“No.” Not at her. He was angry at himself and his own limitations.
She rolled away and exhaled.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to see his way through this because the irony was, if he ever proposed, it would bein spite of the facthe wasn’t comfortable with her. Siobhan had been disrupting his life and his peace of mind from the beginning. Even before learning about the baby, he’d been unable to forget her. He found her interesting and smart and funny.
Now the baby was upending his entire existence and he ought to be furious, but he couldn’t find it in him to be sorry. That was what he was thinking as he closed his eyes.I’m not sorry.
His subconscious reminded him why he should be, though. As reality folded into the dream world, Lorenzo’s true nature lurched into his psyche.
That’s not for you. Only Fernando may have that.
In the way of muddled dreams, an old memory was rewritten. Siobhan wasthere. Lorenzo’s arm was swinging, but not toward Joaquin.
“Siobhan!” he shouted, waking with a jolt to an unfamiliar place and movement beside him as she sat up, gasping.
“It’s okay.” He searched out her wrist, keeping her on the bed so she wouldn’t flee into the shadows and trip.
His throat was still rasped by his shout, his chest tight with adrenaline, his skin clammy. The disturbing images of his dream stuck like cobwebs that he mentally had to brush away.
“Did you have a nightmare?” She sank onto the mattress beside him. Her hand arrived on his chest while the rest of her aligned along his side. “Your heart is racing. Are you okay?”
“Fine,” he lied while he fought the urge to loop his arm around her and hug her against his tacky skin.
He was too raw for that. Too involved, if he was reacting with this much terror to his own imagined threats.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He pressed her away. “Go back to sleep.”
“But—” She sat up again as he left the bed. “It’s still early. You need to sleep, too.”
“I’ll check email. There will be some from overseas that need answering.” It was a fib, but he needed to regroup. He picked up his trousers and stepped into them.
In the lounge, he looked at his phone, but his mind wouldn’t focus.
Work had always been a productive coping mechanism. As a child, he had used homework and invention to avoid his father’s criticism and attempt to earn his recognition. Later, he had labored to afford food and a place to sleep, but it had kept him from dwelling on how alone he felt. Once he had had more of a financial toehold, he had toiled feverishly to surpass his father’s level of success, so he could no longer be victimized by Lorenzo. When that was achieved, he continued to strive as a point of pride. Out of spite, even, so he could look down on Lorenzo.
I won, was the silent message he had conveyed with the rise of ProFab into worldwide acclaim.
But had he? Lorenzo was still able to invade his dreams and leave the bitter taste of copper on the back of his tongue.
“Joaquin?”
Her voice pierced between his shoulder blades. He turned to see her in a blue robe wearing a worried expression.
“You said you’d start looking after yourself,” he chided.
“I can’t sleep. Not when you’re having nightmares about…” She waved toward the knotted belt on the robe.
“That wasn’t what it was about.”
“What, then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
She came closer and searched his expression in the dim light. “The stress of becoming a father brought it on, though. Are you having second thoughts?”
He wanted to deflect, walk away, close off. Anything to avoid this, but he answered her. “I’m not afraid to be a father,” he blurted. “I’m afraid foryou.”
“Why?”
