“Octavia’s mother sent it to her. She already had one from her husband and knew I told my mother to save her money for baby clothes, so she gave that one to me.”
Right. Some grandparents sent flowers to congratulate a new mother when she delivered an heir into the family.
What did Enrique’s grandfather send? Cesar reached into his shirt pocket.
“From my father,” he said, offering it.
She didn’t take it, only looked at the amount. “My, he does value Señorita Fuentes, doesn’t he?” She turned away to reach for her glass on her side table and sipped from the straw. The color in her high cheekbones was the only indication of her reaction.
He’d always liked that collected demeanor of hers. He’d liked far too many things about her, and even today, mind dull and body aching from not sleeping, when he was trying to recover from having his mind blown apart, there was a piece of him that just wanted to crawl into that bed with her and have her.
It struck him that he hadn’t felt a rush of attraction like this since before his crash. Desire for sexual release was always there, like hunger or thirst. But last night, as he’d tried to manifest an image of having Sorcha, he’d mentally ridden her hard. He never had those sorts of fantasies about Diega. In fact, since waking up “engaged,” he’d more or less put his inner sex animal into a kennel and told him to shut up.
The beast was snarling to life now, pouring predatory heat through Cesar’s veins. Desire gathered in painful pools at his groin. He was having enough trouble working through the facts without trying to hide an erection!
He left the certified check on her bed and moved to the window, pushing his fists into his pockets. “The joining of our family with Diega’s is something both sides have wanted for a long time,” he said in explanation. “My father isn’t ready to let it go.”
Despite a lifetime of witnessing his parents’ indifference, he was disturbed by how cold-bloodedly they were behaving. It wasn’t that they didn’t believe Sorcha’s claim. They didn’t care. “He wants me to marry Diega regardless of this...” He gestured to the hall. “Hiccup,” he said with disgust at their attitude.
“Obviously,” Sorcha said with a nod at the paper he’d left near her knee.
r /> “Are you going to accept it?” It was a test, he had to admit it. He had long-standing trust issues, and mentally willed her to rip it up. If he knew her as well as he believed he did, she would never consider family a commodity from which she should profit.
She glared at the check for a long moment before her shoulders drooped and she released a defeated sigh. “It would be stupid not to tuck that into an account for emergencies,” she said reluctantly. “Or whatever Enrique might need down the road. I would hate him to think his father hadn’t cared enough to provide for his future. That’s a horrible feeling.”
Cesar turned to face her, startled by what he thought she was saying, but finding himself folding his arms, astonished by the more pertinent revelation. “You think I should marry Diega while you raise my son alone?”
“What other option is there?” She held up a quick finger of warning. “If you suggest taking him to live with you and Diega, there will be blood shed, right here, right now.” The tip of her finger went to the open spot on the floor.
A bitter smile pulled at his lips. Did she really see him as the type to take a baby from a mother who knew how to love and give him to a cold fish like his own?
But if not that kind of man, what kind was he?
He scowled, unsure of his ability to be anything but a peripheral figure the way his own father had been. He hadn’t expected to be so distant from his offspring that he was out of his son’s life completely, however. He’d spent the night running all the scenarios and while he didn’t care that his parents weren’t the most demonstrative people, there was something very alluring about offering his child a more nurturing upbringing.
Then there was the fringe benefit: Sorcha. He wanted her. If he was going to be supporting her and their child, they might as well go all the way.
He met Sorcha’s belligerent gaze, as she waited for him to enlighten her, but how could this be a mystery to her? She knew how he reacted to someone trying to take what was his.
“His parents could raise him together,” he said.
* * *
Sorcha was glad she was sitting because her heart stopped then kicked with a hard beat of shock, making her woozy. As husband and wife?
No. She wasn’t so silly as to hear a proposal in that statement. He might have called off his wedding, but that was just a postponement. Wasn’t it?
“You, um, want to move to Ireland with me?” she asked.
“It’s good you’re keeping your sense of humor,” he said with a faint, patronizing smile. “No. We’ll marry and live in Spain.”
Another breathtaking spasm squeezed and released her heart. She tried to swallow and couldn’t.
“You want to marry me,” she managed to say. “What about—” She waved at the check. “I thought this meant you’re marrying Diega after all. Was it this romantic when you proposed to her, by the way? I’m sorry, that’s cruel. You probably don’t remember because you were in a coma. At least I’m awake. Count your blessings, Sorcha!” she babbled, hysterical laughter rising in her throat.
Cesar didn’t move, his face stony. “There are times, Sorcha, when that runaway tongue of yours really ought to be held firmly between those pretty white teeth.”
“What do you want me to say?” she cried. “Thank you? Apparently your brides are interchangeable. I’ve never felt that way when contemplating my eventual husband.”