“Sit right here and don’t move while I’m gone.”
“Like a rock.”
He didn’t trust her as he went to the cabin phone. They were the only passengers on board, but a concierge answered and promised to send a maid immediately. Alejandro thanked him.
“Apparently the captain has staff ready for us.”
“Your father pays his salary, and he wouldn’t want any complaints coming from you.”
“Are you saying our service is less than sincere?”
“I’ll pass on that. Would you please find my nightgown? My toiletries are in the small flowered bag in my suitcase.”
“I’ll get it.” Fatima had folded her clothes in an organized fashion, and he pulled out a pale aqua satin nightgown. It held a faint hint of floral perfume. She’d posed in perfume ads, but he didn’t recall her ever wearing any. He carried her things to her. “Do you have a favorite perfume?”
“Not really. I rinse off everything when I finish work and don’t bother with it when I’m not.”
He answered the knock at the door. A petite maid in a black uniform and white apron greeted him. “Please come in. My wife would be happy for your help, wouldn’t you, dear?”
“Most certainly. Let’s go into the bathroom and close the door. What’s your name?”
The maid rolled Ana’s chair into the large powder-blue tiled room and shut the door behind them. “I’m Marie, and I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve seen you in so many ads, but I didn’t believe anyone could really be as perfect as you.”
“I’m a little less than perfect for the moment, Marie, but without makeup and a hair stylist, I’m not that different from anyone else.”
“Oh, but you are! Look at your hair.” She picked up the trailing curls, held them up like wings and let them float down over the back of the wheelchair. “How long did it take you to grow it so long?”
Ana gazed at the mirror, but saw only swimming colors. “I’ve had long hair forever, Marie. Now help me out of this dress and into my nightgown, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Alejandro paced their cabin and searched for what else he might have forgotten she’d need. He’d never had dates who needed special care, but a wife required far more tender concern. She wouldn’t be his wife until Captain Reyes married them at sea, and as she had pointed out, the captain couldn’t refuse his requests, so it was as good as done.
When Ana rolled out of the bathroom dressed in the pretty gown, his glance was immediately drawn to the deep purple bruise crossing her shoulder where her seat belt had held her during the crash. Her hospital gown and wrap dress had covered it, and seeing it now, he fought not to grimace, but his smile wavered.
“I know. I’m several shades of purple where I shouldn’t be. The bruises will fade long before my leg heals, so I won’t be that hard to look at for long.”
He tipped Marie and showed her out. “You’ll never be hard to look at, Ana. Don’t even think that.”
“Right now, I don’t want to think at all. Will you help me into bed?”
He picked her up from the wheelchair and carried her to the bed. He’d already turned down the covers and eased her between the sheets. “Would you like some music as you fall asleep?”
“Please, that would be nice.”
He tuned in a classical station on the radio set into the wall and turned it low.
He couldn’t sit through a movie and went up on deck to walk off the energy he could barely contain. Once they left port on Friday, he’d have to weave in and out through the passengers strolling the deck. It was a popular pastime on a cruise, and while no one would recognize him, he’d not considered how quickly Ana would be sighted by fans. She’d be sweet and sign autographs, but he didn’t want to share her with anyone. He supposed he’d have to get used to it. He laughed as he thought of being called Mr. Santillan, but so what? Ana would be his wife.
Chapter Fourteen
Ana had fallen asleep in the center of the king-size bed, leaving plenty of room for him on either side. He wondered if couples argued over who took which side of the bed. Some must. He settled into the side on her left so he’d not bump her broken leg. He slid his arm around her shoulders to cushion her head against his shoulder. She murmured his name sleepily. He kissed her forehead, and she looked up at him.
“This is nice.”
“It is.” Her lips were soft and inviting, and one good-night kiss melted into a dozen. He reluctantly reminded himself she was too bruised to want more and drew back. “We never talked about having a family.”
“Little girls and boys who look like us?”