What happened to the mother? More than once, Melissa tried to start telling me, but I interrupted her. If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me when the time is right. I don’t like prying into other people’s lives.
As unique as my relationship with Guillermo is, he’s still my boss. I won’t cross lines unless he makes it clear that’s what he wants too. I’m not stupid, and I’ve already noticed he’s attracted to me, but even if I’m dying to try, I won’t be the one to take the initiative.
I notice a fallen toy near the dresser and get up to pick it up, but when I get closer, I see a silver picture frame right above it. There’s a redheaded woman in it, and without thinking about what I’m doing, I pick up the photo. It soon becomes clear to me that she’s Nina’s mother, the woman I already know is named Layla from hearing Melissa mention her a few times when she tried to bring the subject up.
The eyes are identical to Nina’s.
In fact, the only thing about the little girl that shows she’s Guillermo’s daughter is her proud chin, like her father’s.
I pick up the photograph and take it closer to the lamp to see it better.
God, she’s the famous socialite Layla Collins.
I read about her death in a car accident a few months ago, and I remember feeling sad that such a beautiful woman hadtragically lost her life. I think she must have been about my age, and I try to recall the news about the accident.
According to the tabloids, there was a high concentration of alcohol and other illicit substances in both her body and the driver’s, an heir to a wealthy Japanese family.
The newspapers talked about their deaths for weeks, and now I’m remembering they mentioned something about her being married, although I’m sure I never heard the name Caldwell-Oviedo associated with her.
Okay, I didn’t read everything about the accident. In fact, when I saw a headline saying she was full of drugs when she died, I gave up delving into the matter.
I’m all for letting the dead rest, and defaming someone, especially someone who isn’t present to defend themselves, is repugnant.
So, this is the late Mrs. Caldwell-Oviedo.
The press said she died in the company of her boyfriend, but Guillermo told me he was a widower. This can only mean that, in the eyes of the law, they were still married.
Something about that photo, however, strikes me as odd: he probably put it there so that his daughter grows up knowing who her mother was, but wouldn’t you expect a photo of the woman with the little girl in her arms or pregnant? That’s what mothers usually choose to put in their children’s rooms, at least from what I’ve seen in magazines.
However, the Mrs. Caldwell-Oviedo in the portrait looks like she’s about to go to a party. Her young face is fully made-up and there’s not a hair out of place, as if she were ready to star in a commercial or something.
Putting any judgment out of my mind, I go to the dresser to put the picture frame back, when I feel watched. Somehow, I know it’s Guillermo, and I turn to look at him. For a moment, we stare at each other in the dimness of the room.
My heart races, maybe for the wrong reasons. I just had a firsthand glimpse of the perfection that was his late wife. How could it even cross my mind that there would be a possibility of him being interested in me?
But even the insecurity I’m feeling now isn’t enough for my body to stop perceiving the warmth and intensity of his gaze, and when he comes closer, my knees go weak.
His arm stretches out, and he touches my face. His hand is warm and rough, and I wish I could feel it on more parts of me.
His fingers aren’t light. Nothing about Guillermo is. He’s all intensity, and I find myself desperate for more of his touch.
On the other hand, I remember that less than a minute ago, I was looking at a photo of his late wife, so I step back. “She just fell asleep.”
He turns his head and looks at Valentina. He smiles and bends down to kiss her little head.
I see him turn on the baby monitor, and then he takes my hand in his. “Come. You need to eat, and so do I.”
In the hallway, I try to ignore how good it feels to have him so close, but it’s futile. I should let go of his hand, but instead, I squeeze it a little tighter. “I need to leave now that you’re here. But I can prepare your dinner before I go. You seem exhausted. How’s your father?”
“He had to undergo surgery on his arm, but thank God there was nothing more serious than that.” We’re facing each other now. “I don’t feel hungry, but I’d like to take a shower. Don’t leave. I have several rooms here, and you’ll have to endure a half-hour with the driver to get back to the hotel.”
I shouldn’t agree to that, but I can’t resist the desire to stay a little longer with him. “Okay,” I say, and he seems pleased. “I have an idea. You said you’re not hungry, but I knowsomething that can cheer you up. Can I ask one of the guys to buy some ingredients for me?”
“Yes. You can ask for anything, Olívia.”
As crazy as it sounds, I have the feeling he’s not just talking about food.
Chapter 20
