The Disobedient Virgin

“Cat. I don’t know if a Brazilian would—”

“Third—”

“You said you had a couple of conditions. That means two.”

“Third,” she said blithely, “he has to sign documents agreeing ahead of time to a divorce. I’ll marry him, I’ll inherit my fortune, and then I’ll file for divorce.” Cat smiled. “Simple, isn’t it?”

“Simple. Or simplistic. Why would a man agree to such a scheme? What’s he going to get out of it? If you’re thinking of dangling a cash reward in front of him, well, if this man has enough money not to want any of yours, why would he see cash as an inducement?”

This was it. The way to make her plan work. She didn’t particularly like it, but what other out did she have?

“I thought about that.”

“And?”

Catarina took a deep, deep breath. Tough times called for tough measures.

“You have to realize,” she said quietly, “that I’ve been dreaming about my freedom for a long time.”

“I understand, but—”

“No!” Cat put her hand on his forearm. “No, Jake. You can’t possibly understand. Not really. My parents died when I was very young. My uncle—my guardian—put me into the convent the day after the funeral and never took me out again. Not for holidays or summers or weekends. He left me there. It wasn’t just my home, my school, it was my entire world.”

“Cat, it must have been awful, but—”

“It wasn’t awful. Not all the time. Some of the sisters were good to me. I even made some friends. But when they turned eighteen they left. They went through those gates, Jake, the way I’d always thought I would. But I didn’t. I had to watch them go while I stayed behind for another three endless years.” Her fingers caught his shirt and twisted into it. “The only thing that kept me from going crazy was dreaming about what it would be like when I finally walked through those gates, too.”

Jake could feel a tightness in his throat. His own childhood had been hit and miss. He’d courted danger and often found it, had his nose bloodied before he’d learned to throw the first punch to protect himself. But he’d had a mother who loved him and the city of New York as his playground, and when he’d turned eighteen he’d left the bad stuff behind forever.

The life Cat had just described sounded like the next best thing to doing hard time in prison.

He took her hand, clasped it between both of his.

“Cat,” he said softly, “honey—”

“Don’t you see?” Tears glittered in her eyes. “I can’t spend the rest of my life in yet another cage, no matter how glossy it might be.”

“I told you, I’ll find a good guy. One who’ll make you happy.”

“Freedom will make me happy, Jake. Only freedom!” She took a shuddering breath. “I thought about giving up my inheritance—”

“No. You’re not to do that. Your parents wanted you to have the money.”

“I know. It’s their legacy to me. And I know, too, that they thought they were doing the right thing, but—but—”

She began to weep. Jake cursed and pulled her into his lap.

“Don’t cry,” he said, holding her close against him. “Honey, don’t. Please don’t. I’ll find a way.”

Cat tilted her head back. “You will?”

“Yes. That guy at the Brazilian Embassy? I’ll phone him tomorrow, ask him to introduce you around. To introduce us around. That way I can keep tabs on the men you meet. You’ll have as much say in choosing the right one as I will.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled through her tears, swiped her hand under her nose. Jake freed one arm, reached past her for a napkin.

“Here,” he said gruffly, holding it to her nose. “Blow.”