“You have not brought much,” the driver said, once the car had stopped and he’d popped the boot to survey her luggage.
“We won’t be staying long,” she murmured distractedly, putting her hands on her hips and stepping back to look at the building properly. Up close, she could see examples of the famous Spanish monastic architectural style everywhere, from the use of a pink terracotta, to the sweeping arches and the mosaics laid into the water features. The garden was lush and verdant, and the building had a surprisingly welcome feel to it.
“Okay. I take your things inside.”
Maggie smiled at him anxiously. “Thank you.”
She bent back towards the car and unclipped May’s restraints. May immediately began to cry. “You’re hungry and tired, aren’t you darling? I know just how you feel.” She kissed her baby’s dark hair and looked once more at the building. She realised belatedly that she had no idea where to go, and that the driver had disappeared from sight.
Clutching her pink faced, cross toddler to her chest, she manoeuvred the courtyard and stepped onto the paved thresh hold. She sucked in a deep breath, but her lungs still seemed to burn with breathlessness.
“’ello!” A woman in her forties or fifties approached Maggie from behind. “You are Miss Carrington, no?”
“Yes,” she nodded, grateful that someone at least was expecting her. “That’s me.”
The woman smiled warmly. “I am Anita, the house keeper.” Her dark hair was pulled into a severe plait, and when she smiled, her face crinkled into an intricate road map of creases. “I can show you to your accommodation now?”
“Yes, thank you.” She relaxed a little at the older woman’s obvious kind nature. “May is absolutely starving.”
For the first time, the house keeper focussed her intent gaze on the chubby baby in Maggie’s arms. Her face immediately responded with surprise. “Oh! She is… she is so like… she is beautiful,” she finished lamely, and Maggie’s anxiety reappeared.
May was the spitting image of Dante. About that, she had no doubt. And if she’d needed confirmation, Anita’s reaction would suffice.
“I went to school with Senor Velasco,” she said finally, nodding towards a path lined by walls of bright pink bougainvillea. “It is not my business, of course, but this baby reminded me, for an instant, very much of Dante.”
Maggie sucked in another breath. What had she been thinking? Coming here would be a disaster? She’d brought her baby into a place where Dante was lorded as king and master. She reached out and plucked one of the papery flowers from the hedge. “My best friend loves bougainvillea,” she attempted a jumpy conversation change.
Anita was quiet for a moment, but for the efficient sound her low-heeled Mary-Janes made on the paved path. “It is a practical flower for our climate,” she relented finally, pausing outside a small brick building and inserting a brass key into the timber door. “This will be your villa while you are at Vin Velasco,” she said formally. She stepped back to allow Maggie and May entry.
From the exterior, it had looked small, but inside, Maggie could see it was a sprawling bungalow. Large terracotta tiles on the floors, glass sliding doors that opened out onto a balcony, and several rooms coming from a wide hallway.
“All this? For us?”
“Signor Velasco was quite adamant,” she said with a proud glow. “He took particular care to furnish this room.” She pushed past Maggie and happily opened another door.
Maggie sighed resignedly and then moved inside the home, to where Anita was hovering.
“Oh, goodness.” It was a nursery, but the likes of which she’d never seen before. Even Marianna, the much-adored daughter of Rosie and Luca, had a bedroom that was less extreme in its furnishings. For Rosie balanced out Luca’s excesses perfectly, and had done everything to ensure Marianna would be raised in a more or less normal way, despite their extreme wealth.
There was nothing ‘normal’ about this bedroom. She recognised the cot. It was one she’d seen at Harrods and joked to Rosie about, for the sheer cost alone. Who could justify such an exorbitant amount on a piece of furniture the baby would only use for a few years, at most?
Nothing had been overlooked. The room was both perfect and misery-inducing, for how clearly it highlighted the disparity in what Dante and Rosie could each provide their child with.
May squawked indignantly, her face blotchy and swollen from crying, and Maggie cast Anita an apologetic glance. “She’s tired.”
“Of course she is,” Anita smiled kindly. “There is food in the kitchen, and a bathroom through there. Would you like me to help with anything?”
“No,” Maggie responded swiftly. Her head was spinning. She needed a moment to accept the reality of her life. She was in Spain. In the luxurious villa of the man who… the man who… how could she reduce what she and Dante were to one sentence? “I can manage.”
Anita’s nod was businesslike. “If you pick up this phone and press the green button, you will be connected to my office. There is someone on call around the clock, so please do not hesitate to use the phone if you need anything at all.”
Maggie bounced May on her hip, squeezing her hand, trying to placate the wriggling little octopus. Her cries were getting louder. Maggie waited until Anita had closed the door behind her and then squeezed May tight to her chest. “I know, darling, I know. This is a funny place we’ve ended up in.” She looked around, and didn’t immediately locate the suitcases. What mattered, though, was getting May settled as quickly as possible.
She pushed into the kitchen, an open plan room that flowed to a lounge and dining area, then on to a terrace that overlooked a mountainous terrain. “Let’s see what your father has thought suitable for food, huh?” She half expected to see caviar and truffles when she opened the French Door fridge, given the way he’d decked out the nursery. When it came to stocking the kitchen, someone must have advised Dante, for the shelves were overflowing with foods, and all of them suitable for both a hungry baby and her mama. She grabbed a tub of yoghurt and spooned some into a bowl, then chopped up a banana that had been in a fruit display on the bench.
“Hush, sweet love, hush.” She kissed May’s curls and eased her into the high chair in one movement. “I’m hungry too. And it makes me cranky.”
“Mo- Dinner!” May demanded, holding out her chubby brown arms for the bowl Maggie held.
As Maggie scooped the yoghurt into May’s bird-like mouth, the little girl’s distress seemed to wane. By the end of the bowl, she was laughing, and flinging her little arms around in her normal fashion. “Oh no!” Maggie laughed, as May’s fist connected with the spoon and sent a big gloop of yoghurt flying across the kitchen. “Oh, no!” It landed with a thwomp on the immaculate stainless steel fridge then slowly glided down to the floor. May watched it, giggling, and then clapped her hands together as it landed. It sent more yoghurt flying through the air; tiny little projectiles of slop that sprayed Maggie, and the floor surrounding the high chair.
Maggie shook her head affectionately, then lifted her sweet little girl out of the chair and snuggled her. She didn’t care that she was getting yoghurt down the front of the black dress she’d worn to travel in. As a grown woman, she was in need of reassurance; she could only imagine how May must have felt.
“A quick bath for you, little one,” she said with a nod, humming one of May’s favourite nursery rhymes as she padded through the house, hastily getting a feel for the layout. She had only explored half of the villa, and already found three bathrooms. She chose the one that was the least palatial looking and ran just enough water to cover May’s little legs.
Maggie stifled a yawn as she sung to May and carried out their usual ritual. Though she was bone weary after a day of travelling with a toddler, she was also well-aware that she was the mother. She was the adult. It was up to her to show May that everything was okay, even when deep down, she desperately feared it wasn’t.
May was as easy to settle for sleep as normal. H
er eyes were drooping shut even before Maggie had reached the last page of The Gruffalo. “All was quiet in the deep, dark wood. The Mouse found a nut, and the nut was good.” She whispered, placing the book under May’s pillow and bending down to ruffle her hair. “Good night, sweet angel.”
She moved from the room, not bothering to go quietly. May was a firebrand all day long, going from adventure to adventure, barely pausing to draw breath until she recharged her batteries with a quick nap. But by night, she slept like the exhausted toddler she was. Reliably, heavily and without a peep.
Maggie lifted her hands and rubbed her neck tiredly. She was stiff from carrying a baby, and sitting in plane seats, and cars, and driving on bumpy rural roads. She moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge, looking for something that might tempt her to eat. She closed the doors again. She was hungry but her stomach was too wound up in knots for Maggie to contemplate a meal. Instead, she selected an apple from the fruit tray and rinsed it, then took herself out onto the balcony.
It was chilly by night. Cooler than she’d expected. Though it was winter, she’d always bought into that notion that Spain was simply sunshine and warmth all year round. They were high up though, above the village, and the mountains further afield were topped with white snow. It didn’t help that her dress was covered in yoghurt and bath water, she thought with a quirk of her lips. She yawned, took another bite of the apple and then tossed the half-eaten fruit over the edge of the terrace, into the wilderness below.
Her hair was looped in her head in a bun. She dug the pins out with relief and massaged her scalp. She’d brought books, but she didn’t feel like reading. She’d bought a magazine at the airport, but the idea of staring at waspish fashion models was beyond her. Eventually, she drifted back inside and sat on the sofa, staring broodingly at the white wall opposite.
She had intended to sit for a moment, but the next morning, the bright sunshine pierced through her weary eyes, rousing her at dawn. Her aching neck was even worse after a night contorted on the lounge. She rolled it tiredly from one shoulder to the other and stretched her arms above her head.
May was still fast asleep, and would undoubtedly stay that way for several hours; but the morning was too glorious for Maggie to ignore. With a quick grimace at her travel clothes, she undressed and showered, then pulled on a pair of low-slung jeans and a black jumper.
She didn’t know much about the man who had fathered her child. But she knew he loved coffee. She wasn’t surprised to see a top of the line Nespresso parked on the kitchen bench, and a rack of pods beside it. She inserted one with a silent prayer of thanks and waited for the drink to distil into a small Marimekko mug.
Dante.
She sucked in a deep breath, as his image popped into her mind. It had been over a month since that night in her apartment. And she’d missed him. Her whole body had seemed to reverberate when she’d thought of him. But she hated him too, for his implacable determination to bring her and May to Spain. To uproot them from their home and their lives.
And now? Where was he? It’s not like she’d been expecting red carpet and a welcome brigade. But was a personal appearance from the man himself too much to hope for? Apparently it was, and her disappointment was acute.
She drank her coffee on the terrace, watchful and moody. Did he not even have the decency to greet her; to show her around the villa perhaps, and discuss how he saw the next few weeks going?
The sun crested over the mountainous terrain to the East, beautiful in its crispness, bright and bold, and somehow encouraging.
She’d endured pregnancy alone.
She’d birthed May in an incredibly difficult and traumatic delivery.
And she’d raised her and nursed her, and loved her, with no help from Dante whatsoever. So why would she be pining away for him now? Desperately wanting to see him?
It made no sense. She drained her coffee and stood to stretch once more. She might be living on his property, and under the control of the legal document she’d signed, but she was still free to live her own life.
A spark of defiance ignited in her. She was not going to sit around waiting for the axe to fall.
With eyes that glowed with determination, she walked quickly to the phone the housekeeper Anita had pointed out the night before. She pressed the green button and waited for it to connect.
A young man’s voice responded, in Spanish, which momentarily disconcerted Maggie. She cleared her throat and assumed her best ‘to the manner born’ voice. “It is Maggie Carrington; the guest in the villa. I would like a car, with car seat, to be available for my use.”
“Ah, si,” the young man responded. “There is a vehicle parked beside the villa. The key is in the top drawer, and maps are in the glove box.”
“Oh.” The wind was knocked from her sails, to realise that Dante had foreseen even this. The fact that he’d thought ahead, and made it easy for her to be independent, was galling. Simply because she didn’t want him to be thoughtful. To be kind. “Thank you.” She hung up and looked around again. She would need to find something to do. And though she hadn’t made herself a proper meal in weeks, she had not lost her love for cooking. As soon as May woke, she would go in search of a food market. Then, she would do the only thing that brought her comfort in times of distress. And she wouldn’t think of Dante. She wouldn’t.
7
She thought of Dante all morning, while she manoeuvred her way around the crowded town square, May in a baby carrier pinned to her chest, in search of the produce she needed.
She thought of Dante as she carefully navigated the narrow roads back to the Villa.
She thought of him as she fed May her strawberries and cheese.
She thought of him as she wiped May’s sticky fingers and sung her a song.
She thought of him as she put their little girl down for her midday nap.
And she thought of him as she brewed another coffee.
So when he came, with a short sharp knock at the door, her temper and hackles were raised.
She pulled the door inwards, her expression carefully wiped of the strength of her feelings.
Dante was similarly difficult to read. Dressed in time-worn jeans and a button down shirt, he looked more casual than she’d seen him before. His dark hair was brushed back from his face. But his face. It would always have the power to set her heart skittering. His lips, implacable, his eyes, mocking, his chin so chiselled, his stubble coarse and dark. She almost took an involuntary step backwards, such was the force of his latent power. But she managed to hold her ground.
In contrast his eyes barely registered her. He looked beyond her, to the villa. “Where is she?”
Maggie crossed her arms over her chest, but it didn’t seem to stop her heart from splintering into pieces.
“May’s asleep,” she said, nodding her head to the bedroom beyond them.
His face clearly showed his disappointment.
“She’s been awake all morning though. If you’d bothered to visit before now,” she said with a disapproving scowl.
He narrowed his eyes. “I came earlier.” His words were sharp. “You were not here.”
“Oh.” She bit down on her lip. “I see. We went to town, to get some food.”
“But there is food here.”
“Other food,” she added, in no mood to be grateful for his thoughtfulness.
He seemed to bite back what he had been going to say. “When will she be awake?”
Maggie looked down at her slender wristwatch. “An hour? At most.”
He nodded. “I will return then.” He turned to leave and Maggie felt a strange sense of emotion spike through her.
“You can wait here,” she said quickly. “If you want to, I mean.”
Slowly, he turned to face her. “I do not want to.”
His words were so filled with venom, so thick with hatred, that she cringed. This time, when he turned and walked away, she didn’t try to stop him.
Her slender frame
was shaking as she closed the door. The full gamut of emotions she ran because of this man had left her exhausted, and it was still only lunch time.
When he returned, exactly an hour later, Maggie was in the midst of rolling date balls, and May was playing happily at her feet. “Hang on,” she called, in response to the knock at the door.
She finished one last ball, placed it in the coconut mix and walked towards the door, wiping her hands on her apron as she went.
“Is she awake?”
Maggie pouted. No civility. Just straight to the point. God, if only he weren’t so gorgeous. She felt an actual ache in her gut as she remembered how it had felt when he’d touched her. How perfectly his body had met hers. “Yes. In the kitchen.” She stepped back, holding the door open, and tried not to breathe in his scent too deeply as he swept past.
May was happily banging a wooden spoon against an upturned pot, her pretty face crinkled into a bubbling smile as she enjoyed the tremendous noise she was capable of producing.
Maggie’s heart lurched as Dante crouched down in front of their child. It was the first time he’d properly looked at her, and Maggie could see that he was as overcome by their similarities as she had been.
“Hello,” he said. He held a finger out and May dropped the spoon, immediately curling her little fingers around his. Her dark eyes were inquisitive, but her smile didn’t drop.
“Ga-ga-goo,” May said seriously, and Dante nodded.
“Yes, I can see that.” His smile was Maggie’s undoing. Her skin tingled with goosebumps. The full force of his charm was turned on their daughter in a way Maggie had only ever been able to dream about.
He looked to Maggie, catching her in an unguarded moment of sentimental observation. “She is so like me.” His words were dragged from his body, his eyes dark with judgement.
“I know,” she nodded. Every day, she’d looked into their daughter’s eyes and remembered his.
He picked May up with confidence, and walked her away from the kitchen. He spoke constantly, in a way that showed he had experience with younger siblings. He pointed out the colors of the walls, the shadows on the floor, the feel of the sofa.