Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER TEN

T WO HOURS LATER they were back on the plane and winging their way towards San Sebastián. Mari’s head was spinning, jet lag tugging at her senses. While Dom with his boundless energy continued to work, she snagged the bedroom for some more sleep. But this time she set an alarm on her phone. She wasn’t about to be woken by Dom again.

Not that sleep came easily.

She was a married woman. Again. And she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Married but not married. A wife and yet not really a wife.

When she’d married Simon she’d felt—nothing. Not delight, not relief, just a feeling of numbness, that this was the life she deserved, that she would be the sandwich-cutting wife of a small country town clerk for life. Oh, her grandmother was beside herself, and Suzanne thrilled to be her bridesmaid, and those things had permeated the numbness she’d felt, massaging the misgivings she’d had.

She’d so firmly believed that all she’d needed after her disappointment and despair was the love of a good man and a sensible marriage. It might have been a sensible middle-class marriage, but the good man turned out not to be, and as for love? ‘You’ll grow to love him,’ her grandmother had assured her whenever she’d expressed her doubts. ‘Give it time, you’ll grow together.’

But for all her grandmother’s assurances, love had never come into it, not on Marianne’s part. And instead of growing together, they’d grown apart.

Again, she’d been a wife, but not really a wife. Not a life partner, but a housekeeper, cook and nanny rolled into one.

Memories and feelings so different from the first time she and Dom had made love. That had been a revelation. Not only the smorgasbord of new sensations and new emotions but the knowledge she was no longer a virgin. She’d guarded her virginity through her high school years. She’d always promised herself that she would never squander it, that she would share that special moment with a man she truly loved. That man had been Dom, and the act itself momentous. She’d half expected choirs of angels and a host of trumpeters to herald the news on high.

And now she was married to that man.

It should have been a cause for joy. Once upon a time it would have been a cause for joy. Now it was just a cause for regret.

The plane landed around ten a.m. at Hondarribia airport, where they were whisked away by a waiting limousine direct to San Sebastián, some twenty-five kilometres away.

‘We’ll go by the villa first,’ he explained, ‘and give my mother the news. Then we’ll head to my apartment to freshen up, if you need.’

If she needed? Sure, she’d slept on the plane, but nowhere near enough given her tangled thoughts, and right now she was all kinds of confused. They’d departed Melbourne at eight a.m. and arrived in Las Vegas at eight a.m. the very same day. If that hadn’t been mental enough, after a whistlestop Las Vegas wedding, they’d been back on the plane by two p.m. Eleven hours later it was apparently mid-morning, and her body clock was complaining about too many time zones in too little time, the jet lag starting to drag.

‘Sounds good,’ she said, covering her mouth while she yawned.

‘And Marianne?’

‘Yes?’

‘This is important to me. I want my mother to be happy for whatever time she has left. Don’t ruin it for her.’

‘Why would I ruin it?’

‘I don’t know. Because you profess to hate me and so you might be planning to make me look bad in the eyes of my mother.’

Mari snapped. ‘You are kidding me!’ After all she’d done, after all she’d agreed to, she could not believe what she was hearing. They’d spent the best part of two days confined to a flying tin can, admittedly a very luxurious flying tin can, they’d been married in Las Vegas and even kissed, without threatening to kill each other.

Why now, when they were landed and heading to see his mother, did he feel the need to doubt her, and let her know he didn’t trust her to fulfil her end of the deal?

‘Do you seriously believe that I would fly three-quarters of the way around the world to tell your mother that her son loves her so much he’s spent ten million dollars plus to get married to the woman who least wanted to marry him, just to make him look bad? What kind of person do you think I am?’

His jaw clenched. A muscle popped in his cheek. ‘It’s important, Marianne. That’s all.’

‘I know it’s important. It’s important to me too. I’m here, aren’t I? And I’m hardly going to give up the chance of collecting nine million dollars to spite you, am I? I know what I have to do. Can’t you just trust me to do it?’

She turned her attention out of the window, preferring to drink in the views of the hilly Basque countryside than put up with any more of his judgements. The colours were vibrant here, green trees and bushes bright against the clear blue sky.

‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice gruff, as if it was costing him to get the words out.

Her head swung around. ‘What?’

‘Of course you’re right. I’m sorry.’

Dominico Estefan was apologising? To her? Wow. His mother’s condition must be really getting to him.

She nodded an acknowledgment and turned to look out of the window again. It was hard not to feel empathy for the man. She had no quibble with that. But increasingly, there were times when she almost felt like she liked the man.

And that was way more problematic.

Where was the hatred when she needed it? Where was the resentment and the cold, hard fury? He was still the man who’d fathered her twins and then abandoned her to deal with their loss alone. He was still the man who’d taken over Eric Cooper’s business and sacked half the staff. He’d proved both his ambition and his ruthlessness. And yet the man wasn’t made of stone. That had been the man the young Marianne had fallen in love with, and these glimpses that he still owned a heart were undermining both her resentment and her resistance.

Truth was, the more time she spent in his company, the more the hard edges of her hatred were dulled. She felt as if she was facing the ghosts of the past and still not knowing how to deal with them.

And then he went and twisted the knife and reminded her of all the things she hated about him.

Good.

The car pulled into a driveway with tall ornate gates that swung open to a circular turnaround with a massive marble fountain at its heart. The house behind sat tall and proud, the walls the colour of clotted cream, with white shutters on the windows and white balustrades framing the balconies. The house was grand without being ostentatious, and as Dom led her through the maze of rooms to his mother’s room Mari could see that the classic good looks of the outside followed through to the interior. High ceilings, exposed timber rafters, arched timber doorways and terrazzo tiles on the floor, the home was beautifully appointed.

‘You grew up here?’ she asked, as he led her up an ornately carved timber staircase.

‘Yes.’

‘But you don’t live here now?’

‘No, I have an apartment in town, overlooking La Concha beach.’

Of course he’d have an apartment, Mari realised, following him up the stairs. He’d hardly want to bring his woman friends to the family home. She wasn’t envious of them, she told herself. Dom hadn’t chosen to marry any of them. He’d chosen to marry Mari. Temporarily, sure, and under duress, certainly. But because he’d trusted her to leave when she needed to. Because she wouldn’t hang around hoping for more.

Mari wouldn’t hang around. The moment this deal was done, she was out of here.

Dom had been in touch with the doctor en route. The nurse was expecting them and, after a few words to Dom, ushered them in to visit her.

‘Mamá,’ he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

His mother opened her eyes, blinked in confusion, before breaking into a smile. ‘Oh, you’re home!’ she said, taking his cheek in one hand. ‘Oh, my son, I am so pleased to see you.’

‘And me you,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry it took so long to come home. I had to make a diversion along the way.’

‘Oh, but you’re home now, my son, and all is right in my world.’

He took her hand and kissed the back of it. Gently, because the skin looked bruised and paper-thin. ‘I am hoping that things might get better in your world. I have a surprise for you, Mamá. I have someone I want you to meet. She’s waiting just outside if you’re up to meeting her.’

‘Who is it, Dominico?’ she said, struggling to sit higher on the bed. Dom gently put his arm around her back and eased her higher, slipping another pillow behind her. ‘I’m not in a fit state for visitors. How do I look?’

‘You look beautiful, Mamá,’ he said, blinking moisture from his eyes. She’d lost more weight since he’d seen her last. Her shoulders were no more than jutting bones and he could feel her ribs and the individual vertebrae of her spine through her nightdress. She was shrinking by the day. ‘You always look beautiful.’ Even with her sunken cheeks and the dark circles around her eyes, she would always look beautiful to him.

‘Tell me, who have you brought?’

‘My wife.’

His mother stared up at him in shock. ‘You’re married? How can that be? Who did you marry?’

He squeezed her hand. ‘Do you remember Marianne, Mamá? You met her once in Sydney when I was studying there.’

‘Marianne? Marianne?’ His mother was shaking her head, looking for answers. ‘Not that beautiful girl you utterly adored?’

‘The very same. We met up again in Melbourne when I was there, and—’

‘And you fell in love all over again.’ She crossed her hands over her chest. ‘It’s just like a fairy tale ending, Dominico. It couldn’t be better.’

It was indeed a fairy tale, if not exactly the way his mother believed. But she was happy, and his heart swelled. This was what he’d wanted. If his mother was happy, if she believed in this marriage, then it was worth every euro it had cost him. It would even be worth the grief he’d borne from the intractable Marianne.

‘Something like that.’

‘Oh, well, what are you waiting for? Bring her in, bring her in. Are you sure I look all right?’

He smiled. Because his mother was smiling, the light shining brightly in her eyes. ‘You look perfect,’ he said, and went to open the door to collect Marianne.

Dom took her hand, his eyes seeking hers as he drew her into the room. She expected them to contain a warning to her again to play the part of happy newlywed, but rather what she saw was almost a plea, a plea that, if nothing else, she get this right. Mari sucked in a breath. This was the moment of truth.

The large room was both masculine and feminine, the chunky timber furniture balanced by soft curtains, all dominated by the big king-sized bed. It had an elaborately carved timber headboard and, above that, a wedding portrait of Rosaria with her Roberto, painted many years previously, their love for each other shining out from their eyes.

Dom drew her to the bedside. ‘Mamá, here is Marianne, my wife.’

‘Marianne!’ his mother said from the bed, patting down the covers beside her. ‘Come sit on the bed, dear, so that I can see you properly.’

Rosaria was barely a bump in the bed, little more than a ripple in the bedclothes. Her once long black hair was now silvered and plaited down over one shoulder, and her face looked gaunt, the skin pulled tight over her bones. But nothing could erase her strong features and the beauty she’d once been. The high cheekbones were still regal, her eyes still piercingly bright.

‘Hello, Rosaria,’ Mari said softly as she sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘I remember,’ she said, finding and clutching on to Mari’s hands. ‘I remember you. I used to think you were such a pretty girl. Now I can see that you have grown up into a beautiful woman.’

Mari dipped her head. ‘Thank you.’

‘And now Dom tells me that you are married.’

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘It happened more quickly than we would have preferred, but it’s true.’

‘Didn’t I tell you,’ Dom said, ‘that there was someone special? That person is Marianne.’

Rosaria beamed. ‘I’m so delighted for you, but however did you find each other again?’

‘A chance meeting,’ Dom said quickly.

‘Serendipity,’ said Mari. ‘We were in the same place at the same time, our paths crossed, and well, here we are.’

‘Serendipity,’ Rosaria said approvingly. ‘I like the sound of that. But I still don’t understand how you could get married so quickly.’

‘We didn’t want to wait the weeks it would take before we could be married here,’ Dom said. ‘So we flew to Las Vegas and made it official.’

Rosaria’s eyes stared blankly at the wall behind Mari. And then she nodded as if she’d realised why. ‘That was thoughtful of you both,’ she said. ‘Except…’ She turned her gaze on her son. ‘A Las Vegas wedding? It won’t do, you know. It won’t do at all.’

Dom frowned. ‘Why won’t it do? I thought you wanted me married. I’m married.’

‘It’s not what I had in mind. You have cheated me out of a wedding. The wedding of my only son. Why would you do such a thing?’

‘Mamá, I thought you would be pleased.’

‘Yes, of course I am, and I’m happy for you both, but I would have hoped to be there to witness my only child get married.’

Dom muttered something under his breath as he raised his eyes to the ceiling. Mari smiled. How Mari loved Rosaria. She loved seeing this less than pint-sized woman cut the ground from under her billionaire son’s feet in a way nobody else could.

‘Perhaps we could have a blessing ceremony?’ Mari suggested. ‘Maybe a party. It would be lovely to celebrate our marriage with you and all the family and friends here in San Sebastián. It would be right.’

‘That’s a wonderful idea,’ Rosaria said, sounding animated. ‘We’ll have another ceremony, won’t we, Dominico? And we’ll invite everyone.’

‘Mamá,’ Dom interjected, ‘are you sure you’re up to this?’

‘What?’ she said imperiously. ‘You would deny your dying mother a party to celebrate her son’s wedding?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, while sending a glare in Mari’s direction.

Rosaria leaned back on her pillows. ‘You’ve made me so happy,’ she said. ‘Both of you.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. She sniffed as she batted them away. ‘So happy.’

And Mari, who’d been so opposed to the whole faux wedding idea, realised just what it meant to Dom’s mother and, in turn, what it meant to Dom. He knew he was going to lose his mother, but he loved her so deeply that he would go to impossible lengths to fulfil her final wish. His plan wasn’t perfect. Their marriage was a sham. But seeing Rosaria smile, seeing how happy Dom had made her, what else could he have done?

The older woman closed her eyes and looked as if she was drifting off.

‘We should leave you and let you rest,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, blinking. ‘I’m tired. But later, please come visit me again, Marianne.’

‘We’ll both come,’ said Dom.

‘No. Not you, Dominico,’ Rosaria said. ‘I want to talk to Marianne. I want to get to know my new daughter-in-law.’

Dom looked helplessly from his mother to Mari and back again. ‘But surely—’

‘No,’ Rosaria insisted. ‘You have work to do. You have a wedding party to organise. Marianne, you’ll be fine to come by yourself. I promise I don’t bite.’ She smiled then. ‘Unless it’s my Dom. My nurse will let you know when I’m awake again.’ She gave a blissful smile as she nestled back into her pillows. ‘And now I’m going to dream about weddings and parties and celebrations. Right now, I think I must be the happiest woman in the world.’

Dom let the nurse in and closed the door behind him with a sigh. ‘You did well,’ he said, his voice thick and gravelly. ‘She’s happy. She likes you. She always has.’

‘I’m glad. She’s remarkably strong-willed for someone so ill. She certainly knows what she wants.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Dom said, his eyebrows raised. ‘And don’t I know it. Come on, we’ll go to the apartment. We can freshen up and have some lunch while Mamá rests.’

Mari was entranced by the vibrant city, Dom pointing out the local sights as their driver weaved his way through the busy streets. Everywhere she looked there seemed to be another attraction, and even where there wasn’t, the streetscape was an attraction all by itself. There were no skyscrapers, the character buildings seemed to top out at four or five levels, with balconies adorning almost every window. Dom pointed out the old town, the city hall and the Buen Pastor Cathedral before the car turned onto a street that bordered probably the most beautiful beach that Mari had ever seen: a sandy bay with mountains either side and the jut of a treed island in between.

‘The Isla de Santa Clara,’ he explained, naming the other peaks as Monte Urgull on the right and Monte Igueldo on the left. ‘You can take a funicular up to the top of Mount Urgull, and there’s a ferry that will take you out to Santa Clara Island.’

Mari was overwhelmed by it all, by the beauty of the sparkling bay, the mountains protecting it either side and the island nestled in between. ‘I thought Bondi Beach was something special,’ she said.

‘It is special,’ Dom agreed. ‘But this is better.’

No false modesty there, thought Mari, but he was right. How could anywhere on earth compete with this glorious setting?

The driver pulled into a garage in a stately building with a classic sandstone facade. A lift took them up to the top floor, where the views were even better. Of course Dom would have a penthouse apartment with unobstructed views overlooking the entire curve of the bay, taking in the mountains and the island. Another window boasted a view over a park towards the city hall.

Dom showed her around. The vast apartment had the high ceilings of the villa but it was clear that it had been updated at some stage, to retain the charm of the original while giving the interior a more contemporary vibe. It was clear Dom had stamped his style all over the apartment. There was marble aplenty and terracotta tile floors, but it was elegance without fripperies. It was streamlined, masculine and functional.

‘And this,’ he said, flinging open a set of double doors, ‘is our suite.’

Mari stopped dead. Inside she could see a massive bed. From the doorway, that was all she could see. ‘Our suite?’

He smiled. ‘That’s up to you.’

She took a step back. ‘You are joking. I told you that sex isn’t part of this deal.’ She licked her lips ‘Maybe I could stay at your mother’s house.’

‘That would hardly come across as very newlywed, would it?’

‘Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. I’d just be seen as a caring daughter-in-law.’

‘You’d be seen as a runaway wife and the staff—and my mother—would wonder what you’re running away from.’ He moved closer, reaching for her hands. ‘I thought you might be softening by now. Don’t you remember how good we were together, Marianne?’

Her hands held captive by his, she closed her eyes. Against the feel of his long-fingered hands, against his heat, against the scent that was peculiarly his. The scent that now wrapped beguiling tendrils around her senses. Because of course she remembered how good they’d been together. She remembered all too clearly their lovemaking long into the night and then into the next morning. She remembered the feel of him entering her. Filling her. Completing her.

‘We’re both grown up, Marianne. Why can’t we enjoy each other while you’re here?’

Mari wavered. It would be so easy. Sex with Dom was so alluring. So tempting. That was if she only remembered the good times.

But then there were the bad times. The times of loneliness and despair when Dom, for all the talk of them being good together, hadn’t given her a second thought. When she’d gone through heartache and pain nobody should ever experience alone.

‘You make it sound like some kind of sport.’

‘It is, if you put it like that.’

She pulled her hands from his. ‘Then I’ll find a hotel. Thanks all the same.’

He wheeled away towards another door. ‘Come on, Marianne, surely you can’t blame a man for trying?’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘All right. If that’s what you want, I’ll show you to your room.’

He opened another doorway. ‘It’s through here.’

Mari regarded the room suspiciously—it looked fine, grand even, with its own bathroom with shower and bath—except… She pointed to another door. ‘Where does that go?’

‘It’s an adjoining door to my suite. But I won’t come in unless you ask me to.’

She glared at him. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’ She took a closer look. ‘Is it lockable from my side?’

Dom sighed. ‘You’ll be safe. I promise you.’ He turned. ‘I’ll leave you to freshen up. We’ll take lunch on the terrace before we head back to the villa.’

He left her then to talk to his housekeeper about lunch, growing increasingly frustrated with Mari’s obstinance. What was it with her insistence that they didn’t have sex? It wasn’t as if she was a virgin; he knew that for a fact. And he knew for a fact that she wasn’t immune to his touch. He’d felt her resistance crumbling when he’d kissed her. He’d felt her body start to yield to his. There was no way she couldn’t recognise it for what it was. Desire. Mutual desire. And he knew for a fact that she’d be more relaxed and convincing with him if she only gave into it. So why was she fighting it?

It was baffling.

Infuriating.

And the maddest thing was, it only made him want her more.

It was late afternoon when Dom received a call from his mother’s nurse that she was ready to see Marianne again. Dom ignored his exclusion from the invitation. Marianne might have made a good impression on her at their earlier visit, but he wasn’t about to trust her to talk to his mother on her own. Too much was at stake.

Once again, the car delivered them to his mother’s villa, and it was a relief to get there.

Marianne had changed since their visit this morning into a white slim-fitting dress with giant ink spots, the style accentuating the curves of her body. She wore her hair loose, tumbling over her shoulders. She looked cool and sophisticated and a million miles away from the buttoned-up mouse with an axe to grind who had turned up in his suite a matter of days ago.

She looked amazing, and that was hard enough to deal with when space separated them. But every time they were in close proximity the tension between them seemed to grow. In a private jet separated by several metres was one thing. The back seat of a car was entirely different. It wasn’t just his problem; it was clearly hers too. She had scooted as far away from him on the back seat as she could get. She was clearly affected by his presence. So why was she holding out on him?

The nurse invited Marianne into his mother’s room.

‘I’ll come too,’ said Dom.

But the nurse barred his way. Rosaria, she said, was insistent that she only wanted to talk to Marianne. And Dom had no choice but to cool his heels outside.

Marianne entered the room. This time she received Dom’s glower as she passed him. This time there were no gentle pleas. This time his eyes held a threat— Don’t get this wrong.

As if she would.

Rosaria was propped up in the bed on white lace-edged pillows, her hair newly washed and fluffed. She was still tiny, her eyes closed, but as Mari approached the bed those eyes opened clear and bright, brightening even more as she saw her visitor.

‘Oh, Marianne,’ she said, patting the bed beside her. ‘Come and sit here next to me on the bed. It’s high time I had some girl talk.

‘I’ve been so worried about Dominico,’ she continued. ‘I thought he would never settle down. I am so glad he’s found you again, Marianne. I am so happy for you both.’

Mari smiled, and gently patted the older lady on the hand. Tiny hands, skin like parchment blotched with bruises and stretched over bones and knuckles so tightly it looked like it would tear at the slightest touch.

And Mari knew that, however long it took, she would keep up this pretence of being Dom’s bride, because it made Rosaria so happy.

‘I was married to an Australian, you know. Well, an Australian of Spanish descent, but still an Australian.’

Mari nodded. ‘I do. I met him that time we all had dinner together in Sydney.’

‘Oh, of course you did. That was such a fun night. Roberto liked you, you know. He told me that he half suspected Dominico might ask you to marry him. Which is why he agreed for Dominico to stay another semester in Sydney. He didn’t want to set up a potential conflict with his son. He wanted him to enjoy his youth while he could.’

She sighed. ‘Of course, that was before he had his heart attack.’ She shook her head, her eyes misting over. ‘That changed everything.’

Mari reached over and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

‘Oh, listen to me, getting all maudlin. Silly, when I’ll be back with Roberto soon, but it’s Roberto I want to talk about. He had Spanish heritage, you see, and he was travelling through Spain, due to return home in a week when he came to San Sebastián and met me. And the rest, as they say, is history. It was a whirlwind romance. We were married in three months, and so, so happy. He was such a handsome man.’ She sighed. ‘So tall, broad-shouldered and handsome and so very sexy.’

Mari was startled. She had not been expecting that.

Rosaria chuckled. ‘Did I shock you, my dear? It’s not unusual, surely, that we find our husbands sexy? In fact, it makes marriage all the more pleasurable. Don’t you find your new husband sexy?’

Mari did so not want to go there. She didn’t want to think of Dominico and sex in the same conversation, let alone the same sentence. She wanted to keep the subjects far, far apart. But she couldn’t say that to Rosaria. But neither could she deny that what Rosaria said was true. Because there was no denying the appeal of the man, the intensity of his eyes, the strong lines of his nose and mouth and the hard-packed strength of his body. Even when he was glowering he was beautiful—devastatingly, masculinely beautiful.

The man was sexier than he’d ever been when she’d last known him as a young twenty-two-year-old. His shoulders had broadened, his body had filled out, his perfect features had been aged by experience that only accentuated them. That was the danger the man posed. Here she was trying to rid herself of the ghosts of her past and her ghost had just turned himself into a living and breathing reason why she should take notice of him all over again.

‘Oh, my dear,’ Rosaria said, ‘I can see I’ve put you on the spot and asked a question a mother shouldn’t ask. I don’t expect you to answer that. I just hope that you have a happy marriage, as Roberto and I did. For so long I’ve been worried about Dominico. For so long he seemed to reject any chance of becoming emotionally involved with any woman. I’m so glad that he’s finally decided to settle down. You will have a good marriage, I can see.’

Oh, please. Mari turned her gaze to the ceiling as guilt piled on guilt. She was pretending to be in love with this woman’s son and Rosaria was lapping it up. She should be congratulating herself that she and Dom were pulling this pretence off.

Except it was all so false. All so fake.

Except if Rosaria was happy, did it matter? Making Rosaria happy was the whole point of this farce.

‘Dominico is so important to me, I want him to be as happy as his father and I were. He was my only live birth, you see.’

‘Oh?’ Mari said, discombobulated by this sudden change in the conversation’s direction. The topic of losing babies was dangerous territory. She swallowed. ‘That’s entirely understandable.

‘You see, I lost three babies before I delivered our Dominico. He was our miracle baby. Our gift from God.’

Mari was blindsided, Rosaria’s tragedies bringing back the horror and despair of her own loss.

‘Three? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Dom never told me why he was the only child.’

‘It was so hard to bear,’ Rosaria said. ‘It was harder every time to go back and try again when I knew I had miscarried, but of course I wanted to try. I had to try. I was desperate to give my Roberto children. After Dominico was born, Roberto refused to let me try again. He said we had our miracle baby and we should be satisfied, but of course I knew it was because he couldn’t bear to see me suffer the anguish of losing another child.’ The bony shoulders under her fine cotton nightdress rose a fraction in a shrug. ‘Who knows if I would have miscarried again, but Roberto loved me too much to let it happen again.’ She sighed. ‘He was such a wonderful man.

‘I would so love Dominico to experience the wonder of having a child. And selfishly, of course, I would have loved to have met my grandchildren. Alas, the latter can’t happen now.’

Mari couldn’t bear it any longer. She broke down on a sob, one hand over her belly, the other over her face.

‘Oh, my dear, I’ve made you cry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with all this rubbish. It’s ancient history now.’

‘It’s okay,’ Mari said. ‘You see, I had a miscarriage too,’ she admitted, her voice breaking. ‘I miscarried at five months. I lost twins, a tiny boy and a tiny girl.’

‘Oh, Marianne,’ Rosaria said, patting Mari’s hand. ‘That’s dreadful. I can’t imagine losing two at once. I can’t imagine anything worse.’

But it wasn’t the worst, Mari knew. The worst was that she hadn’t just lost her twins, she hadn’t just lost Dominico’s babies, but she’d lost Rosaria’s grandchildren too. The grandchildren she’d so wanted. The grandchildren Rosaria would never meet.

They would be twenty years old now. Adults who would have had twenty years to delight their grandmother growing up.

And it was so wrong. It was all kinds of wrong.

And along with her despair came the familiar guilt. What if she’d done things differently? What if she’d taken more care of herself, eaten better, worried less? What if there was just one tiny thing that would have resulted in a different outcome? The medical staff had been wonderfully supportive of course, assuring her that she’d done nothing to cause the loss of her babies, but then, Mari had been inconsolable. And after all, the staff were hardly going to tell her she’d done something wrong.

Rosaria took Mari’s hand in hers and squeezed, a surprisingly strong grip for one so frail. ‘Did you ever try again?’

She shook her head. Losing her twins had been devastating. She never wanted to leave herself open to that kind of anguish again. But that was hardly what Rosaria wanted to hear.

‘I…’ she started, before finding a better way to answer. ‘My then husband and I divorced. It didn’t happen again.’

‘So, it’s not too late for you now, is it? It’s not too late to give Dominico children.’

‘Oh,’ Mari said, blinking. This was not a question she’d expected. Of course, Rosaria would expect that Dominico and Mari had talked about the issue of children. ‘I’m thirty-nine. I don’t know.’

Rosaria nodded. ‘There’s time then. Can I ask you a favour?’

‘Anything.’

‘If you have a son, would you name him Roberto in honour of his grandfather?’

Mari sobbed quietly as she took Rosaria’s hand in hers. ‘Of course.’ A bittersweet promise. An empty promise. And the easiest promise she’d ever have to make because Mari knew it would never happen.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ Rosaria said. ‘I’m so glad Dominico found you again. He went looking for you, you know.’

Mari sniffed. ‘Who?’

‘Dominico. I told him he was wrong to let you go. He wanted to look after me because I was such a mess. He wanted to look after the business because there was so much to learn. He was trying to do everything right, but he was so miserable, I could see. He was missing you, and finally I convinced him that I was well enough and that he should go and find you.’

‘He did?’ Mari felt sick. ‘When?’

‘A year after he called you. He told me about that call, about finishing the relationship. He thought it was the right thing to do at the time. But later he regretted it, I know. So Dominico went with my blessing. He was angry when he returned. Angrier than I’d ever seen him before.’

A year after that call. Mari was reeling. She knew exactly what he would have learned. Her gut clenched. Her throat turned desert dry. ‘He found out that I was married.’

Rosaria nodded sadly. ‘He did.’

Mari squeezed her eyes shut. Dom had come looking for her. Not when she’d needed him so desperately, not in the midst of her anguish, but he had come back.

And she’d been gone.

Married.

The tectonic plates beneath her feet shifted and buckled, sending all she’d ever known about Dom’s abandonment and indifference into a range of mountain peaks that sharply challenged everything she’d ever assumed.

How had Dom felt when he’d discovered she’d married? How she wished she could go back and do things differently. Except she’d never known.

‘Was he angry with me,’ Mari asked, ‘because he found me married?’

‘No. He was upset that you’d married. But he was angrier with himself, for taking so long to go back and find you. He blamed himself.’

Mari swallowed. ‘I loved your son,’ she said. ‘I missed him so much.’

‘I know. It’s no wonder you sought solace elsewhere.’ Rosaria softly patted Mari’s hand. ‘And that’s what makes you and Dominico marrying now all the more magical. It’s like love finally got it right.’

Mari squeezed the older woman’s hand. ‘Thank you for telling me that Dom came looking for me,’ she whispered. Because while love hadn’t figured into her marriage with Simon and it didn’t come into the current state of her relationship with Dom, it was good to know that Rosaria didn’t judge her for not waiting for her son to make up his mind. ‘It means the world.’

Rosaria asked, ‘Did Dominico come with you this afternoon?’

Mari found her first smile of the day. ‘He insisted on coming. He’s waiting outside. No doubt pacing, wondering what we’re talking about.’

Rosaria chuckled. ‘I bet he is. Would you send him in, please? I’d better talk to him; I want to know how he’s going with the party plans. He’ll no doubt need help with the guest list.’ She sighed. ‘And then it will be time for another nap. That’s all I seem to have the energy to do these days.’

Mari stood up from the bed, leaned over and kissed Rosaria’s brow. ‘I’ll see you later.’

The woman in the bed smiled and squeezed Mari’s hand. ‘You sweet girl. I’m sorry I made you cry.’

I’m sorry I lost your grandchildren.

I’m sorry Dom didn’t come to find me earlier.

I’m so sorry.

But Mari said none of those things. She simply smiled and said, ‘I’ll visit you again later.’

Dom looked at his watch. Again. What the hell were they talking about in there? Why did his mother need to get to know her new daughter-in-law when they’d met twenty years ago? What more did she need to know? And what was so private that he had to be excluded?

Marianne had played her part well this morning—if you didn’t count that ridiculous party suggestion that his mother had taken to like a duck to water. He’d been on the phone to party planners ever since, all of them asking questions. How many guests? Day or evening? And music and menu choices.

How the hell was he supposed to know this stuff? Weren’t they supposed to be the party planners? And given his entire team down to his PA were either fully employed on either the Melbourne takeover or the Brazil deal, he couldn’t even shunt it to an underling.

Hopeless.

The door to his mother’s room opened, and Mari emerged. ‘She wants to see you now.’

Well, good. He wanted to see her too. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Mari what they’d talked about, when he noticed the shadows dimming the vividness of her green eyes, as if someone had pulled down the shades. And now that he looked closer there was a smudge under one of her eyes. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember it being there before. He put one hand on her shoulder and lifted a thumb to her cheek.

She flinched but didn’t pull away. ‘What?’ she said.

‘There’s something under your eye.’

‘Oh.’ He felt her tremble as he gently ran his thumb along the tender skin. ‘Oh, yes, I had an eyelash in my eye. I must have smudged my mascara.’

‘Dominico!’ a thready voice called from inside the room. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

He smiled as he stepped away. ‘That’s my cue.’

He kissed his mother on both cheeks and pulled a chair closer alongside her bed. ‘How are you, Mamá?’

‘Better now I’ve had a chance to talk to your delightful wife.’

‘Really? What did you talk about?’

She chuckled, and it caught in her throat, turning into a cough.

He reached for her water, waiting while she sipped it from a straw.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘It’s you,’ his mother said. ‘Marianne said you were probably pacing outside, wondering what we were talking about.’

It seemed a fair question to ask from Dom’s point of view, even though apparently it was amusing to the women.

‘Oh, we had a lovely visit. Marianne and I have so much in common.’

Alarm bells went off in Dominico’s mind.

‘Oh? Like what?’

She patted his hand. ‘Girl business, you know.’

Dom didn’t know. He had no clue.

‘But I’m so sorry I made her cry. Please apologise for me.’

And suddenly the smudge under Mari’s eye made some kind of sense.

‘What did you say to make her cry?’

‘I made her remember something sad. It was thoughtless of me. Now, how are you getting on with the plans for the party?’

He spent the next ten minutes getting answers to all the questions the party planners had asked him. His mother reeled everything off as if it were the easiest thing in the world, which made a kind of sense seeing she’d spent a lifetime organising events from parties to gallery openings to festivals, leaving him wondering why she’d tasked him with the project in the first place.

But by the end of it he even had a half decent guest list.

‘Now,’ he said. ‘We have to talk about dates. When would you like the party?’ There was no point telling his mother the sooner the better, she knew that.

‘What’s today?’ she asked.

‘Wednesday,’ he said.

‘How about Saturday?’

‘This week?’

‘Are you busy this Saturday?’

‘No. I’m not busy. But other people might be.’

‘Then Saturday it is. And if that’s all, please send my nurse in. It’s time for my pain relief.’

‘Is it bad?’ he asked.

‘It comes and goes. And then it comes and comes. But don’t worry, she’ll make it better.’

‘Oh, Mamá,’ he said, leaning over again to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I’ll send her right in.’

* * *

The light was leaching from the sky by the time they headed back to Dom’s apartment. Marianne sat quietly and he wondered if her mood had anything to do with her conversation with his mother. In the car, curiosity got the better of him. ‘What did my mother say to make you cry?’

‘She told you that?’

‘She said to apologise to you. What did she say?’

‘Oh,’ Mari said, her head swinging away from him, her attention suddenly taken by something they were passing in the street, something he’d obviously missed. ‘She was talking about you and explaining why you’re so important to her. She told me about the miscarriages she suffered before she managed to have you.’

‘And that’s what made you cry?’ Her story didn’t match up with what his mother had said. She’d said she had made Marianne remember something sad.

Her head swung back, an expression on her face he couldn’t read, a flash of defiance in her eyes and—something else—something that looked entirely more defensive. ‘Don’t you think it’s tragic?’

‘It’s sad, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that would reduce you to tears.’

‘Don’t you wish you had family? Brothers and sisters, I mean.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s hard to miss what you don’t know.’

She nodded and turned her head away again. She looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He watched her a while, waiting for her to turn back around, but she kept her gaze fixed out of the window as if she didn’t want to engage with him. Definitely defensive. There was more to the story of her tears than she was letting on.

But ‘girl business’ his mother had said.

Maybe he didn’t want to know.

His phone pinged. It was good news. The Australian takeover was all but through the governmental jumps and hoops, the Brazilian deal was moving apace, and without needing his intervention. Which was good news, because he had more than enough to deal with here.

Frankly, his mother was enough to deal with. Right now, her needs were foremost. But then there was Marianne, who couldn’t help but challenge him at every turn.

He looked back at Marianne, who was still staring fixedly out of her window. Her silence annoyed him. What was she hiding? He was growing sick of her secrets.

And then he found an opening. She’d been the one who had brought up the subject of brothers and sisters after all.

‘So,’ he asked, ‘as someone who doesn’t know, tell me—what’s it like having a sibling? I seem to remember you having a younger sister. I can’t recall her name.’

Her head swung around. She took a moment before she answered, as if she was wondering whether she even wanted to. ‘Suzanne.’

He wasn’t sure why she sounded so defensive. ‘And what’s it like having a sister?’ he coaxed.

She licked her lips before turning her head to stare out of her window again. ‘It’s good. She’s my best friend.’

‘Do you see a lot of each other?’

‘We do.’

‘She doesn’t live in Sydney then?’

‘She lives in Melbourne now.’

Dom stared at the back of her head. So much for making conversation. It was like trying to extract honey from a brick.

‘Is she married? Does she have any kids? Do you have any nephews or nieces?’

‘No,’ she said, suddenly turning back. ‘Is that it? Are we done?’

‘What’s wrong, Marianne?’

At first she said nothing, her back straight, head held rigid.

‘Marianne?’

Her shoulders slumped on a sigh. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit distracted. I guess there’s no harm in telling you. Seven or so years ago Suzanne was engaged to be married. Everything was set. And then she was diagnosed with early onset multiple sclerosis. Her fiancé, instead of supporting her, decided that he didn’t want to be “lumbered with a cripple”—his words, said to Suzanne’s face—and that was it, the wedding was off. We didn’t see him for dust.’

‘He was a creep. He didn’t deserve her.’

‘So we discovered.’

‘How is she now?’

‘She’s coping, some days better than others, but she has a progressive form of MS so her symptoms will get worse over time. That’s why she moved to Melbourne.’

‘To be closer to you.’

She gave a small shrug as if it was self-evident. ‘I’m her only family now. I couldn’t do anything to help her if she were still in Sydney.’

‘I understand.’

‘It’s cruel,’ Marianne said. ‘She was so happy, so in love. And then to have the rug pulled from under her feet like that. It was a double whammy.’

‘I’m sorry. It must be hard for you, too.’ And he’d just made it harder by whisking her half the world away from her sister.

‘Oh, take my word for it, it’s way harder for her.’

He nodded. ‘Who’s looking after her?’

‘She has a carer, but she’ll need more full-time help soon. Along with a bigger house with more space to accommodate all the equipment she needs. I’ll know it when I find it.’

A bigger house.

She’d been looking at real estate on the plane. He’d assumed Marianne had been looking for a house for herself. Not for her sister. No wonder she hadn’t been satisfied with his offer of one or two million dollars. He had no idea what the kind of property Suzanne needed cost, not to mention her ongoing care, but Melbourne real estate didn’t come cheap. Little wonder Marianne had demanded such a sum.

And the million dollars advance she’d asked for? Did that have something to do with putting arrangements in place for Suzanne to cover Marianne’s absence?

Steel plates shifted in his gut, grating against each other, telling him he’d made a mistake, that he’d been wrong. He didn’t like being wrong. His business success relied on him being right, of making informed decisions, even educated guesses. It was just as well he didn’t rely on assumptions in that case.

Because, by all accounts, Marianne wasn’t the gold-digger he’d assumed her to be.

Maybe the Marianne he’d known twenty years ago hadn’t changed that much after all.

She’d settled into silence, staring at her knees. Wondering about her sister back in Melbourne? Who could blame her?

And now it wasn’t just his mother that had made Marianne sad. Now it was Dom.

The driver turned onto Zubieta Kalea running along La Concha beach, and Dom had an idea.

He asked the driver to pull over.

‘Why are we stopping?’

‘I thought we could do with some fresh air. Do you fancy a walk on the beach?’

‘Now?’

He shrugged. ‘No time like the present.’

She gave a hint of a smile, the first he’d seen since getting in the car. ‘All right.’

The driver opened Dom’s door and Marianne scooted over. He offered his hand and she took it without thinking.

‘It’s so beautiful here,’ she said, content to stand a moment, drinking in the beauty of the curved bay and its guardian mountains, the silvering sea dotted with small boats at anchor. Beyond the Isla de Santa Clara the sky was streaked with red, lighting up the wispy clouds to slashes of pink in the darkening blue.

They shucked off their shoes and stepped onto the cool sand. It squeaked underfoot and tickled their toes and made him wonder how long it had been since she’d been to the beach and enjoyed the simple pleasure of walking on sand.

‘You’re lucky,’ she said, ‘living so close to this beauty. I bet it never gets old.’

‘It is a good place to come home to,’ he agreed.

They walked hand in hand along the shore. She’d let him take her hand and he wondered at her easy acceptance of his hand hold. No bristling, No fighting.

And he relished the companionable peace between them.

People were packing up and heading home, the beach becoming more and more deserted, the lamps on the walkway flickering into life as the night drew in. Mari thought the coming night would have erased the beauty of the bay, but somehow the lights only seemed to accentuate it. The whole city seemed to light up, glowing gold in the darkening sky, golden light reflecting in the shallows of the bay. She heard music coming from somewhere, a beguiling sound, violin over accordion and drums, a sound that tugged at her. She knew enough to recognise that she was hearing some kind of tango, but she’d always associated tango music with drama and passion and speed, whereas this music was more purposeful, with a poignant depth, rich with emotion.

And there on a terrace overlooking the sea she found the source, a small group of musicians making music that could have been a homage to the sunset, because both were equally beautiful.

She stopped to listen as the violin rose to even sweeter heights.

‘Dance with me, Marianne.’

The words were so unexpected she turned her head, expecting to see him smiling as if he were joking. But he wasn’t smiling. Instead, his dark eyes held an intensity that caused Mari’s breath to hitch.

‘But—’

‘It would be a sin to waste such beautiful music, don’t you agree?’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Then let me show you.’ He was still holding her hand, but now he was moving, his feet gliding across the sand, coaxing her to follow. Then he lifted their hands and spun her around, stepping towards her as she came back to him so that they were chest to chest. ‘You see?’ he said. ‘You do know how.’

Before she could form a reply, he’d whirled her away again, except this time Mari felt the music, rather than just heard it. Felt the music in her limbs, in their movements, felt the music deep in her veins. The violin wrung emotional intensity from the air, and Dom harnessed the sound and used it to mould her to his every step, his every move. And it was intoxicating, moving with a rhythm that felt timeless, and yet also only theirs.

They’d always moved well together.

But here, dancing on the sand to a tune that stirred her soul, this was something different. This was a whole new experience.

This was magical.

The strains of the violin faded away, the notes evaporating on the night sky as Dom reeled her in one last time so her back rested against his chest, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Her entire body was tingling. On fire.

And she was breathless, not from the effort but from the fairy dust that someone must have sprinkled over her. Because here she was dancing on La Concha beach at sunset with the most handsome man in the world—and being paid for the privilege.

Forget all the baggage of the past. Forget all the reasons she shouldn’t be dancing with this man. She just wanted this moment to pretend that all was right with the world. A moment to savour. A memory to take home with her and take out whenever the world sucked.

He kissed the top of her head, his hips gently swaying, rocking her with him.

‘I want you,’ he murmured in her ear.

And all the reasons she shouldn’t want him vanished. All the reasons, like they’d had their time and this was nothing more than a blip. A chance encounter that had let memories bubble back to the surface. Bubbles that could well pop in the harsh light of day.

And yet, would it be so bad to admit she wanted him too? Would it be so bad to make love? What was she protecting herself from? From being afraid that he would once again discard her after rediscovering how wonderful he was in bed?

He’d come back for her.

Rosaria’s news had shaken Mari to her core. He hadn’t forgotten her all those years ago. He’d come back for her. Not when she’d been so anxious for him to return and share her news Not when she’d been in the depths of despair at both the loss of their twins and the loss of the man she loved. He’d come looking for her, only to learn she was married to someone else. And one of the pillars upon which she’d built her hatred for him shattered and crumbled into dust.

Why had she insisted that this marriage would not be consummated? Why else, if not to punish Dom for the sins of the past—for abandoning her in her moment of greatest need and turning his back on her love?

But he had come back for her and found her married and suddenly she found herself on shaky territory. Was it any wonder he’d relegated their affair to a meaningless summer fling when clearly—it had seemed to him—it had meant so little to her?

Why was she still holding out?

Because she wasn’t just punishing Dom.

She was punishing herself.

Mari turned slowly in the circle of his arms, wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at his beautiful face, his strong jaw, the masculine beauty of his lips, the intensity of his dark eyes, now looking quizzically down at her. She allowed herself a smile, anticipation already fizzing in her veins.

‘I want you too.’