Shadows cast by the trees and clouds grew murkier, dangerous. “It’s no wonder that your father became obsessed with security and keeping his sons safe.”
“And yet, he risked trips to the mainland those first couple years we were here.”
“Your father left the island?” Where was Duarte going with this revelation? She had no idea, but she did know he never did anything without a purpose.
And she’d been so hungry for a peek inside his heart and his past for clues as to what made this man tick. She would be glad for whatever he cared to share tonight.
“My father had developed a relationship with another woman,” he said, his voice flat and unemotional, overly so.
What he said merged with what she knew from covering his family. “You’re talking about your half sister’s mother.” Kate knew the details, like the age of Enrique’s daughter. Eloisa had been born less than two years after the coup in San Rinaldo. That affair had to have been tough for three boys still grieving the loss of their mother. “How did they meet?”
“Carlos’s recovery from his gunshot wounds was lengthy. Between our time in Argentina and relocating here, Carlos had a setback. Our father met a nurse at the hospital.” The muscles in Duarte’s chest contracted. “He found distraction from his grief.”
So much more made sense, like why Duarte and his brothers had little contact with their father. “His relationship with the nurse created a rift between you and your father.”
It was easy to empathize with either side—a devastated man seeking comfort for an immeasurable loss. A boy resentful that his father had sought that comfort during such a confusing time of grief.
“You probably wonder why I’m telling you this.”
She weighed the risks and figured the time had come to step out on an emotional ledge. “We’ve been naked together. While being with you is amazing, I would like to think we have more going for us than that.”
“You’ve mentioned my numerous short relationships.”
She hated the pinch of jealousy. “Your point?”
“I’ve had sex, but I don’t have much experience with building relationships. Not with my family. Not with women. I’ve been told I’m an emotionless bastard.”
“Emotionless? Good God, Duarte,” she exclaimed, shifting over him, hammock lurching much like her feelings, “you’re anything but detached. You’re one of the most intense people I’ve ever met. Sure you don’t crack a bunch of jokes and get teary eyed at commercials, but I see how deeply you feel things.”
He silenced her with a finger to her mouth. “You’re misunderstanding. I’m telling you I want more than just your body.”
Her stomach bumped against her heart. Could he really mean…
“But, Kate, I can’t be sure I have the follow-through. Given my history, I’m a risk to say the least.”
Hearing this proud man lay himself bare before her this way tugged at her heart, already tender from images of a hurting young boy. She thought of the considerate gift, left on her pillow rather than presented in person. Could he be every bit as unsettled by their relationship as she was? He acted so confident, so in control.
Unease whispered over her like the night wind blowing in off the ocean. He’d said a relationship with him was a risk and she was just beginning to realize how much she had to lose—a chance with Duarte, a chance at his heart.
So much had changed so fast for both of them. If he was every bit as confused and stunned by the feelings erupting between them, perhaps the best answer would be a careful approach.
“Duarte,” she whispered against his mouth, “how about we take it one day at a time until Tony and Shannon’s wedding?”
Shadows drifted through his eyes like a stark Ansel Adams landscape playing out across Duarte’s face. Then he smiled, cupping her head to draw her mouth to his.
The breeze blew over her again, chilling her through as she thought of how he’d opened up to her, and wondering if in her fear she’d fallen short in giving him her trust.
They’d eaten an honest-to-goodness family dinner.
Working his kinked neck from side to side, Duarte cradled his post-meal brandy in the music room. Well, it was more of a ballroom actually, with wooden floors stretching across and a coffered ceiling that added texture as well as sound control. Crystal chandeliers and sconces glowed.
And the gang was all here, except for Carlos, of course. But their numbers had grown all the same.
Shannon played the piano, her son seated beside her with his feet swinging. Tony leaned against the Steinway Grand, eyes locked on his fiancée. His brother was one hundred percent a goner.
Sweet Jennifer sat cross-legged on the floor by the mammoth gold harp, petting Benito and Diablo, blessedly oblivious that she played with trained guard dogs while armed security flanked the door. What the hell had he brought Kate and her sister into?
Enrique reclined in a tapestry wingback chair, his feet on an ottoman. The bottle of oxygen tucked by a stained glass window reminded Duarte how very ill their father still was. Kate sat in the chair beside him, her foot tapping in time with the “Ragtime Waltz” that Shannon whipped through on the ivory keyboard.
Kate.
His eyes lingered on her. Her basic little black dress looked anything but basic on her curves he knew so intimately well. His gaze skated down her legs to her sky-high heels. If only they could stay in bed, this attempt at a relationship would be a piece of cake.
It had been tougher than he’d expected spilling his guts for her last night in the hammock, but that’s what women wanted. Right? Yet somehow he’d missed the mark because still she held something back.
The last ragtime note faded, and Duarte joined in the applause.
Tony retrieved his drink from beside the music. “Hey, Kate, maybe you can persuade Duarte to play for us.”
She turned toward him, surprise stamped on her face. “You play the piano?”
“Not well.” Duarte lifted his drink in mocking toast to his brother. “Thanks, Tony. I won’t be forgetting that. Keep it up and I’ll tell them about your harp lessons.”
Laughing lightly, Tony returned the air toast. Carlos was the only one of them to catch on during music class. Tony had never been able to sit still long enough to practice. The teacher had told Duarte he played like a robot.
Great. Tally another vote for his inability to make an emotional commitment—even to a piece of music.
Enrique angled toward Kate. “Duarte might not have been the best musician, but my goal was simply to give my sons a taste of the arts so they received a well-rounded education. We may have been isolated, but I made sure they had top-notch tutors.”
“Hmm.” Kate nodded. “I don’t see you as the sort of person who sits back and turns over control. So tell me, what did you teach them?”
“You are a good reporter.”
“That’s gracious of you to say.” She winked at Enrique, as at ease with him as if she spoke with the mailman. “Considering who I work for.”
“I taught my sons art history.” Enrique continued on about his favorite Spanish masters.
Duarte swirled brandy in the snifter. Kate’s jab at the Intruder surprised him. But then he’d seen her scruples show in the photos she chose. Would she have taken a job she didn’t like just for Jennifer?
Of course she would.
His determination to win her over multiplied. He still had ten days left. His mind churned with plans to romance her between now and the wedding. Time to fly her to the Museum of Contemporary Photography in Chicago, to live out the pretend courtship they’d concocted.
She might not have understood that he was reaching out last night. But he could tap every last resource in the coming days up to the wedding to ensure she stayed.
His will strengthened, Duarte looked forward to his first step—a surprise trip this weekend to woo her with art in the museum she’d never visited. He savored the vision of another plane ride with her until—
Tony waved for everyone’s attention. He hefted Kolby up and slid his other arm around Shannon’s waist. “We have an announcement to make. Since our family is here, why not proceed with the wedding? Or rather we will as soon as Carlos arrives in the morning.”
Enrique’s pocket watch slipped from his hand. Duarte lunged and scooped it up just shy of the floor.
“We don’t want to wait until the end of the month,” Tony said, his eyes zipping to their father just long enough for Duarte to catch his fear that any delay could be too late for Enrique. “We want to get married this weekend.”
Duarte’s brandy turned bitter in his mouth. They’d moved the wedding up, cutting short everything he needed to do to ensure Kate remained his forever. He only had her promise of cooperation until Tony and Shannon tied the knot. And after the wedding, Kate would have no reason to stay.
She’d asked for a day at a time. And his time with Kate had just been cut abruptly short.
Twelve
“You may kiss your bride,” declared the priest, vestments draping from his arms as he blessed the newlyweds at the chapel’s altar.
Kate blinked back tears, raised her camera and click, clicked. She’d photographed weddings to earn extra money in college, but she’d never witnessed a more emotional, heartfelt union . Tony and Shannon had exchanged their vows in a white stone church with a mission bell over the front doors. Duarte had told her the quaint chapel was the only thing on the island built to resemble a part of their old life. It wasn’t large, but big enough to accommodate everyone here—Enrique, the rest of the Medina family, the island staff. Kate realized she and Jennifer were the only outsiders. Shannon had no family or friends attending other than her son, and Kate felt a kinship with the woman who’d faced the world alone.