The baby of a man she didn’t know. At all.
She was a smart, responsible woman. How could she have been so careless?
She didn’t let herself dwell on the fact that both her brothers had been through this. That maybe some dark and desperate part of her had sabotaged herself into this position, hoping to find a version of the happiness Cesar and Rico had both found.
That sort of thinking was beyond illogical. It was self-destructive.
And genuinely impossible when she didn’t even know her lover’s name.
But that was why she wanted to see Poppy.
She put her car in Drive and returned to the scene of the crime.
* * *
Half an hour of mutual admiration with her two-year-old niece restored a little of Pia’s equilibrium.
Despite the circumstances, she looked forward to motherhood, she realized with a small bubble of optimism. She wouldn’t be a distant, coldly practical woman like her mother, even though she already knew La Reina would judge her harshly for showing affection toward her child. She scolded Sorcha and Poppy for it often and Pia could still hear her mother rebuking her own nanny for hugging her.
Don’t spoil her. She’ll become dependent.
Yes, it must have been the early hugs, not the lack of them thereafter that had turned Pia into the withdrawn, insecure, social-phobic person that she was.
“Will you go with Nanny while I talk to your mamà?” Pia asked Lily.
Lily gave Pia’s neck a fierce hug and said, “I yuv you,” in English, bringing tears to Pia’s eyes as the small girl waved bye-bye on her way out the door.
She would have that soon—someone who would say those words and mean it, every day.
“I think I got some good ones,” Poppy said, setting aside her camera as they entered the lounge. “Thank you. I’m making an album for Rico for Christmas. I don’t know what else to get the man who has everything.”
Pia’s brother Rico had been in a bad place after his brief first marriage had ended in tragedy. Then he had discovered that Poppy had had his daughter in secret. Since locating them, he’d become more like the brother Pia recollected from her earliest years, before he left for school; the one who was patient and protective, willing to sit with an arm around her so she felt safe as she watched an evil witch in a children’s movie.
“Coffee? Wine?” Poppy offered.
Pia faltered as she realized she was off alcohol and likely coffee, as well. Good thing she had barely touched what her mother had served.
“I came from lunch at Mother’s. Nothing for now, thank you.”
“Did s
he say something about the auction? Is that why you’re here?” Poppy winced as she sat. “When you said you wanted to ask me about it, I thought you wanted the auctioneer’s card.” She picked it up from a side table. “Am I in trouble?”
“No. But I would like that, if you don’t mind.” Pia pocketed the card. “No, Mother is quite pleased you broke records on the fund-raising, even if she doesn’t agree with your methods.”
“Because of the painting,” Poppy said heavily, shoulders slumping.
“I meant the costumes. Mother thinks that sort of thing is a gimmick. What are you talking about? Which painting?”
“The one from the attic. The young woman. She’s the reason I raised so much. The bidder paid a ridiculous sum.”
“I remember it. Who bought it?” She held her breath.
“That’s the trouble. I don’t know.”
“The auctioneer didn’t tell you?”
“Wouldn’t,” Poppy said flatly. “I tried. The previous owners were upset and wanted to know.”