Her lips still burned from his kiss. Why would he do such a thing? Just to prove the power he still held over her? He’d have that power for the rest of his life, with the child that would link them until the day Hana died.
But her baby needed a real home, a real family, a real father, not someone who would leave or neglect them at his whim. Antonio would never be the man her baby needed. He’d had a vasectomy, for heaven’s sake. At eighteen. Could he make it any more clear that he never wanted to be a father?
Better to have a clean break.
As Hana entered the hotel, she saw Ren’s handsome, worried face across the lobby. She suddenly wished he could have been the father of her baby, instead of Antonio. Her best friend was a good man, smart, loyal and kind. Any child would be lucky to have him as a father.
But for Hana, he was a dear friend, nothing more. And she had to make him see that, too.
Ren took one look at her tearstained face, and his dark eyes turned grim. “What did Delacruz say? What did he do?” He set his jaw, glaring out the window. “I’m going to find him and—”
“Don’t. He didn’t do anything,” she said wearily. “It’s finished. I’ll never see him again.”
“You still love him.” Ren’s voice was flat as he looked at her. “Even after he’s treated you so badly.”
“No,” she protested. Love? Ridiculous. Knowing what she knew, she’d have to be the stupidest woman on earth, or the worst sort of masochist, to fall in love with Antonio, and she was neither.
Something had broken him, something that left him unable to open his heart to anyone. She wasn’t sure he had a heart.
And yet, sometimes... He did something that surprised her.
Like when her beloved grandmother had died last year from complications of dementia. Hana had been grieving her loss for years, even before her death, when Sachiko had stopped recognizing her, then stopped speaking at all. But losing the last member of her family had been a devastating blow.
And yet, initially Antonio hadn’t wanted Hana to go to the funeral. He’d tried to convince her that it would be a waste of time for her to leave Madrid. “Your grandmother won’t even appreciate it,” he’d said firmly. “She’s dead. And I need you here.”
Then he’d looked at her tearstained face. And something had changed in his dark eyes.
“I’ll come with you,” he’d said quietly.
“It’s not necessary,” she’d said, her voice clogged with tears.
“I’m coming,” he’d cut her off.
And he had. He’d had a million other things he should have been doing, billion-dollar deals waiting to be made, but he’d taken Hana on his private jet to rural California instead. He’d sat silently beside her at her grandmother’s funeral, and afterward, when Sachiko’s many friends had shyly come forward to hug Hana, whom they hadn’t seen in years, Antonio had introduced himself not as her boss, but as her friend. He’d remained in California with her for two days, a comforting presence in the background, giving her the strength to go through her grandmother’s things and begin arrangements to sell off the heavily mortgaged farm. Then, when it was over, he’d taken her home to Madrid.
Home. To Madrid.
A home she’d never see again now.
Hana’s shoulders sagged. After everything she’d gone through today, she felt bone-tired, more tired than she’d ever been in her life.
“Are you all right?” Ren asked.
She rubbed her eyes. “Just tired.”
“Don’t worry, Hana,” he said softly, as he looked down at her in the hotel lobby. “I’ll take care of you.”
The possessive look on his handsome face troubled her. She blurted out, “Ren, please, you can’t think—”
He abruptly turned away. “Your satchel was dropped off earlier. I had it taken to our best suite. You can rest there.”
“Thank you.” She bit her lip. “I’ll pay for the room—”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “You’re my best friend. You think I would take your money? I want to help. I am proud to have a hotel to offer you.”
Hana disliked the feeling that he was offering her not just a room for the night, but himself for a lifetime. But they were best friends. She wouldn’t have even questioned his offer, if she didn’t fear—know—his feelings went deeper.
“Ren,” she said gently, speaking quietly so no one else would hear, “I’m so grateful. But,” she hesitated, “you have always been like a brother to me...”