouth felt dry and her heart fluttered. But it was the way Raul looked at her that sent Libby’s pulse into dangerously fast territory. His eyes rested on her face for the briefest moment before travelling all the way down her body, landing on her pale, bare feet, then moving up and clinging to her slightly rounded stomach, so she lifted a hand and rubbed it self-consciously.

‘You’re—’ His eyes widened when they met hers, and she felt a rush of emotions from him. ‘May I...?’ His hand lifted of its own accord, towards her stomach, and Libby stood very still, her heart in her throat, everything going haywire.

‘Of course,’ she managed to say, her voice almost a whisper.

He closed his eyes as his hand connected with her stomach, his breath hissing out between his teeth, then his other hand lifted, feeling the other side of her belly, and she swayed a little because it was such a vital, important connection. Mother and father, their baby.

His eyes opened, locking to hers. Libby’s heart stammered.

‘Did you need something?’

She had meant it innocently. She’d meant it simply because he’d come to her room at ten o’clock, because he’d wanted to talk to her, but she heard the invitation in her words and knew she should say something to retract it. To pull away from him.

Desire was one thing, but Libby had to be stronger than this. She had to learn not to fall into a puddle every time he looked at her as though he wanted to peel her clothes from her body.

Except she didn’t. Libby stood right there, blinking up at him, heart pounding, any semblance of resistance melting away in the face of her need for him.

‘Libby,’ he said darkly, angrily, and something in her chest hurt, but then his hand lifted higher on her side, holding her, and his throat shifted as he swallowed. Libby could only stare at him, as if drawn to him by a force so much greater than any she’d ever known. ‘What is it about you?’ he said with more anger, more darkness, and both of those emotions were palpable when he dropped his mouth to hers and kissed her as though the world would stop spinning if he didn’t.

Libby swayed all the way forward then, pressing her body to his, a complete and willing surrender, not just to this moment but to something bigger, something inevitable and important. Lightning bolts flared inside her mind. She saw stars and felt heaven burst through her. It was nirvana; it was bliss, even when it was also terrifyingly complicated. A simple kiss yet it had the power to detonate something deep in her belly and all through her bones.

‘Raul,’ she groaned as she leaned closer to him, lifting a hand and curling it into the dark hair at the nape of his warm, strong neck. She felt him grow still. His whole body seemed to tense as though he were fighting something, perhaps the surge of need dominating them. Libby felt it and she refused to allow that fight; she had surrendered and needed him to as well. She kissed him and lifted one foot to the back of his calf, curving it around him, and it was like the unlocking of a door for both of them.

Raul cursed softly against her mouth and then he was moving, taking her with him, deeper into Libby’s spacious bedroom, all the way to the king-size bed at its heart. They tumbled to the mattress together, arms, legs entwined, moving frantically now to remove each other’s clothes, every touch, each brush of flesh incendiary and divine. Libby had never known anything like it...

Raul wanted to punch himself. No sooner had they exploded in unison, their bodies burning up in a fever of mutual desire, lust and need than he knew it had been a mistake. The whole thing. He lay beside her, a frown on his face, wishing he could take back the last twenty minutes, wishing he could erase their intimacy. For the look on Libby’s face had been deeply troubling. Her eyes had softened, her lips had parted, and he’d felt something spark in his chest, something he instantly shied away from, something his brain knew to warn him off.

This was getting messy, and he didn’t do mess. Not in his personal life. Not in any sector of his life, in fact. It made him want to run—to run as hard and fast as he could.

He pushed off her bed with an air of casual unconcern, swiped up his boxer shorts and pulled them on, then, when he had chosen a path of retreat, he steeled himself to turn and face Libby.

‘I’m flying to Rome tomorrow.’ His voice sounded odd to Libby, who was still floating high in the clouds of sensual euphoria after that magnificent coming together, so she didn’t immediately understand what he’d said. She pressed a hand to her naked stomach on autopilot, frowning a little.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I came here to tell you I’m going to Rome.’ He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her without a hint of emotion on his face.

Whatever glow Libby had been bathing in evaporated and she was suddenly ice-cold. As a child, she’d felt the sands shifting beneath her feet often. She knew nothing was permanent, no one was reliable. Everything could change at a moment’s notice. Still, to go from making love as though their lives depended upon it to...this...felt like a kick in the guts.

‘You did? You are?’

‘I have a meeting.’

‘Oh.’ She felt like crying. She hated herself for feeling that way, but her responses were innate. This wasn’t just Raul, it was every disappointment she’d known in her life, it was a reminder of all the times she’d come home to a ‘new daddy’, which meant the end of feeling, in some small way, that she mattered to her mother. Change and unpredictability were hardwired to invoke this response in Libby; it was why she’d stayed single rather than dating men who might hurt her, why she’d been waiting for her knight in shining armour to sweep in and love her—love her in a way that would never, ever change.

She glanced down at the sheet, shielding her face from Raul, desperately hoping he wouldn’t see a hint of the emotions she was fighting. ‘Thanks...for letting me know.’ Her voice sounded hollow.

She was aware of him standing just inside the door to her room, his clothes bunched in one hand. She felt his eyes on her but didn’t look up. She hardly breathed.

‘If you need anything while I’m gone—’

‘I won’t,’ she hastened to say.

‘With the baby—’ he clarified, and it was the worst thing he could have said to Libby in that moment, because it served to remind her of the truth of their situation. She was simply an incubator to him. This wasn’t about her. Not as a person, a woman. Just as a womb. She was stupid to have fallen back into bed with him, to have so willingly given into—no, to have pushed him to surrender to—the undercurrent of desire they both felt.

For all she knew, it was like this for Raul with every woman he slept with. Maybe the only reason they kept ending up in bed together was because she was simply there. Available, willing, in his apartment, under his nose. Mortifying thought.

She sucked in a deep breath. ‘The baby is fine. I’m fine. Just...go to Rome.’

And then, just like that, he left.

Raul quickened his pace as he passed the Colosseum, barely noticing the beauty of the sun glancing across the ancient structure, the way the stones seemed to glow with gold in the early morning light. He kept his head down, moved faster, weaving around the few people who were on the streets, a Vespa parked across the kerb, a trash collector taking a cigarette break, then onto a busier section of footpath, with cafés set up for early morning patrons. He kept running until his lungs burned, but it didn’t matter how fast he went, he couldn’t wipe Libby from his mind. More specifically, the look in her eyes when he’d announced he was going to Rome.

It had been worse than he’d anticipated.

Her hurt and surprise were unmistakable.

He was so angry with himself. Not for leaving her to go on a business trip, but for allowing any of the lines between them to become blurred. Raul didn’t do blurred lines, but there was something about Libby that had made him—temporarily—forget who he was, and how he lived. Except, perhaps it wasn’t Libby. Maybe it was the baby instead, the fact that she had his child developing inside of her, that made him uncertain how to treat Libby.

What an idiot he’d been.

In trying to forge a connection with the woman, he’d inadvertently lied to her. He’d led her on. He’d let desire for her cloud his judgement, and now he was in the precarious situation of having to manage the emotions of a person who might very well have come to care for him.

Did she have any idea how stupid that was? What an unsafe person he was to let into her life? Not in a physical sense but emotionally, Raul was the last person in the world who could give Libby what she wanted.

And he had to make sure she understood that.

No more messing around, no more letting things get out of hand. Raul Ortega was married, but he needed his wife to understand that any kind of real relationship was—and always would be—out of the question.