‘That’s what he told me,’ I say. ‘That he married you to make sure I didn’t get the estate. So you were right, that’s exactly why.’
Her fingers tighten around mine as if I’m the one needing comfort, and her blue gaze is very direct. ‘He was wrong to do that,’ she says quietly. ‘I thought it was wrong then and it’s still wrong now.’
Chapter Fifteen
Beatrix
It’s strange tosit here in this luxurious jewellery showroom, holding my new husband’s hand, having a discussion about my previous marriage to his father.
It’s also strange that we’re having a somewhat normal conversation, when our interactions have either been furious or, certainly for the past couple of days, entirely physical.
It’s strange to be married, too. To have another husband so soon after my first, and that my new husband is the man I thought I hated above all others.
Except I don’t hate him, I know that, and perhaps I never did. It’s only that he’s complicated and so are my feelings about him. He’s so controlled out of the bedroom, so ruthlessly self-possessed. The only time he ever seems free is when he’s in bed with me, where all the passion inside him comes roaring out like a forest fire. He’s a man of extremes who can’t find a middle ground—he’s either burning hot or icy cold, with no in-between. It’s unexpectedly fascinating.
Heis unexpectedly fascinating.
The wedding ceremony we just had, though, was almost the antithesis of my first wedding. That was in the cathedral in Toledo, with all of Antonio’s friends and acquaintances, the cream of the Spanish aristocracy. My wedding dress then was studded with crystals, ornate and heavy, with a huge train, a veil and a tiara. It was a surreal experience to go from stacking supermarket shelves to marrying a much older man in a cathedral, wearing a dress that cost over a hundred thousand euros. And then to attend a wedding party in an exclusive hotel that cost even more… None of it was my decision. Antonio wanted to have a big, splashy wedding to show me off, to display his much younger trophy wife to as many people as possible, and, despite feeling like a fraud the whole time, I went along with it. He wanted to marry me and make me a duchess, so protesting just seemed ungrateful.
This time, however, the only dress I had was one Helene somehow procured for me. I told her what I wore didn’t matter, but she insisted. It didn’t matter that I’d been married before, she said, a woman should always wear something pretty on her wedding day. And the dresswaspretty. So I put it on, and she gave me a rose to carry, and in the end I was glad I’d worn the dress. It was simple, nothing splashy about it, which made it much more my style, and also because Santiago’s eyes flared the moment he saw me.
There was nothing romantic about the ceremony, yet I had a strange, fluttery, excited feeling in my stomach all the same. And afterwards, as I handed one of the witnesses my rose, I caught a glimpse of Santiago’s face and the strange fury burning in his eyes. It disappeared the instant I asked him what was wrong, though, so I’m not sure what had annoyed him so intensely.
I made a mental note to ask him when we got back home, because I didn’t want him to be angry. I didn’t want to return to us being furious with each other, not when these past few days have been so good. It’s been only physical, admittedly, but I love being in his bed. I love the pleasure he gives me, and afterwards I love how he holds me. No one has ever just held me.
But then he mentioned buying a ring, and, while I didn’t think we needed one, it seemed important to him, so I agreed. This jewellery showroom is far too luxurious and expensive, though, and I didn’t want him spending so much money on rings that mean nothing. But then he mentioned Antonio yet again, and I got tired of it. I had to give him the context for my decision to marry his father, tell him where I came from, and what I was trying to leave behind, and I wanted him to understand, because constantly fighting about it is tiring.
He surprised me, however, by actually listening to me. Then he gave me a little piece of his own history in return. I hadn’t expected that from him. Which is now why I want to let him know that his father was wrong. Antonio was wrong about a lot of things, but most specifically he was wrong to disinherit his son, wrong to stay so angry with him, and for so long, too.
Santiago’s fingers in mine are warm, and the look in his dark eyes burns. So I go on, ‘It wasn’t fair of him and it wasn’t right. I did actually try to talk to him about it, but he wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘You tried to talk to him about me?’ His attention is so focused on me it’s as if nothing else in the world exists for him, as if what I’m saying is of such vital importance that he can’t look away even for a moment. It’s intoxicating.
‘Yes,’ I say and it’s true. I did try to talk to Antonio about Santiago, and more than a few times. But he refused to even engage. ‘I’d like to think there was a part of him that wanted to make things right with you, but he let his anger get in the way.’
Santiago begins to say something, then the sales assistant returns with several black velvet trays, interrupting the moment.
Santiago releases my hand, the warmth of his skin lingering. I’d much rather be holding it, and continuing our conversation, than looking at these rings, but the sales assistant is now pointing out each piece and the opportunity for more conversation slips away.
I have no choice but to study the rings in the trays, and to listen to the assistant’s patter. Antonio bought me a massive diamond as an engagement ring, but I only wore it a couple of times. It was too showy, too flashy for my taste, and the rings in these trays, while beautiful, are all showy and flashy, too. They’re rings someone buys either for love or to prove a point, and I want to ask Santiago what kind of point he’s trying to prove, since it’s definitely not about love.
Reaching for one at random, I put it on my finger, only for Santiago to shake his head and offer another choice, this one with a huge sapphire. They’re all eye-wateringly expensive, even the simpler ones, and I’m getting more and more uncomfortable. He’s not buying a ring for me. He’s buying a ring for himself, and I want to know why.
Eventually, I take off the fifth choice, a giant ruby, and put it back in the tray, then glance at him. ‘I appreciate the thought, Santiago,’ I say levelly, ‘but exactly what point are you trying to make here? I already have one enormous ring I don’t wear, so why would I need another?’
His dark gaze flashes, always a sure sign of his temper, and I brace myself for whatever furious retort is going to come out of his mouth. But then he lets out a breath, abruptly waves away the assistant, then turns on the couch to face me. ‘I want to tell you that I’m not trying to make a point,’ he says in a quieter voice than I’m expecting, ‘but I suppose you’re right. I am.’
‘It’s not about buying me a wedding present at all, is it?’
‘No.’ His gaze is direct, hiding nothing. ‘I want your marriage to me to be different from the marriage you had with my father.’
I frown. ‘Please don’t tell me you’restilljealous of him.’
‘I didn’t think I was,’ he says honestly. ‘But apparently I am. And apparently it’s not only him I’m jealous of. I was jealous of the woman you gave your rose to, because you smiled at her and you hardly ever smile at me.’
The words are little shocks, each pulsing through me, jolting me. I know he was jealous of Antonio, that’s always been obvious, but I thought it was more about his estrangement from his father than it was about me.
It’s wrong to feel good about his jealousy, because jealousy can be ugly. Yet I feel good about it all the same. Because it’s not only my body he wants, he wants my smiles, too, and I can’t think why they’re important to him, but they are.
