CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T HE MUSTARD - YELLOW WALLS of the Aguila estate rose up towards the achingly blue sky as the luxury SUV turned through the heavy wrought-iron gates. Santos reached over and touched her hand and Mia forced a smile. She was dreading this, and Santos probably knew it, but she would do her best to act as if she wasn’t.
It had taken them three days to sail from Amorgos to Cadiz, where Santos moored his yacht. Two cars had been waiting to take them to the estate, his staff accompanying them—including Ronaldo, whose attitude towards Mia had thawed only a little.
The ninety-minute trip had been conducted mostly in silence, with Santos going into full work mode checking emails and sending messages, a furrow between his eyes as his fingers flew over his phone. He’d also reverted to Spanish when speaking to various staff, a necessity that made Mia feel more left out because, while she could get by in Spanish, she was still far from fluent. Maybe, once they were back at the hacienda, she would take lessons. It would be a way to show Santos she really was trying because, she told herself, she did want to try. Even if her stomach churned with nerves and dread as the hacienda came into view.
Not only did she have all the painful memories to deal with but also the intense awkwardness of returning as the prodigal wife. Santos had gone to fetch her and had now brought her back. Even though their relationship was restored—mostly, anyway, although she still had her fears—Mia worried at how the optics would appear. It would be as if she was an unruly child who had been disciplined and returned with her proverbial tail between her legs. She knew she shouldn’t care, because Santos didn’t think that, but it still wasn’t something she was looking forward to at all.
And sure enough, that was exactly how it seemed as the car pulled up in front of the magnificent mahogany front doors and Santos’s mother, Evalina, came out, unsmiling and severe. She was a striking woman, slender and elegant, her dark hair, barely streaked with silver, pulled up into a chignon. She wore tailored cream trousers and a silk blouse in chartreuse, with a matching set of diamond-and-emerald earrings, bracelet and necklace. As always, she had that look of seamless elegance that Mia had noticed in so many Spanish women.
She’d taken care with her own appearance that morning, and wore a pair of wide-legged linen trousers and a bright-blue top with a scalloped edge, but she suspected compared to her mother-in-law she looked something of a mess. She suppressed a sigh as she gave Santos what she hoped was a bright smile.
‘Welcome home, querida ,’ he said softly, and her smile briefly faltered. The Aguila estate did not feel like home and Mia wondered if it ever would.
Evalina now gave a fixed smile, her eyes narrowed as one of the estate staff opened the car door and Mia carefully climbed out. She forced herself to meet her mother-in-law’s gaze with a smile even though inwardly she quailed at the flinty look on her face.
‘Hello again,’ she said, and realised belatedly how flippant she sounded by the tightening of Evalina’s mouth. But that had always been one of her defences—insouciance meant she couldn’t be hurt. At least, it meant she could seem as if she wasn’t hurt.
‘Welcome back,’ Evalina replied in her throaty, heavily accented English. ‘It has been some time.’ The words were decidedly, and uncomfortably, pointed.
The staff lined up by the hacienda’s door all murmured their muted greetings as Mia followed Evalina inside. Santos’s hand was pressed comfortingly against her back, gently propelling her forward, which she needed. The truth was, Mia was more than half-tempted to high-tail it back down the drive. But she wasn’t running any more, she reminded herself, even if she wanted to.
Inside the house, the dark wood-panelled walls seemed to close in on her, the muddy oil portraits of various illustrious ancestors blurring before her eyes. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could do this. She would do this, for Santos’s sake, for her own, for theirs .
‘We have tapas and mint tea out in the courtyard,’ Evalina said, her tone as imperious as ever. ‘I thought you would be in need of some refreshment.’
‘Gracias, Madre,’ Santos said, kissing his mother’s cheek. ‘That sounds wonderful.’
Mia followed them out to the courtyard at the centre of the building with an ornate fountain in the middle and colonnades of Moorish arches in every direction. A table had been set up with linen and dishes, along with several chairs. Santos pulled one out for his mother and Mia before sitting down himself.
‘So.’ Evalina’s lips stretched in a smile that most definitely did not reach her eyes. ‘You have been away a long time.’
‘We were in Greece for nearly two weeks,’ Santo answered swiftly. ‘So not as long as all that.’
Evalina eyed Mia appraisingly. ‘Long enough.’
‘Yes, about eight weeks, all told,’ Mia agreed, striving to keep her voice pleasant. She had a feeling her mother-in-law was determined to rake her over the coals for her absence, and she couldn’t entirely blame her. From Evalina’s perspective, it had been a terrible thing to do, and yet even now Mia knew she couldn’t have done anything else. She’d been driven to it, whether Evalina would ever understand that or not.
‘Where were you, Mia, as it happens?’ Evalina asked, her voice mild and yet possessing an edge.
Mia hesitated and Santos put his arm around her. ‘It hardly matters, Madre,’ he said with a touch of reproof. ‘She’s home now.’
‘Yes,’ Evalina agreed after a pause, her cool gaze moving from Santos to Mia. ‘Home now.’
An interminable hour later, Mia practically limped upstairs, exhausted from the tension that had vibrated in the air.
‘Your mother doesn’t seem all that pleased to have me back,’ she remarked in a low voice as they headed up the grand staircase, and Santos gave a little shrug.
‘I think she was more displeased to have you gone. But don’t worry, she’ll come round.’
It was what he’d told her before in the same assured, dismissive way, and it made Mia feel like gritting her teeth.
But what if she doesn’t? she wanted to ask, but didn’t. She knew Santos would refuse to so much as entertain the notion. An hour into their return, and she was already coming up against that autocratic arrogance she remembered from before. Was he even aware of it? She doubted it.
‘This isn’t our bedroom,’ she remarked in surprise as Santos led her to an unfamiliar room at the far end of one of the hacienda’s wings. Evalina had her own private wing, while Mia and Santos had had one of the bedrooms in the main part of the house. This room was on its own separate wing, with far more privacy and space.
She glanced around the room, its shuttered windows open to the view of blue skies and vibrant orange groves, a king-sized, canopied bed with soft linen sheets the main piece of furniture.
‘I thought we could do with a change of scene,’ Santos replied. ‘A fresh start, as well as bit more privacy.’ He tugged her by the hand further into the bedroom and she went, glancing around the cool, airy space with appreciation. Their last bedroom had been dark and a bit stifling, despite its size, the walls adorned with portraits of his ancestors. They’d reminded her—and maybe Santos too—of the weight of expectation and responsibility.
‘I suppose we could,’ she agreed with a smile as he pulled her forward for a kiss. It was no more than a gentle brush of her lips, a tender promise, and Mia chose to believe it. It would be all right this time, she told herself. They would both make sure that it was.
Santos kissed Mia once, then twice, before settling his mouth on hers with intent and possession. He heard the soft sigh of her surrender as her body became pliant under his and he wrapped his arms around her as he deepened the kiss, sealing their vows and their future. At least, that was what it felt like. This time it was going to be different—everything was.
Admittedly, there had been tension downstairs with his mother—he’d felt it himself, although he still believed his mother would come round, as he’d told Mia. She was a reasonable woman and she’d married for love herself. Still, Santos had seen how Mia had looked at the estate with naked dread on her face as the car had come up the drive, and his heart had ached for her. He longed to reassure her...and this was the best way he knew how.
Her arms came round his neck as her body melted into his. Santos ran his hand up from her hip to her breast, cupping its fullness, enjoying the soft sigh of pleasure she gave as he brushed his thumb over her nipple.
‘Santos...’ she murmured against his mouth. ‘They’ll wonder where we are.’
‘I don’t care,’ he replied with a growl as he pressed a kiss to her throat, and then another to the tempting vee between her breasts. ‘Do you?’
‘No...’ The word came out in a whisper of breath as she arched back to grant him more access. ‘No, I don’t...’
A very pleasurable hour later, Santos was showered, dressed and heading to his estate office to check on business matters. He’d left Mia still in bed, although she’d said she thought she’d unpack. He’d offered to give her a tour of the estate, something he realised he hadn’t done the first time round, and she’d said she might come and find him later.
There had been a look of wistfulness on her face that had given him a pang of uncertainty. She needed to find her place here, and he wanted to help her find ways to do it. Already his mind was casting about for ideas that would play to Mia’s strengths—her friendliness, easy manner and her ability to turn her hand to just about anything. Could she be involved with the staff, or maybe the estate’s social media? He didn’t want to pressure her, but he wanted her to have something to do to feel involved and important. He would talk about it with her when he gave her a tour, he decided. They could plan their future here together.
In the estate office, at least, he knew what he was about. It felt good, surprisingly so, to settle back into the matters of business he knew so well—the forthcoming olive harvest, messages with suppliers and a new fertiliser to try. He spent an hour talking to his manager, Antonio, before he left him to his own devices to tackle his own overflowing inbox. Santos was steadily working through his messages when he heard a light yet authoritative tap on the door.
‘Come in,’ he called, his tone a bit brusque, as he was focused on his work.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you,’ his mother replied tartly as came into his office.
‘Madre!’ Santos stood up, surprised to see his mother in the office block near the orange grove. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d ventured in there; she had always left the estate work first to her husband, then to her son. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘You tell me, mi hijo ,’ she replied, folding her arms as she arched one eyebrow. ‘I did not expect you to bring your errant wife back here.’
Santos stiffened before he forced himself to relax. When he’d brought Mia back the first time, much to his mother’s shock, she’d murmured something about true love and made no objections—although admittedly he’d felt her censure, or at least her concern, in every eloquent look and taut remark. He’d weathered them because he understood why she was so worried, and he’d assumed things would settle down. Now, however, it seemed as if his mother had decided to be blunter.
Well, then, so would he. ‘What did you think I would do,’ he replied mildly, ‘When I went to find her?’
‘I thought you’d come to your senses!’ his mother burst out before she pressed her lips together. Like a true Aguila, she did not like to show emotion. Sometimes Santos wondered if she even liked to feel it.
‘And do what?’ he asked in the same mild voice, although there was a dangerous edge to it. Come to his senses? He’d come to his senses when he’d found Mia, when he’d convinced her to come back with him. ‘Divorce her?’
‘I spoke to Rodrigo,’ his mother replied, naming their family’s lawyer. ‘He said he thought a divorce could be dealt with quite quickly.’
Santos swore under his breath. He knew his mother was a strong-willed woman, but this was taking things too far, even for her. ‘I don’t want a divorce, Madre. Neither does Mia.’
‘And yet she left you,’ his mother pointed out ruthlessly. ‘Santos, how can you hold your head up in this community with a wife like that? She has caused so much gossip—she will bring shame to this family! She already has.’
‘Careful, Madre,’ Santos replied with lethal softness. ‘This is my wife you’re talking about.’
‘Very well, then, I will speak more plainly,’ his mother retorted, her voice rising. ‘ You bring shame to this family, Santos, by returning here with her! She is not worthy of you, of this place.’ She spoke flatly now, her voice ringing out with awful certainty. ‘You will never be able to hold your head up among your staff, or your peers, with this woman by your side.’
‘Madre, you overstep yourself,’ Santos replied. He felt his face heat and his hands balled into fists. He had had no idea that his mother felt this strongly, this terribly , about Mia, although he realised wretchedly that Mia had tried to tell him. ‘You don’t know her at all—’
‘I don’t want to know her!’ his mother snapped. ‘She abandoned you, Santos!’
He clenched his hands harder to keep himself from doing something stupid like punching a wall. His mother had never spoken so plainly, so viciously, before. He’d thought she was a reasonable woman, but now she seemed to be lashing out in emotion—emotion he resented her feeling. Her reaction left him winded, reeling and also utterly furious. ‘There were reasons for that—’
‘There was a reason for you to stay married before,’ his mother cut across him. ‘Because of the baby, as unfortunate an occurrence as that was. It was an act of God that she miscarried.’
‘Don’t.’ Santos’s voice was swift and deadly. ‘Do not talk about my child like that.’
‘Santos.’ His mother held her arms out towards him, her expression crumpling into distress. ‘I want only what is best for you, for our family, and this...this gold-digger...is not it. Of that, I am sure.’
‘She’s not a gold-digger,’ Santos replied stonily, hating the thought that his mother could entertain such a notion, even for a second. ‘She didn’t even take the clothes and jewels I bought her when she left.’ He thought of Mia’s one battered backpack and his heart ached with love and sorrow.
‘Pfft...’ His mother shrugged in dismissal. ‘You didn’t sign a pre-nuptial agreement. She would have received a hefty payment in the divorce settlement. She would have been counting on that.’
‘And yet she came back with me,’ Santos reminded her.
‘Did she never suggest divorce to you?’ his mother challenged. ‘I’m sure she would have been canny about it, but I can guess what she wants.’
Santos was silent as he remembered how Mia had first asked for a divorce back on the yacht. She hadn’t asked for money then, but would she have? He would have given it to her, he still would, but the memory of it created a splinter of doubt in his soul that he desperately did not want to feel. He loved Mia. She loved him.
And yet she’s never actually said the words.
He was the only one who had, more than once. Mia had responded with kisses, with smiles, but never with those three little words. He keenly felt the lack of them now.
He wheeled round so his back was to his mother as he raked a hand through his hair. He did not want to think this way or feel this way. And yet...he did. It hadn’t taken long at all for the doubts to come rushing back, and he was determined to keep them at bay. To trust his love for Mia...and her love for him, even if she hadn’t said the words.
‘Santos.’ His mother’s voice turned soft and gentle as she came to stand behind him, resting one hand on his shoulder. ‘You have a reputation, a name , to live up to. I understand you didn’t care for Isabella Ruiz, as suitable as she was, and heaven knows your father intended for you to marry her. But there will be another woman who is of our class, our station, for you to marry. Who understands what it means to bear the responsibility you do and who respects the name of Aguila.’
Santos was silent for a long moment, absorbing what his mother was saying and what it meant. Would she ever accept Mia, if this was her attitude? It saddened him that she might not, but he knew he would not be swayed. He loved Mia and no one—not his mother, his sister, the community or anyone—could take that from him.
‘It was a mistake of passion,’ his mother continued, her voice now low and persuasive. ‘My God, you wouldn’t be the first man to be turned by a pretty pair of eyes! There is less shame in that, Santos, than in staying with a woman who can never truly understand what it means to be an Aguila or who will never be a credit to you or to your family.’
‘Madre...’ His throat was tight with anger and something like grief. He’d had no idea that his mother felt this strongly and he hated that fact.
‘Please, think about it.’ She squeezed his shoulder before stepping back. ‘Think about your responsibility to this family and to your father’s memory. Don’t react in passion or anger, Santos, but with the even temper and reason I know you have. You will see sense then. I am sure of it.’
‘And do what?’ he asked, his voice thick with emotion he didn’t want to reveal. ‘Divorce my wife?’
‘Yes,’ his mother replied swiftly. ‘As I said. It will be easy. Rodrigo has the papers ready.’
‘Does he?’ Again, Santos felt as if he were reeling. He could not believe his mother had planned this already and had spun a web of manipulation...
For a second Santos simply stood there, absorbing everything, letting it reverberate through him. He thought of his place as head of the Aguila family—the expectations not just of his mother, but of his wider family, his staff and the Sevillian community. He thought of how Mia hadn’t felt at home here—and how could she, if this was what she was up against?
If he divorced Mia, or if he agreed to some sort of separation, maybe, in the long run, it would be easier—not for him, but for her.
The thought of it was like a knife plunging into his heart. The sensation made him dazed with pain, but in the midst of that he felt a sudden certainty thudding through him, waking him up, clearing his mind.
‘Madre...’ he began, only to stop at the sound of a movement outside his office. He heard a stifled sob, light footsteps down the corridor and then a door being wrenched open.
With a sinking sensation, Santos realised Mia must have overheard the entire conversation. How much of their Spanish had she understood? Too much, he feared; far too much.