A Spanish Marriage

Zoe accepted her mother-in-law’s assessment of her appearance with a questioning smile. Did a deliberately artlessly piled top knot and a strappy sun-dress that moulded the upper part of her body and flared from her hips to a short skirt constitute flirty? And did Javier think so? The brevity of the tight smile he lobbed in her general direction as he arranged toasted rolls on a linen napkin gave her the distinct impression the jury was out on that one.

‘Come.’ Isabella Maria took Zoe’s hand. ‘Let us wait outside and leave my menfolk to the chores they say I am incapable of managing. I’ve heard it said,’ she confided as they emerged onto the terrace and the sunlit mid-morning, ‘that the kitchen is the heart of the home, or the engine room—take your pick. Me, I prefer to know nothing about it.’

Settling her narrow skirt, she sat at the table in the shade of an angled parasol. ‘My son informs me that he dispensed with Teresa’s excellent services because you and he wished to be alone. Does that mean there is something wrong? Tell me—’ dark eyes took on a gimlet quality, at variance with her smiling mouth ‘—do you make my son happy? Do sit—’ she gestured to the chair nearest hers ‘—and tell me.’

Zoe inhaled a deep breath of jasmine-scented warm air, not prepared to even hazard a guess as to the answer to that question. Taking her seat, she folded her hands demurely in her lap and asked one back, ‘On the day of my wedding you said you were glad Javier had taken your advice and married me; do you remember?’

She hadn’t given the remark much thought at the time, but now she was beginning to wonder if there had been more to his proposal than the desire of an honourable man to keep her out of the vicinity of gold-diggers of the male persuasion until she was more mature and able to make the right decisions.

The older woman’s tinkling laugh sliced through the drowsy silence of the morning like a cleaver. ‘Of course I remember. How could I forget that that son of mine actually took my advice for the first time in his stubborn life? I suppose he thought about what I’d said—though he took his time about it—and realised that it made perfect sense.’

An icy fist closed around Zoe’s heart and her voice sounded tinny to her own ears as she asked, ‘What did you say to him?’

‘The obvious—that he should marry you because you’re a considerable heiress!’

Again the high-pitched tinkling laugh that set Zoe’s teeth on edge and produced the beginnings of what promised to be a pounding headache.

Isabella Maria’s voice lowered confidentially. ‘Since my son turned eighteen he’s been targeted by the type of woman whose only asset is her looks. He’s a handsome brute with much charisma and, above all, wealth. Natural prey for a woman on the hunt.’

She sketched a tiny shrug. ‘Like any mother, I’ll admit to wanting to see him settled and happy and producing my grandchildren. But I dreaded the thought that he might fall into the clutches of some dreadful creature whose main interest in him was the size of his bank balance. Apart from the common sense of the tradition of wealth marrying wealth, with money of your own I knew that if he asked you to be his wife, and you accepted, it would be because you truly loved him for himself.’

‘I’ve always loved him!’ Zoe found herself blurting, the admission wrung from her as if she had no control over her own tongue.

‘And he adores you,’ the older woman announced complacently. ‘I saw that on the day of your wedding.’

Zoe lowered her eyes. She could feel her mouth begin to tremble. Her mother-in-law knew nothing; she saw what she wanted to see. The only things Javier had felt for her on their wedding day had been a mild affection, a sort of habit thing that had started years ago when he’d taken pity on an orphaned kid, and a teeth-gritting exasperation because in his opinion the grown-up kid had been in danger of going off the rails.

And as for marrying her because she had money of her own, well—dream on! The funds held in trust for her might seem large to most people, but Javier would regard them as little more than pocket money.

And when Isabella Maria said archly, ‘Now all I have to do is wait for my first grandchild,’ Zoe had a hard time stopping herself from bursting into tears because a child with her was something Javier was desperate not to have. She’d seen the grin of relief on his too-handsome face when she’d broken what he’d obviously regarded as the welcome news to him, hadn’t she?

Thankfully the unwanted tête-à-tête was broken when the menfolk appeared with loaded trays. But hardly had the contents been set out on the table than Javier said grimly, ‘You’ll have to excuse me, I have to make a phone call,’ and strode back inside the villa.

To get in touch with Glenda, set her mind at rest? Tell her he was missing her, too. That he was only here in Spain with the wife who was nothing more than a self-inflicted burden because she’d gone off her trolley, threatening to walk out on him before he, in his so-superior wisdom, deemed she was fit to look after herself. And would he dare to confess that he’d been unfaithful to his mistress and had sex with his wife?

Cutting off that manic train of thought before it led her into the murky realms of the completely ridiculous, she tuned into the argument that was going on between her in-laws.

‘But we’ve only just got here! Am I not allowed to spend time with my own son? I refuse to believe that Javier—’

‘Izzy,’ Lionel cut in firmly with an apologetic look in Zoe’s direction. ‘Don’t be difficult. We have the day here and this evening we leave for Almeria. The hotel room is booked. I’ve already told you how Javier explained that, as he had no time to give Zoe the honeymoon she deserved straight after the wedding ceremony—’

With a pallid smile and a murmur of excuse, Zoe left the table, her breakfast untouched. Her stomach was churning and her legs felt like cotton wool and only carried her as far as the carved stone balustrade. She leant there, grateful for the support, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the wide expanse of manicured lawn, the romantically wild garden beyond and far below the cove where the blue sea creamed gently against the soft white sand.

She knew how fond Javier was of both his parents. Normally he would have welcomed them with open arms. But nothing about this so-called honeymoon in such a perfect venue was normal.

While Isabella Maria had been talking to her out here Javier must have put a romantic spin on his need to be alone with his wife. Why? Because the future of their marriage was approaching crunch time and he wouldn’t want anyone around when he told her he now agreed with her earlier statement that they should call it a day?

Or was he aiming to make this a real honeymoon? After they’d come so close to making love again this morning she could almost believe it. But Glenda’s obvious involvement in his life, the length of time he was spending on the phone to her, rather knocked that belief on the head.

Giving a muffled groan, Zoe silently admitted that she didn’t know whether she was on her head or her heels. The only constant was her addiction to him, the intense craving for his love, the one thing she needed to make her life complete, the one thing she didn’t look like getting.

‘How many times have I told you not to stay out in the sun without a hat?’

At the sound of his voice her stomach twisted into sick knots. A hand on her burning shoulder turned her. Her eyes locked with his. He was more gorgeous than any man had a right to be; he would turn female heads wherever he went, break female hearts—

‘Get back under the shade. Have you eaten a proper breakfast?’

Once again he was treating her like a large, not-too-bright child. But the grim look was gone. Those smoky eyes were smiling. His conversation with Glenda must have been successful. In the reassurance department?