A Night, A Consequence, A Vow

Fierce emotion flooded him. ‘Say it again,’ he demanded roughly against her throat.

Her laughter was pure. Sweet. ‘I love you.’ Insistent hands tugged his shirt tails from his trousers. ‘Your turn,’ she whispered.

He slid his hand under her d

ress, his questing fingers moving over heated, quivering skin. ‘I love you, mi belleza.’

She arched under his touch.

‘Show me,’ she urged.

And he did.

EPILOGUE

WITH A GLASS of chilled Prosecco in her hand, Marsha slipped away from the lively gathering taking place in the big, sunny back garden of Emily and Ramon’s Chelsea home and crossed the bright green lawn towards the house.

She stepped into the kitchen and her gaze fell on the home-made custard tart over which Emily was grating fresh nutmeg. ‘Yum! That looks delicious.’ She shifted her attention to the large kitchen table where Emily and Ramon often shared their meals instead of in the formal dining room. This afternoon, savouries and cakes and slices and tarts crowded the table’s surface. ‘I can’t believe you did all of this yourself.’

‘I had some help from my housekeeper,’ Emily confided.

Marsha’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have a housekeeper?’

‘A part-time one,’ she said. ‘Ramon insisted. It was either that or a nanny and I refused the latter.’

Marsha put her glass down on the bench and cast her gaze around the gorgeous designer kitchen. ‘I miss you at work but I can’t blame you for not rushing back.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘Do you think you’ll ever return?’

Emily’s shrug was non-committal. ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she admitted, her feelings on the matter mixed. The club and her role there had been her life for so many years, and she’d expected to miss it, but she had other priorities now. Priorities that filled a void she hadn’t realised existed and which meant a great deal more to her than The Royce.

A small, plaintive wail pierced the air and Emily’s maternal instincts went on instant alert.

Elena de la Vega entered the kitchen, making shushing, soothing sounds to the tiny bundle in her arms. ‘I think my granddaughter has already tired of her christening party,’ she said to Emily, her lovely face awash with pride and pleasure as she handed over her grandchild.

Emily smiled her thanks. ‘I’ll feed her and settle her for a nap and then I’ll be out.’ She glanced at Marsha. ‘Would you do me a favour and let everyone know they can help themselves to food?’

She climbed the elegant curved staircase and made her way to the light-filled nursery, an intense joy ballooning in her chest as she gazed down at her daughter.

Kathryn Georgina de la Vega—Katie, to her parents—had arrived ten weeks ago, exactly three months from the day her parents had wed in a beautiful church in Barcelona. The wedding and reception, attended by hundreds of guests, had been a larger, more elaborate affair than Emily had wanted, but the de la Vegas were a prominent family in Spain, and she’d quickly understood her hopes for a small, private ceremony were unrealistic. Plus, Elena’s enthusiasm for the planning had been both irrepressible and contagious. Emily hadn’t had the heart to restrain her.

She’d invited Marsha and her management team to the wedding and, to her surprise, they’d all come, but the person whose presence had mattered to Emily the most had been her father’s. He’d given her away and as he’d walked her down the aisle in her stunning gown of ivory silk and French lace, cleverly styled to hide her baby bump, she’d been fairly sure she’d seen a tear shining in his eye.

Of course her relationship with her father remained a work in progress. Twenty-eight years of hurt wouldn’t heal overnight. But they were moving in the right direction and even Ramon was thawing towards him, especially now the inheritance issue had been temporarily sidelined.

Emily finished nursing then drifted to the window with Katie nestled in her arms, humming the tune of the Spanish lullaby Ramon crooned to his daughter every night.

Chatter and laughter floated up from the garden, along with the squeals and shouts of their neighbours’ children—Joshua and Maddie—who chased each other through the trees at the rear of the property. Amidst the clusters of people Marsha chatted with Maddie and Joshua’s mother, Tamsin, who’d become a friend to Emily, while Elena, a natural-born conversationalist, talked with Marsha’s boyfriend and Tamsin’s husband. Seated in the shade of a large oak tree, Vittorio and her father conversed and, further away beneath a different tree, Ramon and his brother appeared deep in conversation.

Whatever they spoke about it must have been serious, for the expressions on their faces were intense.

Emily still marvelled that Xavier, an incurable workaholic, had taken time out of his demanding schedule to visit London.

Suddenly Ramon looked up and caught her eye through the glass and her breath hitched. Her husband seemed to possess a sixth sense where she was concerned; rarely did she get to observe him without his noticing.

She watched him grip his brother’s shoulder, say something and then stride across the lawn towards the house. By the time he walked into the nursery, she’d settled their daughter down to sleep and returned to the window. He leaned over the cot, kissed a rosy little cheek and then moved behind his wife, sliding his arms around her middle.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her gaze focused on the figure of his handsome, enigmatic brother, standing alone beneath the tree now. ‘Is everything all right with Xav?’

Ramon kissed the top of her head. ‘He’s fine.’