Chapter Six
R aquel sat in the chair with her back straight and her head held up high.
In the mirror, the reflection didn’t show the timid, mousy woman that people believed her to be.
Instead, she saw a woman determined to protect the life of her unborn child.
She saw a strong woman, gathering her courage, resolved to do the best she could for herself and her child.
“Keep the make-up light.” Her sister Tahlia spoke at her side, directing the make-up artist who was called in to help her get ready for tonight.
Her belly churned at the thought of meeting her fiancé. She didn’t want to attend the dinner, but she could hardly back out of her own pre-engagement dinner—a shindig arranged specifically with the intention of introducing the bride to the groom.
But how could she agree to marry one man, when she carried another’s child in her womb? Did her fiancé deserve such deception?
After her disastrous meeting with Alexandre, Raquel had taken a taxi back home, where she’d broken down—cried for the unfortunate situation she found herself in.
If only she had stayed home and not gone to the club that night!
She didn’t know what she had expected from Alexandre, but it certainly wasn’t his outright refusal to accept the fact that they had made a baby together. He had used protection, he’d stated confidently, putting the blame on her for getting pregnant.
That he doubted the paternity of his own child, was a stab in her heart for it made her realize how different they both really were.
For Alexandre to think that she would pass off someone else’s baby as his, spoke volumes of the kind of people he mixed with. Were the women in his life so conniving?
But she hadn’t expected him to tell her to get rid of the child. It told her all she needed to know about Alexandre.
He was immoral and cruel, to not only reject his child but to suggest that she kill it too!
At that moment Raquel knew what she had to do. She would stand up for her child and protect it—protect it from the wrath of her family, its father’s hatred and the scorn of the world.
She would love her child, even if no one else did.
“Stop blinking, Raquel!” Tahlia ordered, jerking her from her thoughts.
Nodding, she sat still so the woman could finish her make-up.
Next, came a hair stylist who swept her long hair into a beautiful chignon, pinning it artfully to the back of her head.
Raquel thanked the two women before turning to Tahlia who held up a beautiful maroon concoction in silk, overlaid with lace.
“This is perfect on you,” she commented, zipping the dress closed before turning her around. Noticing how sullen Raquel looked, she asked, “Why’re you so dull tonight?”
How could she tell her sister that she didn’t want to get married—not now when she was pregnant with Alexandre’s child?
“I’m not sure about this marriage,” she confessed.
“But you told mother that you were okay with this arrangement,” Tahlia reminded her. Raquel winced.
It was true—she had agreed to marry a stranger on her mother’s command, but that was before Alexandre. Now she couldn’t even think of being with another man—not when Alexandre still occupied her thoughts and plagued her dreams.
And certainly not when she was pregnant with his child!
For a moment, she deliberated confiding in Tahlia, but quickly snuffed the thought. For one more night, she would guard her secret. And tomorrow, she would tell her family about the baby.
But how would she present the matter to her mother?
The thought kept her occupied the whole way to Pérola—a small island off the coast of Goa, linked to the mainland by a strait.
Raquel’s family was originally from Pérola and it was ironic that she was going back to the one place her mother had fought hard to get out of.
She looked out the window as the car traversed the bridge which linked the island to the mainland, taking in the huge ball of yellow that was the setting sun. Brilliant reds and pinks decorated the sky as the moon slowly climbed to rule over the night.
Warm air brushed her cheeks as she leaned out the window to breathe in the fresh air, immediately crinkling her nose when the musty smell of fish invaded her nostrils.
Laughter gurgled in her throat as a breeze whipped up strands of hair across her face, and Raquel forgot all her troubles for a few minutes.
But as they drew closer to the Monteiro family home—a palatial mansion right on the beach—her pulse began to skitter. Tension coiled tight in her belly as sweat gathered in her armpits.
How was she going to get through tonight without spilling the truth?
****
“W elcome to my humble home,” an older gentleman welcomed them with a bright smile, introducing himself as Carlos, Leandro’s grandfather.
Leandro. Her soon-to-be husband.
Unease raked down her spine, but Raquel’s lips turned up in a facsimile of a smile when Carlos took her hand in his.
This marriage proposal had been meant for her older sister, Anabela and at that moment, she wished Ana had agreed to this union, freeing her from the yolk of expectation that sat heavily on her shoulders, crushing her.
Her mother and sister stood beside her, along with her future mother-in-law—Erica, smiling and making small talk, but she couldn’t hear anything past the thundering in her ears.
Raquel looked around helplessly, scouring over the beautiful, landscaped garden, with lights at appropriate distances, showcasing various tropical plants in bloom.
It was a beautiful garden, she acknowledged, noticing the lush bougainvillea and frangipani which dotted the landscape, her eyes lingering fondly at the gazebo in the distance.
She wanted to make a mad dash for it, to get away from the group talking animatedly, unaware that she was a basket of nerves.
Her fingers clenched in the skirt of her dress, crushing the beautiful material as sweat trickled down between her breasts.
The humid island air which she had enjoyed on the way here, suddenly felt stifling, and Raquel wished she could return home, so she could get into bed and hide under the covers, pretending her problems didn’t exist.
“Good evening.” A lazy drawl jerked her from her thoughts. “I’m Leandro.”
Filled with trepidation, Raquel gazed up at the man who was her fiancé. There was something vaguely familiar about him, although she was certain she hadn’t met him before—at least not in person.
Tahlia had gushed enough about the wonderful Leandro Monteiro.
Rich, good-looking and heir to the Monteiro fortune, he managed the many luxury resorts and hotels which his family owned.
Known to be kind, slow to anger, and immensely patient, Sylvia had agreed that her second daughter was indeed a better choice for Leandro.
“He needs a docile wife—someone who will stand demurely at his side, host his parties and give him heirs,” Sylvia had told Raquel the previous night, unaware that she had gone pale at her mother’s words. “You will be perfect for him.”
But looking at her future husband now, she couldn’t help but notice the arrogant slash of his jaw and the shrewd eyes that watched her closely. Eyes which gleamed with intelligence. Eyes that reminded her, surprisingly, of Alexandre. Blushing, she looked away.
“Would you like to see the gazebo?”
Had he noticed her looking at it? “Y-yes,” she stammered, keenly aware of the curious looks from their family members.
“Come.” He invited her to precede him, and Raquel walked gingerly toward the gazebo—a small wooden structure open on all sides, filled with little cushioned chairs and a teapoy. Once inside, she took a seat facing the sea which spread out before them like an obsidian blanket.
Apprehension filled her as she sat staring—blindingly ahead, unsure how she was going to get through the evening.
“You seem tense.”
Was her distress so obvious? Her eyes flicked to Leandro. He was calm and collected. Wasn’t he even a teeny bit anxious about their upcoming wedding?
“Why did you agree to an arranged marriage?” Raquel heard herself ask.
He shrugged. “My grandfather wishes it.”
“And you do whatever your grandfather asks of you?”
He nodded. “If it is within my power, yes.”
Her gaze dropped to her clasped hands. “Why?”
He leaned forward to catch her whispered question. “Why what, Raquel?”
She released a shaky breath. “Why agree to an arranged marriage? You can have any woman you want. Why marry a total stranger?” She raised her head. “Why marry someone like me?”
“You talk as if you are a poor choice.” His lips curled up in a smile. “Carlos wanted someone from Pérola, because this is where our family is originally from.”
Leandro went on to explain the history of his family—about his ancestor who came from Portugal when the Portuguese colonized India some four hundred years before. He explained how his ancestor married a local woman and decided to raise his new family in the coastal state of Goa.
“I have a Portuguese ancestor, too,” Raquel muttered, telling him about Afonso, a merchant who had settled in Pérola with his Goan bride.
The next few minutes were spent discussing their mixed heritage—Leandro and Raquel were both descendants of Portuguese merchants who had chosen to settle down in a foreign country which they later called home.
“You know, there’s a saying on the island that the women of Pérola make good wives,” he said, smiling warmly at her while she squirmed in her seat. “I think we will be good together.”
No, she wanted to scream at him. She wouldn’t make him a good wife—she’d already failed him!
“Leandro, I...” She gulped past the thick ball in her throat, constricting her airway. “There’s something... you need to know.”
“Tell me.”
Words dried up on her lips.
That he was prepared to listen to her, stumped her. Leandro really wanted this marriage to work, she realized, and it saddened her that she couldn’t even pretend to want this marriage. How could she, when she was considering backing out of this arrangement?
“I know my grandfather wants a quick wedding, but I can push it out by a month or so,” he said, taking her reticence for anxiety. “I’ve been extremely busy with work but that is no excuse for not making time for you.” His sincerity tugged at her heart. “Why don’t we get to know each other first?”
She searched his handsome face, taking in his gentle eyes and warm smile, wondering why he was kind to her.
Why didn’t she feel more for this man while she had literally incinerated in Alexandre’s arms?
She felt no flicker of emotion when she looked at Leandro.
Why didn’t her heart flutter when she gazed at him?
Why didn’t her blood sing in her veins? And why did she keep seeing Alexandre’s features in Leandro?
Lifting a hand to her throat, Raquel looked away—aghast. Why was she still thinking of Alexandre?
“I can’t...” she muttered, certain that she couldn’t go through with this wedding.
Leandro was a good man, and he deserved a good woman.
“What is it? You’re shivering.” Immediately he took her shaking hands in his and encompassed them between his warm ones.
“No!” she cried, pulling her hands away. She didn’t deserve his kindness. Tears misted her eyes as she staggered under his concerned gaze. “Leandro, I...”
“Sir.” A woman interrupted their conversation. “Your grandfather requests your presence at the dinner table.”
Dismayed at the interruption, Raquel feared she would lose her mind if she didn’t tell Leandro the truth now. “Leandro...” She caught his arm when he got up to leave. “I must tell you...”
“Can we talk after dinner, Raquel? Surely this can wait?”
She wanted to protest—wanted to tell him that she couldn’t endure another minute of his kindness. She wanted to tell him the truth and then leave. But she found herself nodding, letting him walk her back to the house.
****
D inner was a long-winded affair with several courses, none of which Raquel enjoyed.
It wasn’t that the food was bad, but the aroma of seafood made her stomach turn.
When a plate of squid rings appeared in front of her, she simply picked up the accompanying sliver of lemon and sucked on it.
It offered some reprieve—the tart tangy flavor temporarily masked the strong aroma of fried fish, grilled prawns and curried beef that emanated from the heavily laden table.
But it offered no respite from the storm brewing inside her, and nothing could quell the ominous feeling that something terrible was going to happen tonight. What could be more cataclysmic than her revelation to Leandro?
“What’s wrong?” Leandro sat beside Raquel, startling her. “You’ve gone pale. Do you need some fresh air?”
Desperate to step away from the disconcerting aroma of the lavish feast before her, Raquel nodded. She stood up, and Leandro followed suit.
He was a comforting presence beside her as they moved toward the French windows that opened onto a well-manicured lawn. They’d merely taken a few steps when suddenly, Leandro’s mother let out a startled cry.
“How dare you step inside this house?”
Leandro froze beside her, and Raquel looked around to see who Erica had spoken to, but his massive shoulders blocked her view.
“Who invited you?”
Beside her, Leandro replied. “Mother, I invited him.”
“Why?” Erica cried. “I told you I don’t want him in this house!” She was clearly distressed by the newcomer. “Tonight is about family and he isn’t part of this family!”
“Mother, he is family.”
“You never fail to disappoint me, Erica,” someone crooned indolently, and Raquel frowned as goosebumps burst on her skin. A chasm yawned open inside her as a frisson of unease raked down her spine. Where had she heard that voice before?
“So welcoming, as always,” the man mocked, clearly unfazed by Erica’s words.
Leandro turned then, and Raquel gasped when she caught a glimpse of the newcomer.
Alexandre!