CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
M IA RAN AS if the devil were on her heels, and in some ways it felt as if he were. All of Santos’s mother’s words, and his guarded replies, thudded through her head, an endless, mocking echo she couldn’t escape from, no matter how fast or long she ran.
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.
A sob escaped her, raw and wild. She went back to the hacienda, thinking only to get away, to run, the way she always did, because she wasn’t wanted here, and she wasn’t going to stay somewhere it hurt to be. ‘Always move on’ had been her motto until she’d met Santos, and even then...
Mia raced up the steps of the main staircase and down the corridor to the bedroom, where just a few short hours ago she and Santos had lain in a sleepy, sated haze. Already, it felt like another lifetime. She’d only gone to find Santos because she wanted to show him she was making an effort. She had been planning to ask him to show her the olive groves. She’d wanted to hear about the estate; she’d wanted to be part of it.
No longer.
In the bedroom, Mia gazed around, feeling as if she’d never seen it before. This house had never felt like home. She’d never been truly welcomed. Why stay and have it all play out and unravel? She and Santos only worked when they were isolated in their beautiful little bubble. That wasn’t real life, just as she’d said before, and it—they—didn’t work when confronted with reality. She’d been afraid of that before, and she suspected Santos was now as well.
He hadn’t refuted his mother’s claims, had he? He hadn’t said the idea of a divorce was outrageous. No, if anything he’d sounded pensive, maybe even cautiously approving. He’d sounded as if, on some level, it made sense —and why wouldn’t it? Santos was a sensible, rational man. Marrying Mia had been the thing that was out of character for him, not everything else. It made total sense for him to want to divorce. But she wasn’t going to stick around, waiting for him to do that.
Her backpack was leaning against the suitcases Santos had bought in Barcelona for all her new clothes. It looked so small and forgotten, and yet it felt like the truest thing about herself. She grabbed it and slung it over her shoulder, and for a second she thought this was home—having nothing more than a single bag, running to the next new place. It was all she’d known, maybe all she’d ever know.
She turned from the room, and as she did her steps slowed. For a dizzying second, it was as if the room took on a magical sort of haze and she could see it with different eyes. On the bed, she saw Santos and her with their limbs tangled, her head resting on his chest and his arm around her. She saw herself staring out at the blue sky by the window, a beautiful new day with all its possibility. On the chaise , she saw herself lying with Santos next to her, their baby in her arms as they gazed down at the tiny, beloved face in wonder.
A small, stifled cry escaped her. If she ran—again—none of that would ever happen. She’d just keep running; she wouldn’t have changed, learned or grown. Was that what she really wanted to do? Was that what Santos wanted her to do?
But he hadn’t said otherwise to his mother. He hadn’t told his mother that he loved Mia, that he wanted to stay with her. He hadn’t even sounded as if he’d wanted to say those things, if he’d felt them. Santos was stubborn, Mia knew. He’d insisted he didn’t have doubts, but she knew him better than that. He might not admit it but he did. He had to. And if he felt conflicted—as conflicted as she did—how could they possibly survive?
Slowly Mia looked around the room and the mirage of possibility and happiness evaporated before her eyes. She hitched her backpack further up on her shoulder and walked out of the room, down the stairs and out of the hacienda.
No one stopped her.
Santos swore under his breath as he headed for the door.
His mother reached out one hand in supplication. ‘Santos...’
‘That must have been Mia,’ he snapped, biting off her words. ‘I think she heard the entire conversation.’
His mother looked startled and perhaps a bit discomfited before she lifted her chin as she eyed him in cool challenge. ‘And if she did?’
Santos shook his head slowly. ‘I love her, Madre,’ he said, his voice a quiet throb of feeling. ‘Maybe you haven’t believed that, or wanted to believe it, but Mia is my wife and I love her. I love who I am with her, who she enables me to be, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. There will be no divorce, not ever. And I’ll thank you to speak of my wife more respectfully, because she carries the Aguila name, and she is a credit to me .’
He saw the look of blatant shock on his mother’s face and found he relished it. ‘And,’ he finished coldly, ‘If you cannot find a way to welcome her into my home, perhaps you will be more comfortable living in another one of my properties.’
‘Santos...’ his mother began, her face crumpling with hurt as well as shock.
‘I’m serious, Madre,’ Santos told her. ‘Mia is and will always be my wife. Accept it. ’
Without waiting for his mother’s response, he stalked from the room.
His blood was boiling, his mind seething, as he strode towards the hacienda. He hated to think of how Mia might be feeling, but worse, what she might be doing. Her words from just a few days ago came back to haunt him:
And when things get hard—when I feel like I could get hurt—I run. That’s what I’ve always done, Santos.
But not this time, he told himself. She wouldn’t this time because they were both different now. They’d promised each other that they would be different, that they would try to be.
But what if trying simply wasn’t enough? With his brows pulled together in a scowl to hide his fear, Santos stormed into the hacienda.
Just as before, the moment he stepped into the bedroom he knew she was gone. He’d felt it even before that, although he’d tried to pretend that he didn’t. It was an emptiness in the house, inside him , like a cold wind whistling through it. She’d left. She must have. And so quickly! Once again, she hadn’t had the courtesy, the care , to tell him or even to leave so much as a note. To leave like that again ... He could hardly believe it. It made him wonder, had she loved him at all?
How could she, to have left as she so obviously had? he thought in misery. And this time, he acknowledged starkly, he didn’t know if he had the emotional strength to find her and bring her back again.
As he paced the empty bedroom, Santos swore aloud. All her suitcases were still there, the clothes she’d changed out of when they’d first arrived discarded on the rumpled bed. But one thing was gone, he realised: her old, battered backpack.
Just as before.
Tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back angrily. Once more, fury warred with hurt—and fury won. He’d spent the last three weeks wooing and winning her, proving to her in every way possible that he could be trusted. Why hadn’t she trusted him with this? Why hadn’t she waited, at least talked to him and let him explain?
And yet, he acknowledged, what would he have said? He’d been blindsided by the depth of his mother’s determination and, he was ashamed to admit, it had caused him to doubt, if only briefly...
But maybe those doubts weren’t as traitorous as he’d thought, because Mia had gone . She hadn’t trusted him. She hadn’t believed they could make it work, that he could. No matter what she’d said about it taking both of them to make a marriage work, he’d made a promise—to her, as well as to himself—and she’d been the one to break it, right here and now.
A shuddery breath escaped him and he raked a hand through his hair. If he called Rodrigo, he could at least get the legal process set in motion this afternoon. He didn’t want to do that, but damn it, where was she ? Why had she proved all the things he’d feared were true? He’d wanted them to be wrong. He’d convinced himself they were.
And yet she’d left. There was no escaping that grim reality... again .
Having no idea what to do now, Santos walked slowly from their bedroom. The house felt so empty without her; and, he realised, it was an emptiness in himself. How could she be gone already? Had she meant anything she’d said?
And yet she’d warned him...
‘Santos.’ His mother stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hand fluttering by her throat. ‘Is she gone?’
His chest felt tight, his throat too, so he had to squeeze the words out. ‘Yes.’
To his surprise, his mother did not look gratified or vindicated by the news; rather, she slumped, seeming disappointed and even regretful.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, shocking him all the more. ‘I didn’t... I didn’t mean this to happen.’
Santos let out a hollow laugh. ‘I think you meant exactly this to happen, Madre.’
‘No, Santos!’ Her hand fluttered again as she took a step towards him. ‘I didn’t...’ She swallowed. ‘I didn’t realise you truly loved her.’ Santos stared at her dumbly, having no idea what to say. ‘I thought it was infatuation,’ she continued. ‘Beguilement. Not...not love.’
For a moment, Santos didn’t reply. He was honest enough to acknowledge that his mother had had a good reason for thinking the way she had—after all, he’d only known Mia for two weeks when he’d brought her back the first time. Had it been love, even then, or mere infatuation that his mother—and Mia herself—had claimed it was? Did it even matter? He loved her now.
But did she love him?
‘I love her,’ he told his mother steadily. ‘And I’m going to get her back.’ The doubts he’d felt before, that maybe he should let Mia go, faded away into nothing. He loved her. And he thought she loved him. She might not have said the words, but she’d showed him in a thousand different ways, hadn’t she? They both had—and he would fight for their marriage and their love.
But would she?
‘Where do you think she went?’ his mother asked and a long, low sigh escaped him.
‘I have no idea,’ Santos admitted heavily. And he had no idea even where to begin to look for her. Once again, a sense of hopelessness swamped him. Was love even enough? he wondered. He really didn’t know if he could do it on his own if Mia wasn’t going to fight for their marriage... It took two, as she’d said herself, and there was only one of them here.
So, Santos wondered as he gazed around the empty house, where did that leave them?