“You understand that he’s lost a piece of his memory,” Diega said in what Sorcha imagined was supposed to be a break-it-to-her-gently tone.
“I’ve worked with him for almost three years. He hasn’t forgotten that, has he?”
“No, of course not,” Diega said smoothly. “But he’s not up to working. His doctor suggests he put that off for a few months. If you have a concern at the office, you should take it up with Javiero.”
Diega didn’t stoop to titles. She was on a first-name basis with Cesar’s father, as her casual tone demonstrated. Even when the titles were the highest in the land.
Sorcha swallowed. “He’s more than my employer. When you work that closely with someone, you care about his well-being. I’d like him to know we’re all wishing him well.”
If her firm tone said, “Shut up and let me through the doors,” she couldn’t help it. Three weeks without Cesar’s distantly amused mouth, framed by sculpted stubble, was an eternity. Three weeks without aqua eyes that always met hers, never strayed below her collar, yet still conveyed masculine admiration, had left her dying of thirst.
“Sorcha.” Diega lowered to perch on the edge of a bench.
Oh, how grotesquely patronizing she was as she nodded at a spot opposite.
Sorcha bit back what she wanted to say—don’t call me that. If she had to say “Señorita Fuentes,” she expected to be called Ms. Kelly in return. “I’d rather stand,” Sorcha said.
Diega lowered her gaze, suggesting an ability to hold on to her dignity even when faced with impertinence.
Forcing down the sort of curse that never crossed her lips, Sorcha set her bottom on the corner of a cushion. “Yes?” she prompted Diega.
“I understand why you feel so concerned. Why you think there’s some sort of familiarity between you.” Her dark eyes came up and they were tar-like, sucking Sorcha forward into suffocating blackness. “He felt very guilty when he came to see me that night.”
Don’t betray a thing, her gut told her, but she licked her lips and asked, “Did he?” in a raspy whisper.
Cesar might not have been in love with Diega, but he was a man of honor. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he’d said, right before they’d gone past the point of no return. He’d left her while she slept, leaving a text on her phone. Gone to see Diega.
It had stung to wake alone, but after everything they’d talked about leading up to falling into bed—or rather, falling onto his office sofa—Sorcha had been convinced he’d left to cut things off with Diega. Surely that’s what he had done. Surely.
But then, here was Diega claiming they were engaged...
“I haven’t wanted to bring this up. With anyone,” Diega said firmly. “What is the use in smudging reputations or pointing fingers when faced with much more serious concerns? Especially when he assured me that he was simply sowing his final oats.” Her lip curled in a reflection of distaste.
“What?” That’s what he had called her? Oats?
The persistent ache in Sorcha’s chest, the one that had been seeded by his leaving her and going to Diega in the first place, expanded with a creeping burn. “That wasn’t—”
“You needn’t deny it,” Diega said with a muted smile. “I appreciate your trying to spare my feelings.”
Did Diega have feelings? As far as Sorcha could see, Diega’s ego had caught a brush of dust. Only mild annoyance tainted her expression. No genuine hurt.
Nevertheless, she gave a little nod of determination that Sorcha read as being seen as an unwelcome bug in the house. Something to be squashed and swept out.
“I had hoped we could both be spared this conversation, but... He said you were planning to resign when we marry. That’s right, isn’t it?”
Sorcha searched Diega’s dark eyes, trying to find the trick because she was sure there was one in the question.
“You told him you don’t care for me,” Diega explained, her smile now philosophical. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I didn’t say it like that,” Sorcha blurted. It struck her as bizarre that, for some reason, she found herself trying to cushion the impact to Diega’s feelings, trying to salvage a relationship she didn’t care about, but it was ingrained in her not to upset the women in Cesar’s life.
She was glad she was sitting because she felt very off balance. She had told Cesar that it was one thing to field calls from last night’s airline hostess or a model he took on vacation. It was something entirely different to stand between a wife and her husband. A potential fiancée in this case, but she’d seen the writing on the wall. Diega was gracious and elegant, but completely unafraid to pull rank.
While Sorcha had grown fond of being the most important woman in Cesar’s life.
He had told Diega she had said she didn’t like her? That was really unnerving.
“However you said it, once he realized you would be leaving, he did what he does. Didn’t he?” Diega said with a condescending tuck of her chin.