Chapter Eleven #3
‘I am sorry I made this marriage about the past. I don’t want to live there any more.
We can make this what it was always meant to be.
It doesn’t matter to me that you are her daughter.
’ He’d always believed she was vulnerable, that she needed his protection, especially when she had struggled to remember her own identity.
Why had he not realised until this moment that she needed his protection now more than ever?
She had no one. If they divorced, she would be alone, left to handle the press without his support.
‘What matters now is that you are my wife.’ The guilt dropped into his gut like a stone. Why hadn’t he acknowledged too that she had been damaged as well by that cursed affair? She’d lost her mother, just as he had. Why could their shared loss not bond them tighter together? Make them stronger.
All he wanted was to get back what they’d had before he’d read that damn journal.
‘You still need a family…’ he said. ‘A home. And I can still give you that.’
She drew away to stare into his eyes and the shimmer of tears made his insides clench. Why didn’t she look pleased with his offer? Hadn’t he bared his soul enough?
She blinked slowly but, as she stared back at him, all he could see was the regret in her eyes which made him feel defenceless again.
‘And what would I be giving you, Santiago?’ she asked softly.
Panic joined the grinding pain in his gut. Was this a trick question? What did she expect him to say?
‘I still require a wife,’ he said, even though he wasn’t sure any more that his hunt for a suitable bride had ever been the real reason he had proposed marriage to Cerys—after only one night.
Had he ever been able to think clearly, to think pragmatically, where she was concerned?
‘And you are still the only woman I want.’
At least he knew that was still the truth.
‘That’s not enough for me any more, Santiago. I want more. And I always did. So much more.’
He cursed under his breath. His panic and confusion increased tenfold until the grinding pain in his stomach felt like a monster, ready to rip him apart.
Was she punishing him for being a hot-headed bastard three days ago?
For accusing her of things he had always known in his heart she was innocent of?
He knew he deserved to be punished for hurting her like that, but why could she not forgive him, when she had forgiven so much else?
So they could go back to where they’d been.
‘What more is there?’ he asked at last.
‘ Love .’
The single word struck his chest. And seemed to ricochet in his heart—the heart he had guarded so carefully, protected so zealously, for so long. The heart he had never been able to protect from her.
‘ Dios! ’ he swore, suddenly terrified. ‘What nonsense is this?’
She flinched, much as she had done when he’d spoken to her so harshly on the launch, but instead of looking weary or hurt, he saw the spark in her eyes he had missed so much.
‘It’s not nonsense to me, Santiago, because I love you.’
* * *
Cerys’s heart broke at Santiago’s stricken reaction before he could mask it.
It had been so hard in the last three days and nights to contain her feelings for him, and deal with the death of all the hopes she’d harboured for their marriage.
Containing the incessant yearning every time he looked at her with desire in his eyes, every time his palm settled on the small of her back—so protective, so possessive—to shield her from the press, to declare her as his.
Or his fingers gripped her elbow, her hand, her wrist to keep the pretence alive that he was madly in love. All of it had been torture for her.
But knowing she still loved him, and knowing he couldn’t return her love, had been so much worse.
This morning, when she’d signed the marriage documents, while he stood beside her, so close and yet so closed off, it had hurt the most. Because instead of being a beginning, it had been the end. And the irony of that had seemed exceptionally cruel.
It had hurt too, hugging Ana goodbye and knowing she was unlikely to ever see Santiago’s sister again—because by the time she returned from her new boarding school at Christmas, their divorce would surely have gone ahead.
The pain had been even more brutal as she had watched the castillo disappear from view that morning as the helicopter had lifted into the sky.
Scanning the patchwork of vines, the woods she had roamed with Ana, the villa on the edge of the orchard Santiago had filled with wildflowers just for her, and knowing the place she’d wanted to make her home could never be one now, even though she had agreed to remain there until the divorce.
But when he’d told her on the boat ride here that she need not concern herself with Ana’s welfare any more, the thick fog she had used to anaesthetise her from the pain for days had been ripped away…
And his crude attempts at seduction had finally forced her to confront her own culpability.
How could she have been such a coward? So what if she loved him! Why had she let him set the agenda?
Again .
She wanted to leave the past behind. Their parents’ crimes had never been their crimes, and she was glad he understood that now. Glad he had finally admitted that he had accused her to protect himself.
But she had wanted to make a life with him… So why had she ever been ready to settle for a marriage without love? To let him hide behind the shield he put around his emotions and never let her in, not all the way.
Was there still a tiny portion of that little girl lurking inside her who had always blamed herself for her mother’s desertion? The girl who had internalised her father’s rejection without even realising it.
Before meeting Santiago, she’d always been so wary of sex, so scared of allowing herself to be vulnerable, to commit to anyone.
She’d yearned for a family but had always felt responsible for being alone.
Because her father had never seen her when he looked at her, never loved her after her mum’s desertion, never made her feel valued or cherished.
So, when Santiago had looked at her the morning after their wedding wearing the same expression her father had worn so often—with judgement and indifference—she’d internalised that too.
Surely that had to be why she had been so scared of fighting for what she needed.
From what Santiago had told her about his father’s affairs, she knew her mother had been wrong to think álvaro De Montoya was a man who could love her. Their brief, selfish affair had been an illusion built on desire and desperation—and it had always been bound to fail.
But why had she given up on her feelings for Santiago so easily? When she knew in her heart Santiago was a much better man than his father had ever been.
She’d seen those precious glimpses of the boy his father had tried so hard to destroy.
The playful, kind, protective man. The man who loved and respected his family so much he had blamed himself for his mother’s suicide.
The fierce, possessive lover who had always put her pleasure above his own—and had been distraught at the thought that he had taken advantage of her.
Even the obsessive workaholic who had fought so hard to provide a stable home for his family ever since he was sixteen.
But inside that man was also the boy who was terrified of taking a chance on love. Terrified of exposing himself again to the rejection he’d suffered as a child from the man who should have protected him.
‘If you love me,’ he said, his voice breaking, ‘why will you not agree to stay in this marriage?’
She placed her hand on his cheek, the five o’clock stubble abrading her palm.
‘Because I need you to love me back, Santiago,’ she said, finally demanding what she should have demanded weeks ago, when he had first proposed to her.
His jaw tensed. ‘But I’m not sure I am capable of that…’ he murmured, but behind the doubt she could hear the terror.
Tears prickled at the back of her eyes, because she could see the broken boy so clearly now, behind the man.
‘Oh, Santiago. Of course you are.’
He lifted his head, his gaze tortured, and so vulnerable… He let out a ragged breath. ‘How can you know that?’
She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks, suddenly realising it had always been so simple. That by loving him, being open and honest about her feelings—and forcing him to be open and honest about his own feelings too—she could make him see that he deserved love, just as she did.
‘You’re just scared,’ she said. ‘Because your father made you feel responsible for his failings. Just like my dad made me think that somehow, I was responsible for my mum running out on him. But the truth is neither of us deserved to be judged for what they did.’
He shuddered, as if the last of the barriers he had put around his heart were crashing down before her very eyes. She knew it hurt. Because it hurt her too, to see him so scared and so unsure.
‘But you have to open your heart to me, Santiago,’ she said, letting the last of the fear go.
‘You have to make yourself vulnerable to love again. You have to be honest with me about your feelings. All your feelings. Or we’ll never really have any more than they did.
’ She sent him a watery smile, her desperate need for him to let her in the rest of the way all that mattered now. ‘And look how that turned out.’
He brushed a tear away with his thumb.
‘I do have feelings for you, Cerys. So many feelings I do not recognise. Feelings I have been terrified of admitting, even to myself,’ he said.
She pressed her hand to his cheek, letting her heart lead when his eyes flared with emotions he had never let her see before.
‘Ditto,’ she whispered. ‘Do they still scare you?’ she asked, her breath trapped in her lungs, the anticipation more than she could bear.
He pressed his forehead to hers, let out a long sigh. ‘ Sí , but losing you scares me more…’
She clasped his head, drew him back so he could see everything she felt, everything she needed. ‘They terrify me too, Santiago, but the good news is, being scared together is so much better than being scared apart.’
He let out a harsh laugh, his eyes darkening not just with desire now, but also with longing. And love.
‘You are so brave, Cerys,’ he said, making her heart swell against her chest. ‘You make me feel brave too.’
She grinned back at him. ‘Brave enough to give those feelings a chance?’ she asked, but she could already see the answer in his eyes.
‘I am not sure I ever had a choice,’ he said ruefully. But then he dragged her into his arms and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, full of emotion and desire. ‘But yes, brave enough to try…’
Tears of gratitude spilled over her lids and she sniffed, the emotion so immense she could feel her heart shattering all over again. But in a good way this time. ‘Then I guess we’re still married,’ she whispered.
He laughed, the sound deep and husky with relief. But then he yanked her the rest of the way into his embrace, urgency surging between them. ‘Will you let me have you now, Cerys? My wife. My love.’
She nodded—because her hunger was vicious and desperate too.
‘ Gracias a Dios .’ He grasped her waist and lifted her into his arms. But as he carried her into the bedroom, it wasn’t just her sex which was throbbing so hard she felt giddy with need and longing, it was her heart, too.
They had barely got through the bedroom door before he was stripping her dress from her, palming her bottom, sucking her turgid nipples through the thin lace of her bra, his hand sinking into her panties to find her wet and needy.
They tore off each other’s clothing and he positioned her on the bed on all fours. She choked out a sob, the need a rush of pheromones and emotions.
‘I cannot wait… Can you take me?’ he asked, his voice gruff with desperation.
‘Yes…’ The word was dragged from the depths of her soul. Even though a part of her knew she was giving up an essential part of herself, she knew now it would be safe in his keeping.
But then she couldn’t think any more as he drove deep into her yearning flesh. She gasped, the thick intrusion as immense as always as he impaled her in one all-consuming thrust.
She sobbed, taken, possessed, the orgasm already building—so fast, so furious, so devastating. He pumped his hips, forcing her to take more, to take all of him, until he hit the spot only he had ever found.
She cried out as the first orgasm crested. His hands captured her swinging breasts to anchor them both, so he could pump harder and faster—another orgasm built, fusing with the first, turning torturous pleasure to exquisite pain.
The delirious climax shattered in endless waves, leaving her raw, spent, exhausted, as he shouted out his own release and collapsed on top of her.
But then he whispered into her hair, his arms wrapping tight around her, ‘You are my wife, my duquesa , my love, Cerys.’
Her heart crested at the astonished wonder in his tone, the sure steady feel of his heart beating against her back.
‘I never want to let you go again,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion.
‘Ditto, el Duque ,’ she murmured, her heart soaring as his rich chuckle of appreciation reverberated in her soul.