He stares at me, his expression utterly unreadable. ‘You want me to marry you?’ The question is so determinedly neutral that I’m sure he hates the idea.
But I don’t look away. ‘Yes. It’s what you’re essentially wanting from me. I’m only asking to make it legal.’
His black eyes glitter with that familiar mix of heat and anger, but I’m used to that from him. I can do Santiago when he’s hungry and furious. That, at least, I know, unlike his apology, which was confusing.
‘So you want to add me to your trophy cabinet?’ he asks in an edged tone. ‘Another Veracruz to add to your list of conquests?’
I fight down my own defensiveness, not taking his bait. ‘If you want me to upend the life I’ve managed to create for myself in Spain, and move to Paris, where I own nothing and have nothing, because you want to stay here, then you’ll have to give me some surety that my place here is secure.’ I keep my voice calm, cool. Logical. That’s something he should appreciate.
A muscle ticks in his jaw. ‘You could stay in Spain. No one is forcing you to move.’
‘You said you wouldn’t take the baby away from me,’ I counter. ‘You promised.’
‘And you promised you’d stay in my bed,’ he snaps, his hold on his temper clearly not as good as he wants me to believe.
‘Marry me,’ I say. ‘And I’ll be there every night.’
‘Why would I need to,’ he leans forward as if to emphasise his point, ‘when you’ve already promised me everything?’
I take a breath, trying to batten down the hatches on my sudden, rising panic. I’ve spent my life trying to find stability, trying to find safety, trying to find a home that no one can take away from me. I thought marrying Antonio would give me that, and it did, only for my own desperate need to undermine everything and upend the little life I’d built for myself. I can’t face the idea of doing it again. I’ll be at the mercy of Santiago’s desire, which will fade soon enough, and then where will I be? And what about my child?
With a supreme effort of will, I force away the panic. Logic, that’s what I need. That’s what I’ll have to use to appeal to him, since playing on his feelings won’t work, I know that already. ‘What about when this chemistry of ours is dead?’ I ask. ‘What about when either of us doesn’t want the other any more? What if I fall in love with another man and marry him instead, and petition for custody of—’
‘You willnotbe marrying another man,’ he interrupts with barely suppressed fury. ‘Not while you are sleeping with me.’
Something inside me shivers at the possessive note in his voice. The needy part of me, the part that loves being wanted the way he wants me. I don’t like giving in to it, but it does remind me that I can use his possessiveness to get what I want, too. That there is one feeling of his that I can play on: his jealousy.
‘I’ll be faithful as your wife,’ I say, my skin tightening as I hold his stark black gaze. ‘I believe in marriage vows.’
He says nothing for a long moment, his gaze roaming over my face, studying me as if I’m one of his experiments and it’s not going according to his plan. ‘My mother won’t be pleased if I marry you,’ he says at last.
No, I don’t suppose she would be. ‘Do you care what your mother thinks?’
‘Yes,’ he says unexpectedly. ‘I’ve cared for her ever since Antonio threw us out.’
Another little shock goes through me. That’s something I was never told about. ‘He threw you out?’
Santiago’s lip curls. ‘Surely you must know that.’
‘No. He spoke of you, of course, but not about your mother. He never mentioned his first marriage.’
Santiago’s eyes narrow into thin slits of obsidian, no doubt searching for evidence that I’m lying. But, since I’m not, I stare back. I’ve got nothing to hide.
The intensity of his study eases, and he lets out a breath, sitting back in his chair again, apparently satisfied that I’m being truthful. ‘Perhaps it’s no surprise he didn’t tell you,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t exactly cast him in a favourable light.’
I don’t know what to think of the sudden curiosity that pulls tight inside me, but I do know that I can’t let it go. Antonio never gave any details on why he viewed Santiago with such bitterness, and I always thought it must have been about something dreadful, especially since his bitterness seemed to get worse as the years went on.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
‘It’s very simple,’ Santiago says levelly. ‘My father wasn’t faithful to my mother. He had many affairs and I, unfortunately, found out about one of them after stumbling into a room at a family party, to find my father with one of his lovers.’
This doesn’t surprise me. Antonio was very proud of his virility. It was why he hired me to be on his arm, and why he insisted we consummate our relationship—at least as much as he was physically able.
‘That must have been awful,’ I say and mean it, because it must have been. ‘How old were you?’
‘Twelve,’ Santiago says. ‘He swore me to secrecy, told me to never breathe a word of it to my mother. But I was furious with him for betraying her, and so I told her anyway.’
‘He threw you out for that?’ I ask, shocked.
