Chapter 6
The Next Day
“Are you sure about this, son?”
I’m sitting in my parents’ room, more precisely on their bed, when my mother, holding Nina in her arms, asks the question. I know she’s not trying to meddle, just doing what she’s always done: taking care of her children—and I’m part of the package.
“No, but I need to try for Valentina, Mom.”
“What if the girl turns out to be like Layla?”
“She’s not. I don’t know anything about her, except what the preliminary report pointed out and the quick visit to the café, but she and Layla couldn’t be more different in temperament.”
I think again of the smiling, clumsy girl.
From what the detective found out, her life is far from easy, but still, she radiates joy in every cell of that small, sexy body.
“Mom, this matter should stay between us. I don’t want to discuss it with the guys before making a decision.”
“What kind of decision?”
“I’m thinking about bringing her closer. The girl is alone.”
I still don’t want to tell her about my plans. It’s the way I’ve figured out to both right a wrong and, depending on who Olívia Freitas truly is, allow her to be around my Nina.
“Be careful, son. Appearances can be deceiving. Your grandmother had a saying: when a man feels overly protective of a woman, he’s the one who needs to be protected.”
“Why are you so reluctant about this, when you’ve always welcomed those who needed us?”
“Because I don’t want you to be disappointed thinking you’re doing something good for our Nina when, in the end, it might be even more harmful.”
“I’ve thought about that. At first, I’ll offer her a job at our headquarters. That way, I can keep an eye on her.”
“All right. I’m sure you won’t change your mind, no matter what I say.”
“Who do I take after, being so stubborn?”
“Your father, of course.” She smiles as she says this and looks lovingly at her husband. I hold my father’s hand, which at the moment is cold and inert.
I look at the man who, along with Mrs. Isabel Caldwell-Oviedo, also known as my mother, is my anchor. He’s sleeping, so I can assess him without him noticing. I try to act normally, but every time I see Dad incapacitated on a bed, I feel a lump of iron in my stomach.
Stewart Caldwell-Oviedo has always been an active person, full of life, the master of the world. When he had the first stroke, it was a shock to the family, but my mother worked tirelessly on his recovery.
I, on the other hand, didn’t have time to grieve. I needed to take care of the business. In my head, I thought it would be temporary.
After ten years, I don’t have time for anything else. I work like crazy, and since Nina was born, all my free time is dedicated to her.
“I’m going to give it a try, Mom.”
“But you won’t tell her anything?”
“Not for now. I’ll approach her with a job offer. From there, we’ll see what happens.”
“You’ll need to tell the truth eventually. Regardless of whether she’s a good person or not, the girl has the right to know everything.”
“And she will, but first I need to decide if she can be near Nina or if she’ll only receive financial compensation. Olívia is the only maternal link to my daughter. I think they both deserve a chance.”
“So, Princess Nina, are you satisfied with your day so far?”
She looks at me with that drooly smile, and I feel my heart warm as it always does. Of course, I knew I would have children one day, but I never imagined that when my daughter was born, she would steal my breath away so quickly.
Since my father had the first stroke, I haven’t been able to take a break from work. Not only because our hotel chain is huge, but also because of the responsibility of keeping the family on track.
My parents are the kind of couple who are still in love even after many years together, and Mom was devastated when Dad had to be hospitalized, along with the long recovery that followed.
As for me, I had the task of taking care of my four younger siblings: Joaquín, Rafe, Gael, and especially Martina, the youngest, who will end up giving me gray hairs before I turn forty. She was only eleven when my father got sick.
I’m not complaining. Family has always come first for me, but I confess that when I found out Layla was pregnant, after the initial shock passed, I saw it as another responsibility to add to my list, which was already not short.
But during the pregnancy, when she clearly rejected the baby growing inside her body, a bond formed between me and my daughter. I felt the need to protect her and ensure that she developed healthily, and that was one of the scariest situations I’ve ever been in.
How do you protect someone without having direct access to them? How would I take care of the wellbeing of my girl when she was housed in another person’s body and depended on that same person to have a healthy life and eat and sleep well?
I had no idea, so I acted the only way I thought possible: I negotiated, as I do with everything in my life.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming CEO of Caldwell-Oviedo almost ten years ago, it’s that money is one of the biggest motivators for people.
“Grrrrrr . . .”
I watch my Valentina, who at this moment has red eyes from rubbing them so much.
That’s the cue that she’s tired. I’ve learned to decipher all the signs.
She inherited her red hair from her mother, and also the blue eyes, but as for temperament, there’s no denying she’s a Caldwell-Oviedo. Nina doesn’t like to be contradicted and is demanding in her desires.
I pick her up and walk to her room, but instead of putting her in the crib, I take her to the bed—which should be the nanny’s—and start playing with the silky strands of her hair.
I’ve noticed that she falls asleep faster this way than if I put her in the crib immediately, especially on these days when she’s been irritable due to teething.
“We had quite a Saturday, didn’t we? Did you enjoy seeing your crazy uncles again? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet, but your aunt Martina is coming back home soon.”
My sister, who was engaged to a prince from a princedom near Italy, has just called off the engagement and is returning to the United States after years away.
I foresee stormy weather ahead, but there’s nothing we can do but support her.
“I think you two will get along, but don’t be surprised by her lively nature. You’ll get used to it over time.”
Martina has only been with Nina three times. First at her birth, then during the period after Layla’s death, and about two months ago, after Dad’s last stroke.
Nina gives me a sleepy smile, holding on to my finger.
I’m lost regarding how to guide our lives, and that’s not a pleasant feeling for me.
With my father’s health deteriorating, Mom needs to rest. At the same time, I’m worried about leaving Nina in daycare full-time. No matter how well-recommended it is, it won’t do the same job as a family member.
I’ve tried several nannies, but since I need them to live in, I’ve had many problems. They miss work, only giving last-minute notice, and the last two even hinted that they would be willing to offer extra services, creating an uncomfortable and unsustainable situation.
I don’t know why, but some women think that because I’m a widower, I’m a perfect target, dreaming of becoming the next Mrs. Caldwell-Oviedo. With the last two hires, I had no choice but to fire them because of these forced attempts at intimacy.
As for women who think I’m looking for a commitment, they couldn’t be more wrong. The last thing I want right now is a long-term relationship. One bad experience was more than enough. If it happens in the future, I won’t base it on physical attraction—as I did with Layla—but on reason.
After putting my daughter in the crib and making sure the baby monitor is on, I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. Moments later, I lie down in bed thinking about how I’ve been handling my sex life so far.
There haven’t been many changes from what it was before I met Layla.
I occasionally go out for dinner and sex but without forming attachments.
I don’t want to bring someone into my daughter’s life whom I don’t intend to keep on a permanent basis.
The rejection she suffered from her mother, who didn’t even want to help choose her name, is enough.
I won’t subject my little girl to temporary partners.
Without intending it, my mind drifts back to Olívia.
In fact, this has been a recurring thing since I left the café yesterday morning. Everything I read in the report that arrived in my email tonight only confirmed what I saw with my own eyes yesterday.
She’s a kind-hearted girl full of warmth, but somewhat na?ve.
Olívia doesn’t have anyone to look out for her and is burdened with debts.
She was evasive when I asked about her studies, but now I know why she couldn’t attend college: she owes a lot to the bank because of her mother’s prolonged illness.
She said that if she could study, it would be to become a pastry chef, what the French call a chef patissière. They are the chefs responsible for desserts in the most sophisticated restaurants. Each hotel in our chain employs one.
I try to imagine that force of nature leading a kitchen and smile. I would pay good money to watch her performance. In fact, I was captivated by everything she did from the moment I walked into the café. I couldn’t look away.
When I sought her out, despite having seen a photo of her face, I wasn’t prepared for the impact meeting her would have on me. I think I was expecting a version of Layla, just with dark hair, but I was completely mistaken.
My late wife was taller and also slender.
She was obsessed with the opinion of magazines that monitor socialites to see if they’ve gained weight, if they have cellulite, things like that.
Layla guided her existence based on her own image.
Olívia, on the other hand, has sensational curves in all the right places. She’s perfect and natural.
She’s also a sweet and restless little thing.
She’s small compared to the average American women—I don’t believe she reaches five-foot-three in height. Although she’s petite, she’s absolutely proportionate, except for her breasts.
I try to push to the back of my mind how the uniform stretched over her breasts as if a button—or all of them—would pop open at any moment, but I can’t.
I have a thing for large breasts, and hers are full for such a petite woman. Her body doesn’t meet the standards that society establishes as ideal, but to me, it’s delicious. The slim waist, wide hips, and flat abdomen make an irresistible contrast with the large breasts.
I was kind of mesmerized as she moved yesterday, and I tried very hard to ignore how attractive she is, but it was in vain. The long brown hair, fair skin, and huge blue eyes make it impossible to remain indifferent.
She said she works Friday and Saturday nights. I wonder if she’s on shift tonight. That neighborhood is very dangerous, especially for a girl as beautiful and young as her.
I need to think about how to help her until I can decide on a final solution. In the future, I’ll have to explain how I found out about her existence, and I’m not looking forward to that day at all because I know she’ll suffer, especially when I reveal the whole story.
When I decided to go after Olívia, it was primarily for Nina, because I would like my daughter to have some maternal relatives nearby.
Still, I hesitated and decided to see her in person even before the report arrived because if I realized she was in any way like Layla, I would never allow her to get close to Valentina.
Now, however, my concern for the girl is real.
For her safety, I mean. Sweet as she is, she’s an easy target for scumbags.
I decide that on Monday I’ll go back to the café.
I’ll suggest bringing her on to the headquarters staff.
That way, she’ll be under my protection, and on top of that, I’ll have the opportunity to get to know her better—for Valentina, of course.
I saw in the report that the health insurance where she’s working is very precarious.
Combining that with her debts, maybe if she has a good financial incentive, she’ll give up staying in that scary place.
Satisfied that I’ve managed to put my problems into perspective, I finally close my eyes, trying to relax.