CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
After a day spent as a family at one of Valencia’s foremost art galleries, Diaz as adamant about it never being too early to introduce the girls to culture as he’d been about nature, Rose kissed her babies goodnight.
Since living in Spain, she’d got into the habit of changing for dinner each evening. Nothing formal like how Diaz’s parents, who—surprise!—had cancelled their visit again, liked to dine. More slightly dressy-casual. Clothes she’d prefer not to have splattered in baby milk or sick. Clothes, it pained her to admit, she could imagine Diaz peeling off her.
In the dressing room they shared, she rifled through her abundance of drawers, shelves and rails and tried to dampen the panic nibbling at her chest at how important their evenings alone together were becoming to her. How she would put the girls to bed with a quivering of anticipation low in her belly, not just of the pleasure that would soon be hers but what came before it, the shared meal and idle conversation. His company.
And yet for all the surface harmony currently existing between them, an undercurrent of tension remained, much faded but still there, the sense that one wrong word could bring everything crashing down.
The biggest eggshell for Rose was his sister.
The biggest eggshell for Diaz, she was certain, was her continued refusal to kiss him on the mouth.
In many ways, the marriage they were slowly creating together was the fairy tale of her dreams coming to life, but, as she knew to her cost, believing in fairy tale endings with Diaz ended in destruction.
He must never know how desperately her senses yearned to be filled with his dark taste.
Everything he was doing here, all his thoughtful gestures, everything, was to satisfy his craving for them to be a family. Nothing more.
Without the girls, she wouldn’t be here, she thought bleakly. Diaz would have filed the divorce papers. She would have spent the rest of her life without seeing him again.
None of this was about her. It was all about Diaz wanting the real family he’d never had, and she must never let herself forget that, and when he joined her in the dressing room and gave her the smile that never failed to make her heart bloom, she had to ground her bare toes to the floor to stop them skipping to him.
* * *
Diaz didn’t know which of them reached for the other first. He had no clear memory of climbing on top of Rose but knew he must have done because he awoke to the most incredible sensation of being inside her and her soft mews of pleasure soaking into his ears.
Opening his eyes to early morning dusk, he found her half-open eyes already on him, sleepy sensuality blazing from them.
The hand clasping the back of his neck skimmed up, fingers diving through his hair.
He could kiss her now, he thought dimly as he continued the deep, slow rhythm they’d found together. She would accept it. The sweet tongue that had once danced with such passion against his would…
She raised her thighs, deepening the penetration to levels beyond pleasure. It was all he could do to hold on.
Kiss me , he silently willed.
Eyes still fused together, she tightened the clasp on his head and lifted her face, but the ultimate fusion he craved remained as out of reach as ever when she pressed her cheek to his. Clinging to him tightly, her breaths now shallow pants, she ground her groin to his, her body demanding more and more until convulsions thrashed through her and his name echoed as a whisper on her tongue as she dragged him over the edge and into oblivion.
* * *
The sun rising high above them was growing in strength. Even though they were slathered in factor fifty, sun hats on and covered from neck to ankles in all-over swimsuits, Rose sighed to know it would soon be time to take the girls out of the pool. The shade keeping it cool and adding protection to their delicate skin was lessening, Diaz chasing it as he pushed them through the water in their baby floats. She didn’t know which sight made her heart sing the most—Diaz’s tanned perfect body glistening with water, his handsome face alive with joy, or the gummy beams of delight on their daughters’ faces. Their love of the water was wholly down to their father.
The first time they’d taken them into the pool, both girls had screamed in protest. Where Rose had been ready to put an immediate stop to it—nothing could freeze a mother’s heart more than her babies’ screams of terror—Diaz had been entirely unfazed. Each morning, before the sun got too hot, he’d carried them on his lap into the shallow end and gently dipped their tiny toes in the water with crooning encouragement that there was nothing to fear. And look at them now, only twelve days from that first disastrous attempt!
From Rose’s vantage point on the side of the pool, she raised her new camera, a gift from Diaz, and took a snap of the three of them laughing as he spun the pair of them in circles.
Maybe she could do something along these lines when she was ready to start working again, she thought idly as she captured more images of her babies with their father. Forget the arty stuff she’d always aspired to and just capture moments in time of pure family joy.
The love alight on Diaz’s face was as pure as their daughters’ thoughts and burned brighter than the sun.
It was a love that made her chest clench into a fist to witness.
She had no idea how she was going to make her choice at the end of the summer.
Take the girls home and break Diaz’s heart? Or stay and run the real risk of breaking her own?
* * *
Rose finally settled on what she hoped was a suitable dress for a society party, put it to one side, sat at her dressing table, and got to work on her face.
Five weeks since she’d arrived in Spain, she’d gained enough confidence with the girls’ nannies to know they’d be in safe, loving hands if she left them for an evening, and now she was preparing herself to go out into the big wide world and socialise properly for the first time in close to two years.
Having postponed their visit yet again, Diaz’s parents had finally swept into the villa that afternoon, two hours late, in a cloud of perfume and aftershave. They’d proceeded to fuss and pet and coo over their granddaughters for a whole fifteen minutes. That fussing, petting and cooing hadn’t extended to actually holding them. Camila’s excuse had been that her nails were too long to safely hold them, an assessment Rose had been entirely in agreement with—Camila Martinez’s fabulously decorated fingernails could easily be classified as lethal weapons. Julio’s excuse was that he was afraid of dropping them. However, they did both deign to place goodbye kisses to their granddaughters’ foreheads. Rose had needed to use baby wipes to gently remove the bright red lipstick stuck on their foreheads from it, something she’d done whilst still giggling over how Josie had almost ripped Camila’s dangling, blingy earring out.
It was while they’d been finishing their extremely late lunch and readying themselves to leave that they’d mentioned the party they were attending that night. A famed Spanish film director was throwing a birthday party for himself.
‘I know him,’ Rose had said before hurriedly clarifying, ‘not personally. His work.’
‘You should come. Everyone will be there,’ Camila had said, before turning to Diaz. ‘You were invited, yes?’
‘I’ve already sent my apologies,’ he’d replied coldly. ‘Rose isn’t ready to leave the girls yet.’
‘Nonsense! You want to go, don’t you, Rose? Pedro hosts the best parties.’
Rose had tried to remember the last time she’d gone to a party. Gone anywhere that wasn’t a shop or restaurant or a place for them to enjoy as a family.
Her thoughts must have expressed themselves on her face for Diaz’s gaze had locked onto hers without expression. ‘You want to go?’
A sliver of excitement had unfurled in her belly. She’d nodded.
And that had been that. All settled.
And now here she was, the girls already tucked up in bed, getting ready for her first proper night out since Mrs Martinez’s stroke.
The dressing room door opened and Diaz came in, a towel around his waist, smelling of citrus shower gel and shaving foam. One glance was enough to make her heart bloom and her pulses surge. One glance was enough to see he still wore the tension he’d been carrying the whole day.
‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,’ she said. It was the first chance they’d had to talk about it. By the time his parents had gone, it had been time to bathe and feed the girls. One thing they never did, by unspoken agreement, was talk about anything slightly contentious in front of them.
He pulled a dapper suit off the railing. ‘I never said I didn’t want to go.’
‘You turned the invitation down.’ Without even mentioning it to her.
‘I didn’t want to put you under any pressure. I know how you feel about leaving the girls.’
‘They’ll be asleep. They won’t even know we’re gone.’
The royal we .
When, Rose wondered, had it all slipped into something that was starting to feel real? Natural. Her and Diaz. Her, Diaz and their two babies. A family.
Swallowing the swell of emotion that had risen from nowhere, she added, ‘You’ve put your social life on hold since we arrived here. If you’d rather not go out with me then just say. I’m a big girl…’
He’d crossed the room to stand behind her before she could finish speaking. Hands on her shoulders, he stared at her through the mirror. ‘Don’t think like that, mi corazón . Never think like that. Yes, my social life has been on hold, but that was the choice I made so I could devote my time to you and our daughters.’ Resting his chin on the top of her head, he slid his arms around her waist. ‘Believe me, no one is happier than me that you feel settled enough here to leave the girls in the nannies’ hands for an evening.’
‘Then why…?’ Understanding flashed. ‘Because your parents will be there?’
He was angry with them.
Diaz’s ultra-glamorous parents were the most unashamedly selfish people in existence. Uncompromising about living their lives on their own terms, they refused to feel guilt or contrition about putting their own needs and wants first.
Rose could no more comprehend their selfishness when it came to their children—and now grandchildren—than Diaz could. Seeing them in action for the first time since Mrs Martinez’s funeral, at which they’d stayed for the service and an hour of the wake before jetting off to Los Angeles, only served to increase her appreciation for Diaz’s determination to be a proper father to their girls. He had some of his parents’ traits, that was for sure, from his uncompromising, single-minded nature to his love of the finer things in life, but he wasn’t selfish when it came to those he loved. When Diaz loved, it was with a fierce loyalty and a deep-rooted protective instinct. The latter, she suspected, had come to life when Rosaria had been born, and the wound in Rose’s heart that had never healed throbbed to know the love he held so deeply and fiercely would never be for her.
He desired her. He respected her as mother to his daughters. She suspected he was even growing to like her. But love?
Their shared history was every bit as much of a barrier for him as it was for her. It loomed between them in everything never said.
Diaz dropped a kiss into Rose’s silky, fragrant hair before unwrapping his arms and stepping away to dress.
If he wanted…and he did want, as much as he’d ever wanted anything…he would lift her out of that chair, carry her into the bedroom and lay her down on the bed. Rose understood his feelings towards his parents better than anyone else. They could spend the evening making love and forget all about his anger towards his abhorrently selfish mother and father.
He shoved his arms into a black shirt and tried to quell the rage still flowing through his veins by watching Rose ring her eyes with dark eyeliner.
He’d spoken to his parents numerous times since his grandmother’s funeral but today was the first time he’d seen them in person. He hadn’t realised how angry he was with them for this, especially at their failure to meet their granddaughters, not until they’d breezed into his home acting as if no time at all had passed since they’d last been under the same roof. They’d shown the exact amount of interest in their granddaughters as he’d known they would. Reality had matched his expectations perfectly.
For them to so casually mention the party and then encourage Diaz to take Rose along to it and spend hours of an evening socialising at the same party they’d be attending when they’d shown such little interest in their beautiful granddaughters had provoked such anger in him that if he hadn’t seen the expression on Rose’s face he might well have exploded. They’d afforded their granddaughters, babies of their own blood, less than two hours of their time since their birth. A third of the time they would spend at one party.
But he had seen Rose’s expression in the unguarded moment when the party had been suggested and the spark of longing that had flashed in her eyes, and had quelled his temper and agreed to go.
He could not deny her anything.
Continuing to dress, he watched her expertly coat her lashes in thick mascara then reach for a round pot before her stare caught his reflection again.
Instead of opening the lid to the pot, she held his stare and softly said, ‘Diaz, I don’t blame you for being angry with them. They neglected their responsibilities to your grandmother so they could waltz around the world without any cares, and now history’s repeating itself with our daughters.’
‘They’re selfish narcissists,’ he stated flatly.
‘I know, but all this suppressed anger…’ She lifted a slender shoulder into a rueful shrug. ‘It isn’t healthy. They’re not going to change. Wouldn’t it be easier and healthier to just learn to accept them for who they are?’
His hand stilled at the knot he was forming in his tie. It took all his control not to snarl at her. ‘You think I should forget all their neglect and move on?’
‘You’ll never be able to forget it, but moving on? It’s possible. But you’ll only be able to do that if you can put the past behind you. The fact you haven’t cut them from your life suggests you do want a relationship with them, and, in their own selfish way, they do love you and want to be involved in your life too. Only you can decide if that counts for something.’ Her lips curved into a sad smile. ‘You can hold onto your resentment over their terrible, selfish parenting and let it eat you up or you can try and enjoy the time you get to spend with them because I can tell you this much—I would bite your hand off for five minutes with my mother. I would give a kidney just to hear her voice.’
Diaz’s brief flare of anger at her unwelcome observations evaporated. His chest tightened into a point so painful it was difficult to breathe as he remembered Rose’s complete devastation at her mother’s funeral. She’d been hollow with grief. Barely able to support her own weight.
He remembered, too, the ache to wrap his arms around her and hold her tight to him that had gripped him that day. He’d watched her every move, afraid her fragility would see her dissolve into vapour if she left his sight, the compulsion to promise her everything would be okay and that he would take care of her alive on the tip of his tongue.
Maybe if his sister and grandmother hadn’t taken such great care of her, he might have done all those things, but between them, they’d supported her the whole day, never leaving her alone for a second.
Was that the day it had all changed for him? He couldn’t say for certain. It had all come about in increments. The only thing he could say for certain was that the overwhelming tenderness he’d felt for Rose on the day of her mother’s funeral hadn’t lasted because he hadn’t let it. He hadn’t wanted to let it.
‘And what about you?’ he asked quietly, working on knotting his tie again without dropping his stare from the woman who shared his bed every night, who gave herself to him every night, who curled herself into him for sleep every night, but who still turned her mouth away from his. ‘Do you think the day will come when you can put the past behind you and move on too?’
Her eyes closed, something—pain?—spasming over her face before her throat moved and she rested her gaze back on him. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
Now he closed his eyes, taking a moment to find air.
What would he do if she couldn’t?
It didn’t bear thinking about. He just had to be patient and give her the time she’d asked for and trust that she would find trust. In him.
There were days when everything felt so perfect he would forget he was waiting for her to decide if she would stay with him for ever, but then his lips would ache for a kiss that never came and he was forced to confront the reality of his situation and swallow back all the turgid emotions that came with the reality check.
He’d promised patience and, as much as it killed him, he needed to enact it for as long as needed.
Nodding to show he understood, he stood before a mirror to straighten his tie and decided to discard it. They were going to a party not a business meeting.
While he finished dressing, Rose, her make-up done, took off her robe and then, wearing only white lace knickers, her high breasts bare, slipped her arms into what first appeared to be another silk robe.
Dios , she was so graceful in her movements. So beautiful.
It was only when she’d fastened and tied it at the waist that he realised it was a long-sleeved knee-length dress. White with large peach roses and vibrant green stems and leaves embroidered on it, it gaped from shoulders to midriff but was so cleverly tied her seemingly exposed breasts were tantalisingly concealed and the exposure of her thigh managed to be both daring and modest.
Feet in high silver ankle boots with open toes, she sprayed perfume onto her exposed cleavage, fluffed her wavy dirty blonde hair around her shoulders, then opened a drawer and selected a small silver bag.
She faced him. ‘Ready?’
For the second time since entering the dressing room, Diaz found his chest tightening into a painful point.
After the birth of their daughters, Rose had stopped caring about her appearance. There had been subtle changes since their arrival in Spain, her outfits selected with care rather than the first outfit that came to hand being thrown on, but her make-up the rare times she bothered with it was kept minimal.
She’d always loved make-up. Dark, dramatic black liner and dark grey shadow to ring her eyes while keeping her lipstick subtle had been the Rose Gregory ‘look’. It had always made her beauty more striking, forcing you to look, forcing you to see the large blue eyes that always brimmed with whatever emotion she was feeling. That’s how it had always been for him, in any case, and he’d added it to his long list of things to despise her for.
He’d hated her intoxicating beauty and truculent sexiness. The way it made his blood heat and his pulses thicken. The fantasies it provoked. After his sister’s overdose, the times he slept under the same roof as Rose were spent alone in his bed consumed with awareness of how close her room was to his, despising himself for being so beguiled by someone so poisonous.
Looking at Rose now was to see her come fully back to life in all her vivacious glory and beauty.
Looking at Rose now was to accept that there had never been truculence to her sexiness. That had been what he wanted to see, and it came to him with a punch in the guts that the poison had existed only in his mind too.
‘Diaz?’
The dramatically ringed blue eyes were gazing at him. There was a tiny crease of concern in her forehead.
His heart was pounding so hard into his throat that it was an effort to speak.
He’d fed the poison. He’d fed it with a cruel ruthlessness to stop himself facing a truth he hadn’t been equipped to handle.
He pulled a smile together and reached for her hand.
Fingers with shapely nails painted the same black as her toenails threaded into his.
She stepped to him.
For a breathless moment he thought she was going to kiss him.
Instead, she pressed the palms of their entwined hands together. ‘What do you say that we just forget all the bad stuff and let loose for the night?’
He traced his thumb gently over her wide mouth. He remembered so vividly how soft her lips had felt against his.
How could he have believed someone who kissed with the whole of her heart, and who loved and cared with the whole of her heart, could have even an ounce of poison in their veins?
She placed a hand on his chest, right above his thumping heart.
A blue-eyed gleam speared him. She smiled with the whole of her wide mouth. ‘What do you say, Senor Martinez? Shall we go and have some fun?’
It came to him in a bolt that Rose didn’t just want to go out for the evening, she wanted to go out for the evening with him . After everything he’d done, it was his company she wanted.
Spirits lifting absurdly high, he returned the smile and only just held himself off from cupping her face to kiss her. ‘ Sí, mi corazón. Let’s go and party.’