Martinez's Pregnant Wife

Lisa watched stoically as they exchanged their vows, their rings and then kissed one another. They didn’t take their eyes from each other as they stayed locked in their world of love.

Max had done all that with her. The vows, the rings exchanged, the look and then the kiss, but none of it had been for real, none of it had been love. She clamped her teeth together against the threat of tears, cursing the pregnancy hormones that seemed to make crying her default emotion right now. No, she would not cry. She would never let Max know how much he’d hurt her—or that she cared.

She kept up that pretence as the guests assembled for the wedding breakfast, hardly daring to look at how happy and radiant the bride looked. It was hard to believe she was the same woman Lisa had seen leaving the restaurant in London so hurriedly just a few days ago. Did that mean there was hope for her and Max? That they could put aside their differences and fall in love again?

Again? Who was she kidding? Max had never loved her. That was the one difference. Raul had obviously loved Lydia despite the fallout that must have happened, probably all due to the stress of discovering and meeting his brother.

Beside her, she felt Max inhale deeply as an older woman talked with Raul, looking at them, and then she walked toward them. Instantly on alert, Lisa guessed this must be Raul’s mother, the woman his father had left Max and his mother to be with all those years ago. As she tried to process this, the woman spoke to Max in Spanish and, judging from his curt and brief response, it wasn’t good.

She risked a glance at Max to see his jaw was set in that stubborn way she knew only too well and she wished she understood what the woman had said, and if it was even Raul’s mother.

Then the older woman looked at Lisa and spoke in heavily accented English. ‘I am happy that my son has found love, but it is strange, is it not, that both the Valdez sons have taken an English bride?’

Her voice was warm, friendly. She wasn’t merely making a comment, it was accepting Max, a way to bridge the gap between them. She didn’t have to do that. It must be the hardest thing to face the son of your husband’s mistress. Lisa smiled at her, but she could feel Max’s anger, feel him bristle with indignation. She didn’t need to look at him to know that.

‘I am not a Valdez.’ Max’s response was harsh and razor sharp.

Raul’s mother looked at him and continued in her accented English, obviously wanting Lisa to understand. ‘You may not like to admit it, but you are. More than you will ever know.’

‘I think not.’ The growled response was fierce, full of denial.

‘You are, Max. There is no doubt that you are Maximiliano’s son and it is far more than good looks which makes me say this.’ Raul’s mother looked into his eyes and Lisa could see her expression soften. This was a woman who didn’t blame him, didn’t hate him and was extending the hand of friendship. Maybe she knew he’d lost his mother as a teenager and all too soon after losing his father.

Further thoughts were cast aside as Max cursed in Spanish. ‘I have no wish to be like my father.’

Raul’s mother turned and looked back at her son and Lisa wondered how this was all really affecting her. Then she turned her attention back to Max and touched him gently on the arm. Max looked down at her hand, a stark contrast to charcoal grey of his suit. She saw Max swallow, as if he was trying to gulp down the pain of the past, and Lisa realised she knew very little of it—just as he knew very little of her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke in a hushed tone, but still in English. ‘There is no denying you are his son, just as there is no denying you are Raul’s brother. Don’t run from the truth, Max, face it. Own it. Make it your friend, not your enemy.’

Lisa frowned. What was this woman talking about?

‘Thank you for your advice, signora. I will give it some thought, but right now my wife and I need to leave.’

‘We do?’ Lisa sensed there was more to this conversation if only he’d participate in it, but she also knew Max and pushing him to do anything he didn’t want to do was useless.

He put his arm around Lisa in a show of affection she knew wasn’t real, pulling her close, and that instant spark of heat surged through her, much to her annoyance. ‘We are returning to England for Christmas.’

‘How romantic.’ Raul’s mother smiled at her. ‘It looks like you don’t need my advice after all.’

Lisa hid her confusion behind a bright smile of her own. What was he talking about? Christmas in England? With Max?

* * *

Max looked at Raul’s mother, questioning if the genuine warmth in her voice and soft brown eyes was really directed at him—her husband’s secret love child. A stab of something approaching jealousy pierced him as he thought of his own mother, her unhappiness after his father, this woman’s husband, had left. He recalled the defeat in everything she’d done since that day. Even though she’d found a gentle and loving man in his stepfather, she’d never had the will to properly fight her cancer and by the time Angelina had brought a smile back to her face, it was too late to win that particular battle.