CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
M IA BLINKED THE world slowly into focus. Her head felt as if it were full of cotton wool, her limbs immovable and as heavy as lead. Where was she? In a bed of some sort, but the sheets felt scratchy, and she could hear a persistent beeping. And she couldn’t remember anything...
Blink... Blink...
Like the twirl of a kaleidoscope, the blurry shapes and colours of the world around her slowly clarified into a whole: a room—a hospital room, by the looks of it—the bright-blue sky visible out of the window. The beeping was from a machine next to her bed. And next to the machine, in a vinyl-covered arm chair, was Santos.
His head was pillowed by his hand, slumping forward, as though he’d fallen asleep without realising. He looked exhausted—his clothes creased, his hair rumpled, his close-cropped beard not as neatly trimmed as it usually was.
What on earth had happened?
Mia must have made some sound, because Santos stirred, lifting his head and looking around blearily before he suddenly lurched forward.
‘Mia...’
‘What?’ Her voice came out in a dry rasp. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh, my goodness, Mia.’ To her shock, his eyes filled with tears and he covered her hand that lay on the bed sheet with both of his own as he bowed his head over her, almost as if he was in prayer.
It wasn’t until his shoulders shook that Mia realised he was actually crying. For her; when, she wondered, had anyone shed a tear for her? It was a humbling and yet also strangely gratifying thought, and yet she hated seeing him look sad.
‘Santos.’ She felt a lump form in her own throat, simply at the sight of all that emotion. ‘Santos, it’s okay. I’m okay.’ At least, she hoped she was. ‘What happened? What’s going on?’ Her voice sounded like a rusty saw being scraped across an old board. ‘And may I please have some water?’
‘Of course.’ He jumped up, wiping his eyes, shocking her further, and then went to pour her a glass of water from the jug by her bed. Mia tried to reach for it but realised she was too weak; she could barely lift her arm from the bed. What in heaven’s name was wrong with her? She couldn’t remember anything.
Santos held the cup to her lips, and she drank as best as she could, grateful for the cool liquid that wet her lips and trickled down her throat. After a couple of sips, she eased back and Santos returned the water glass to the bedside table before sitting in the chair he’d been in before, his hands clasped between his knees.
‘I was afraid you were going to die,’ he said in a low voice, like a confession.
Die? Surely he was exaggerating? Now that she’d had a few moments to think, along with some water, Mia felt her mind clearing as the memories started to slot back into place. They’d been snorkelling, she’d been stung by a sea urchin and then she must have had some kind of allergic reaction. She remembered Santos removing the spines and saying her foot looked swollen, and she even remembered starting to feel woozy, the world turning all weird and waving. She must have passed out and Santos had brought her here to the island hospital. But surely, she hadn’t been in any danger of dying ?
She managed a smile, although her lips were cracked and the effort hurt just a little. ‘And I thought you said a sea urchin was just a little worse than a bee sting.’
‘Mia.’ He looked up at her, his expression anguished. ‘I’m serious.’
Taking in the torment on his face, she knew he was, utterly. ‘Santos,’ she whispered. ‘What happened?’
He gave a gulping sort of swallow as he slowly shook his head. ‘They think you had a severe allergic reaction to the sea urchin sting. It’s very rare, but it can happen, and when it does it can be incredibly serious. You lost consciousness, right there on the beach. I carried you to the boat and then sailed to Katapola, where an ambulance from the hospital met us—I’d called 112.’
The Greek emergency number. A ripple of shock went through Mia, icy and incredulous. Had it really been that bad? She couldn’t remember any of it.
‘I...’ She found she had no words.
‘You didn’t regain consciousness once , Mia, in forty-eight hours.’ Santos’s voice was ragged, his eyes wide and dark as he stared at her as if he could imbue her with the strength of his feeling and his fear. ‘At one point, they weren’t sure you ever would. They told me that sometimes allergic reactions to sea urchin stings can be fatal.’ His voice choked. ‘Fatal.’
‘Santos, I’m so sorry.’ She spoke the words helplessly because she had no others. He must have been through hell in the last two days, not knowing if she would live or die. She twined her fingers through his. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered again.
Abruptly he rose from his chair, the legs scraping against the tiled floor, his back to her as he stalked to the window, raking one hand through his hair. Mia eyed him in fearful uncertainly. He was clearly in the grip of some powerful emotion. Was he angry...with her? Or with himself, for caring about her in the first place?
It reminded her of her mother, in an entirely visceral way. Blaming her for being sick, for being at all. Without Mia, her mother would have been unencumbered, free, happy . She’d always made that abundantly clear, even when she’d showed her affection, doled out in miniscule amounts, as if she was reluctant to feel anything for her; yet at times, as her mother, she just couldn’t help herself.
The sense of guilt and inadequacy Mia had felt as a child came rushing back, worse than ever. Somehow, and it really didn’t matter how, this was all her fault—again, as always. Santos’s pain was her problem, not his. She was to blame...just like she had been for the miscarriage.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, her voice choking. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Santos whirled round, his hand dropping from his hair. ‘Mia, what on earth do you have to be sorry for?’ he demanded, his voice sounding as if it had been scraped raw. ‘ I’m the one who is sorry—me. I’m...’ Now his voice was choking. ‘I’m so damned sorry.’
Mia stared at him in shock, speechless for a few seconds as she registered the utter anguish in Santos’s eyes. ‘You’re sorry?’ she whispered, not understanding. ‘Why?’
‘Because...! I should have checked for sea urchins. I should have called the emergency number sooner. I should have kept this from happening. I should have protected you.’ He gave a gulping sound that was halfway to a sob and filled Mia with wonder.
She had not expected this reaction at all. This was so far from her experience, her expectation, that she needed to cringe and apologise for being any kind of trouble...
The way she’d been made to feel in the hospital, after the miscarriage.
But maybe she’d made herself feel that way, and not Santos. It was an extraordinary thought, unsettling and hopeful all at once.
Santos stared at Mia as he shook his head. For two days he’d been wracked with guilt, wishing he could turn back time, do things differently. He thought of watching her slump forward on that beach, her skin blazing to the touch, her head lolling back as he’d lightly slapped her cheeks and begged her to wake up...
That it was happening at all had been terrifying and terrible, a blur of fear, guilt and horror. Santos had been reminded of his father’s heart attack, out in the orange groves; he’d been the only one there to perform mouth-to-mouth and attempt to save him. He’d failed. And, there on the beach, he’d feared he would fail Mia...
So many memories had come rushing back, tangling with the present, just as they had when Mia had miscarried... remembered grief as well as fear for the future. Knowing, absolutely knowing, that he could not survive losing another person in his life—losing Mia.
‘Santos,’ she said softly, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘I could have prevented it,’ he insisted with staunch swiftness.
Mia let out an exasperated breath. ‘How?’
‘Checked the shore. Told you to keep your fins on. Chosen somewhere else to snorkel. Warned you, at least. I knew there were sea urchins in these waters and I never even told you so.’
His stomach churned with acid at the thought. How could he have been so careless ? He knew the answer: because he’d been so happy . He’d let his usually innate sense of diligence and responsibility slip away because he hadn’t wanted to bother with it, hadn’t wanted to feel its heaviness, but he should have. How he should have...
‘It was an accident, Santos,’ Mia said quietly. ‘It could have happened to anyone. And what are the chances that I’d have an allergic reaction? You said yourself that it’s very rare. This is just one of those things, and I’m okay.’ She stretched out one slender arm in supplication. ‘I’m okay .’
‘Yes, but...’ His voice wavered and he found he had to look down, blinking hard, his throat working in order to compose himself. Something was breaking apart inside him and he wasn’t sure he could keep it together much longer. This was something he hadn’t even realised he could feel , until Mia had been lying lifeless in his arms. He’d told her he loved her, but he realised then that those had just been words. When Mia had been in his arms, her head lolling back, he’d realised what it felt like to love someone that much, to fear losing them.
‘Santos, please.’ Her voice was a soft, pleading caress. ‘Please, come sit by me and tell me what’s going on—because this is about more than a sea urchin sting, isn’t it?’
Yes, it was. Slowly, reluctantly, he came and sat down next to her. She reached for his hand and he let her take it, craving her touch even as he dreaded this confession. He didn’t do this kind of stuff.
An Aguila must always be in control of his heart and his mind...
But just now he wasn’t in control...of either.
‘Santos,’ Mia whispered. ‘Tell me.’
‘I shouldn’t have left you in the hospital room,’ he blurted in a low voice, his gaze on their clasped hands. ‘Before...after the miscarriage. I shouldn’t have left you to deal with all of that alone. I can’t believe that I did, that I could have been so cruel.’
She was silent for a long moment, and he made himself look up at her. Was she angry at him? Did remembering those old wounds hurt her the way it did him?
‘You were upset,’ she said at last. ‘And angry.’
‘Mia, I wasn’t angry.’ He hated that she thought he had been, that he’d acted as if he was, and that he’d let her think that for so long because on some level it had felt safer, stronger.
‘Santos...’ There was a note of sorrowful exasperation in her voice that tore at him. ‘You were. On some level, you were. You must have been. I mean, when I said I didn’t want... I wasn’t ready...’ She trailed off, not seeming to want to put it into the starkness of actual words.
‘I was hurt,’ he confessed quietly, the words coming out stiltedly because he still wasn’t used to being so honest or so emotional. It didn’t come easily, and it made him feel as if he was covered in prickles or open sores—maybe both. He felt desperately uncomfortable, that was for certain, as if he were in pain—and maybe he was. ‘I wanted you to want my baby,’ he told her in a raw voice. ‘And,’ he added, compelled to complete honesty now he’d started, no matter how much it hurt, ‘I wanted you to want what I wanted: a family...with me.’
Mia stared at him for a long moment, her brow still furrowed, although her expression had turned thoughtful. ‘I can understand that,’ she said quietly. ‘And I know my response shocked you and we had to work through our different reactions. We didn’t really get time to, I suppose, but...’ She paused, drawing a breath before she pressed on, ‘You don’t blame me for what happened—for the miscarriage?’
Clearly that was a deep-seated fear of hers, and it made him feel even more horribly guilty. ‘Mia, I never blamed you,’ he assured her, his voice a low throb of feeling. ‘I know you think I did, and I acknowledge that it may have seemed as if I did, and also that I might have acted like I did. But deep down, in my heart, in my soul, I didn’t. I promise you that, on my life.’
‘Not even some small part of you, Santos?’ she asked in little more than a whisper. ‘You barely spoke to me after the miscarriage. You barely looked at me. I know you said you shouldn’t have acted that way, and I understand that now, but then ?’
The hurt in her voice reminded him of broken glass, and it cut him as if it were, splintering his soul. How could he have hurt her so dreadfully and not even realised at the time? Maybe not even cared, because the truth was he’d been hurting so much himself...and that was something he’d never explained to her.
He gazed down at their clasped hands once more, and then back at her. Her eyes were wide, with a sheen of tears that made him hurt all the more. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said in a low voice, ‘For the way I treated you. Maybe some small part of me did blame you in that moment, Mia. A very small part; I can be honest enough to admit that. But, if I did, it was only because it felt easier than what I really felt—which was that I should blame myself.’
‘You...’ The word slid from her lips on a soft gasp. ‘Why?’
Because he was an Aguila, the man of the family who took responsibility for everything. Because he should have been able to protect his wife, his child . Because if he’d been a better man, husband or father, this would never have happened.
He knew, in his head at least, that none of that really made sense. The doctor had been abundantly clear that it was just one of those things; some babies died before they were born, before they’d barely had a chance to grow. It was sad, it was hard, but it was also a simple reality of life. He knew that...and yet he’d felt something else. And it made him realise afresh how different emotions, different ideas, could co-exist. How Mia could have not wanted the baby and still grieved its loss. How he could have known it was an accident of providence or fate but still blame himself. Human beings were contrary. Life—and love—was complicated.
‘So,’ she said slowly, ‘Like with the sea urchin, you blamed yourself?’
‘Yes, but more than that.’ He swallowed, trying to ease the aching tightness in his throat. ‘There’s something else—I didn’t tell you how my father died.’ He’d mentioned it in passing, consigned it to distant memory and assured her, and himself, that he’d moved on. It was what he did with everyone.
‘You said he had a heart attack,’ Mia murmured, a gently questioning lilt in her voice.
‘He did,’ Santos confirmed. ‘It was all very sudden. We were walking in the orange groves. He was showing me some of the trees. He was worried about a disease, a tree-killing bacteria—it had wiped out ninety percent of some growers’ harvest in different parts of the country.’
Even now he could picture the furrow in his father’s forehead, the sombre way he spoke. Santos had been concerned, but he hadn’t felt the weight of it the way his father had. ‘We could have survived that,’ he continued, wanting, needing, to explain. ‘Our financial interests are mainly in investments and property—but the orange and olives groves were my father’s heart. The family estate was his soul. He was terribly anxious, and when he saw a sign of the bacteria he clutched his chest and keeled over. It happened in a matter of seconds.’
Mia’s voice was soft and sad. ‘Oh, Santos...’
‘We were too far from anywhere for me to go for help,’ he continued bleakly. ‘I knew I had only seconds. I tried to give him mouth-to-mouth. For a second, I thought he might respond. His eyes flickered...he looked as if he wanted to say something...but he couldn’t.’
He paused, reliving those awful moments even though he didn’t want to: the icy panic, the terrible dread and somehow, even worse, that treacherous flicker of hope. ‘He didn’t recover, though, obviously,’ he finished flatly. ‘He died in my arms a few minutes later.’
‘Santos.’ Mia clasped his hand with both of hers. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
‘When you lost the baby,’ he continued, knowing this part was even more important to say, ‘I remembered all that. It came back to me like a...’ He shook his head slowly in wonder. ‘Like an avalanche. I felt like I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. I’d suppressed the memories on some level, you see, for years...decades. I’d refused to think of it, to...to process it. Emotionally.
‘But when you started bleeding... When we saw the baby on the ultrasound and for a second, just like my father, I thought it was going to be okay and then I realised it wasn’t, that there was no heartbeat... Our tiny little baby was so very still.’ He gazed at her, blinking back the haze of tears in his eyes, only to see her own slipping down her cheeks.
‘I shut down,’ he confessed. ‘In that moment. Truth be told, I can’t remember much of it—the procedure, I mean, or afterwards. I just felt as if I were existing in some...some empty space. It doesn’t excuse me; I know it doesn’t, not for a single second. But that was what was going on with me, Mia. Not anger, but sorrow. Not blame, but grief.’
‘Oh, Santos.’ She shook her head as more tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘Thank you for telling me all this. But I wish... I wish you’d told me before.’ She swiped at her cheeks as she shook her head again. ‘In all those weeks after when it felt as if you were freezing me out...as if you couldn’t stand the sight of me...why didn’t you explain then?’
He hated, absolutely hated , the thought that she’d suffered for so long and, worse, that it was all his fault. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said helplessly. ‘I know I should have. But I felt as if I were frozen inside. And you are right—I was angry at you, in some small way,’ he added, knowing he needed to be completely honest. ‘But only because it felt easier than dealing with my own emotions. And after you left, well, then it became even easier to be angry with you.’
She let out a trembling laugh. ‘So why did you ever come and find me? Was it just pride?’
‘No, not pride.’ His voice was a thrum in his chest. ‘Desperation. I missed you, Mia. And... I missed who I was when I was with you. I wanted that back and I wanted you back.’ He remembered the ache in his chest when she’d left him, as if an essential piece of him had been ripped out. ‘I was angry at first, yes, and—and I was hurt. More hurt than I wanted to admit to anyone. It took me two weeks before I decided to start looking. I hired a private investigator, one of the best in the world.’
Mia let out a shaky laugh. ‘I had no idea someone was on my tail for that long.’
‘You’re good at running,’ he remarked wryly. He’d been surprised at how long it had taken the investigator to find her—nearly three weeks. It had felt like for ever.
She shrugged, her gaze sliding away from his, her mouth drawing down as, for a few seconds, a sorrowful wistfulness slipped over her like a dark cloak. ‘Well,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been running for most of my life.’
He frowned, trying to untangle that statement. He knew she’d grown up with a mother who had moved all over the world, but running ...? They were two different things, surely?
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ she said a little too quickly. ‘What matters is you found me. And I found you, in a way. I understand so much more now, Santos, and for that I’m glad. I’m even glad that stupid sea urchin stung me!’ She smiled, but he couldn’t quite manage it. She’d come too close to death for him ever to laugh or even smile about that.
Mia reached for his hand once more. ‘It’s the future we need to think about now,’ she said, but Santos had a feeling it was the past she did not want to talk about. Still, he decided to let it go—whatever ‘it’ was.
They’d shared so much already and, while it had been healing, it had also been hard. Truth be told, he didn’t know if he had the words—or the strength—for anything more, at least not then.
‘The future,’ he agreed, and leaned forward to seal that promise with a tender kiss.