A Diamond for Del Rio's Housekeeper

‘Something smaller and more discreet?’

‘Small?’ he repeated, as if she had suggested something obscene.

‘Smaller,’ she said, knowing they couldn’t keep their guests waiting much longer.

‘Well, it’s too late for that,’ he said, ‘and, under the circumstances, I think everyone should be left in no doubt that I am fully committed to this match.’

‘I’m sorry. You must think me ungrateful.’ She only wished there were no barriers between them, and she could really explain how she felt, but she was as much to blame for the distance between them as Xavier. Rosie’s childhood had taught her to feel that she wasn’t worthy of love, and she guessed that his had taught him pretty much the same. ‘I’d rather not wear this,’ she said honestly as she handed back the ring. ‘Wearing it would feel dishonest to me.’

‘Nonsense,’ Xavier insisted, but something in his eyes suggested he might just understand. He confirmed her suspicion when he said, ‘I do know you a little. That’s why I took you aside. I anticipated some reluctance on your part, but we can’t disappoint our guests now. We’ll go back into the ballroom, where you will smile when I make the formal announcement of our engagement, and gasp with pleasure when I show you the ring.’

It was only the understanding in his eyes that made her agree. ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ she said. Her heart squeezed tight when she saw the relief on his face. ‘Of course I’ll do it,’ she repeated, suddenly filled with the most urgent need to reassure him.

* * *

The next day every newspaper carried the story of the fabulous engagement ball at Don Xavier Del Rio’s palatial mansion, which had taken yet another eligible bachelor off the scene. Everyone seemed to have been persuaded by their play-acting, Rosie read with relief. She was back at the hotel, and had ordered every newspaper she could think of, so she could check that no one suspected their engagement was a fake, and their subsequent marriage would be a sham. They’d made the headlines, of course, and there were endless shots of Rosie staring lovingly at Xavier, and Xavier smiling down at his fiancée. There were even more shots of the ring, and from every possible angle. ‘The ring of the century’ some were saying, as if the fabulous jewel were a weather condition that had blown everyone away.

As far as Rosie was concerned the ring was a monstrous billboard, reminding her of her mistake in ever thinking this plan made sense. How could she play-act a marriage to Xavier, when she was fast developing feelings for him? And to make matters worse, they were feelings that would only be dismissed and discarded by Xavier, who wasn’t capable of feeling anything.

The ring was also a huge responsibility, Rosie reflected, tossing the newspaper aside, and one she had no interest in keeping. The diamond was so big and heavy it kept swinging around her finger, and she didn’t dare to take it off in case she lost it. She knew she was being ungrateful, but the ring seemed to represent everything that was wrong with their match. She held the ring up to the light. It was so big it looked unreal. So, perhaps it was the perfect ring, after all...

She was going to keep her promise to Doña Anna but at a far higher price than she’d imagined. If she and Xavier were lucky enough to have a child, she would love that baby with every fibre of her being, and defend it fiercely from hurt, but would Xavier do the same, or was the idea of an heir just a figure of speech to him?

One of the worst parts of the ball had been speaking to the islanders after the announcement of their engagement. Xavier had invited a group of them to the ball. Trying to join in their excitement at the news of their engagement had torn her in two. She hated the pretence, and wondered if Xavier had noticed that she’d left the ball almost immediately after talking to them. Seeing she was upset, Margaret had stepped in, calling for the driver to take Rosie back to the hotel. Rosie had slipped away while Xavier had been talking to the ambassador. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt him, or give him the chance to try to stop her leaving. She’d played her part. She had been charming to all his guests, and they’d been charming back, now that she was to marry such a prominent member of the aristocracy. Safely back at the hotel, she’d stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognising the woman in the exquisite dress. She’d washed her face, put on her cotton PJ’s, and had fallen into bed exhausted, sleeping fitfully as she dreamed about an impossibly handsome man, dancing the night away with an impossibly naïve woman, who didn’t have a clue what tomorrow held.

She sprang alert at the sound of a knock on the door. Breakfast. Thank goodness! She was starving. She’d been too nervous to eat before the ball, and during it she had been with—

‘Xavier?’

She stood back from the door as he strode in. ‘Are you all right? If I’d known you were coming...’ Smoothing her hair, she tightened the belt on the hotel’s towelling robe. He looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week. His stubble was thick. His hair was tangled. He had obviously tugged on the first jeans he’d found.

‘Everyone wondered where you got to last night,’ he said, swinging around to face her.

Was he angry, or was he concerned about her? She couldn’t tell. His eyes were ravaged with exhaustion, and his body looked unbearably tense.

‘I stayed at the ball until almost midnight.’

‘I know when you left,’ he said. ‘And you left without a word to your host.’ He angled his chin, his black eyes firing questions at her.

‘My fiancé,’ she corrected him in a timely reminder that they had both made a pledge last night in front of hundreds of witnesses.

‘You should have stayed. We have a lot to talk through.’

‘Like...?’ she prompted, unconsciously twisting the belt on her robe until it started to cut into her hand.

Like how he felt about fathering a child, Xavier thought, when there was no possibility of him developing a talent for empathy, or learning parenting skills in the time available. ‘Like your views on becoming a mother,’ he said. ‘Are you ready for it? You’re

very young.’

‘But I feel as if I’ve been preparing for this all my life. Surely you must know how I feel? I’ve dreamed of nothing but having a family of my own for as long as I can remember.’

‘But not forming that family like this, surely?’

‘If your heir means nothing more to you than securing the island, then, yes, I do have doubts,’ she admitted.

‘For the child,’ he said, nodding agreement. ‘So you can only hope I’ll feel differently once the child is born?’

‘Maybe you never will,’ she said, her eyes searching his. ‘Or, maybe you’re worried that you won’t be able to feel any different when you’re a father.’