The Forgotten Gallo Bride

She smiled weakly.

‘I’m not that much of an animal and you’re more of a treasure than you believe.’ He frowned. ‘You need to value yourself more.’

Zara snapped her spine straight at his zinger but she ignored his point because she knew what he didn’t. She knew the truth. Before his accident he’d met her. And he hadn’t wanted her.

She wasn’t a treasure—not then or now. What was happening between them now was because of circumstance. Because of his loneliness and a basic instinct that needed fulfilling. The fact that he’d denied it showed he’d thought about that himself.

And that was okay.

‘If you’re not hiding, then it wouldn’t be a problem to have other people to stay,’ she pointed out.

‘It’s not possible,’ he said gruffly, that finality in his reply. ‘And it’s not what I want.’

Her heart thudded as she saw just a glimpse of emotion in his eyes. But she had to press just a little more. He was locked away in this beautiful home, not even enjoying all of it. It seemed such a waste to her—most especially of his life and what he had to offer.

‘Would it be so awful if the world knew?’ she asked.

He straightened his shoulders. ‘My clients would lose faith in my investment choices.’

She shook her head. ‘But your company has done better in this last year than any other previously. Wouldn’t that cancel out any criticism?’

‘Doubt would begin to creep in,’ he replied, all authoritative businessman now. ‘There is no room for any doubt. There must be unshakeable belief.’

‘But people know you’re human. You’re not an oracle. Certainly not made of stone.’ Though he looked it now.

‘I never would have remained in place at my company if I hadn’t been sure of my ability to do my job,’ he said sternly. ‘I’ve lost many memories, but some things are still there. Just as I know how to brush my teeth, I can still see the patterns and understand the numbers... But I employ a number of people and I need to be mindful of their position too. That is why Jasper is currently the public face of the company and he’s doing a good job. Eventually I will return.’

‘Will you? When?’

‘When I am ready.’

‘Really? You really see yourself breaking out of here and going back to London?’

‘Don’t you think I can?’

‘I think you can do anything you set your mind to. It’s whether you really want to that’s the question.’

He gritted his teeth. ‘I’m happy here.’

‘You’re safe here. That’s a different thing.’

‘Is it? Doesn’t being safe make me happy?’

‘Maybe there would be other things to be happy about. And are you truly safe or are you constantly worried you’re going to get found out?’

Wasn’t that why he’d been so reluctant to even open the door to her? Wasn’t that why he never went into the village? He was trapped here. And he shouldn’t have to be.

He didn’t answer.

She ventured closer. ‘Have you forgotten anything else since the accident?’

‘No,’ he answered tightly. ‘But that’s not to say it might not happen. I work hard to keep my memories.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I write a daily journal. Archive articles and so on.’

‘You hoard newspapers?’ she teased gently.

‘Online. Sure. I keep a record of every conversation. Every interaction. Every decision.’

‘Do you have a record on me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do I get to see it?’

‘No.’ He almost smiled then.

‘How detailed is the record?’ She suddenly couldn’t meet his gaze as she realised the implication of what could be in his journal.

‘Not that detailed.’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘I’ve found it difficult to know what to write. Although...’ he paused wickedly ‘...maybe I should detail it all. Looks to me like you’d be curious to read it.’

She shook her head.

‘What can you remember before the accident?’

‘You want to know what my childhood was like?’ He walked ahead of her and then turned to block her path. ‘You want to analyse me?’

‘Is there something to analyse?’ she countered, knowing she was too curious. But she wanted to help him somehow.

‘Maybe. As much in me as there is in you.’

‘I’m not afraid of telling you my story,’ she said quietly. ‘I had a happy childhood here in England until I was twelve and then my parents died and I went to live with my only living relative—an uncle in the Caribbean.’

An uncle whose photo was upstairs in his gallery. A small, single photo. A sparse single sentence detailing an invitation. No mention of his ex-wives. Or of her. She’d nearly fainted when she’d spotted it.

He looked startled.

‘I know.’ She shrugged ruefully and tried to make light of it. ‘I don’t look like I ever lived there. I have no tan. Never could get a tan.’

‘It wasn’t a happy time?’

She shook her head. ‘I hadn’t known him. Neither he nor his wife knew me before they flew in to rescue me. But I wasn’t what they were expecting.’ Or wanted. ‘The first day with them in their home isn’t something I can ever forget.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Owned a casino, not a very successful one.’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘What did he do to you?’

She hesitated.

‘He hit you?’

‘Only a few times.’ She’d learned what not to say and when to keep out of the way. But sometimes there had been no avoiding him at all.

‘Once is one time too many.’ Tomas frowned. ‘Being hit hurts.’

She interlaced her fingers to stop herself reaching out to him, knowing that if she made a fuss he’d stop talking. ‘Someone hit you?’

He met her gaze with a wry twist to his lips. ‘Lots of someones. Lots of times.’

Goosebumps riddled her skin and she felt as if a chasm had opened up at her feet. One false move and she’d fall. She didn’t want to fall, she wanted to understand. She wanted to care.

‘Why?’ she could only whisper.

That wryness faded as steeliness replaced it. ‘My mother was a whore.’

She flinched but managed to hold in her gasp. He’d chosen that word to shock her; he was watching too closely for her reaction.

But her next reaction was unstoppable. A deep, painful pity rose—his poor mother. And poor Tomas. ‘She must have faced some very tough times.’ Zara picked her words carefully, but knew they were useless platitudes.

He hesitated a second, then it seemed the words spilled out, even though she sensed he didn’t want them to.

‘She became pregnant with me when she was fifteen. Her parents were not supportive. She ran away to the city and once there...ruin. Unfortunately I was left to grow up in a small village in rural Italy where such mistakes of morality were unforgivable.’

‘She gave you up?’ The poor woman had been little more than a child herself. ‘You lived with your father?’

‘Who knows who he was?’ He dismissed the idea bitterly. ‘A village boy, most likely. One who did not step up to his responsibilities when my mother’s pregnancy was revealed. No, I was brought up by my mother’s father.’

‘Didn’t he protect you?’ Zara’s heart lurched painfully. Or had he been the one to hurt Tomas—making the child pay the price for the mother’s mistake? And what had happened to his mother? There was such deep hurt there. Years of hurt.

‘He was the one who refused to allow my mother to stay. She came to him when I was four, desperate to return home. He allowed her to leave me, but not stay herself. He hit but only to discipline. It was the other kids who hit—cowards who attack only when they’re certain of winning. In groups, against the smaller or weaker. Bullies.’

‘So you were shunned.’

‘Of course.’

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Had there been no one to love him? And now he chose isolation. Because not even his family had offered the protection a child should have by right.

‘Do you forgive her?’

He stared at the door, his face an expressionless mask. ‘What is there to forgive her for? Desperate times force people into desperate acts. She did what she had to, to try to survive. The world’s oldest profession.’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘For leaving you.’

Because even though she knew it was possible to understand on a rational level, it still hurt emotionally. She still hurt that her parents had died, she still hurt that her uncle hadn’t cared for her at all.

‘She made her choice,’ he answered almost robotically. ‘She had no choice.’

‘Have you ever seen her again?’

His lack of reply told her it all. And now her eyes watered at the image of a small boy left alone to face the judgment of a closed community. And for a desperate mother who’d done what she’d thought was for the best.

‘Don’t cry for me, Zara. It is so long in the past. They can’t hurt me any more.’