A Deal Before the Altar

So unprepared he had to read it again.

Carlo had renounced all claims to his father’s estate in deference to him. Santos closed his eyes in relief, but that was short-lived as the implications of the letter hit home. What would this mean for him and Georgina?

He tried to get Carlo on his mobile, but it went straight to voicemail. Annoyed, he hung up. He wasn’t about to leave a message. Instead he tried to focus on his work, but all sorts of jumbled thoughts raced through his mind. He’d never felt this disorientated or distracted before.

After several hours he gave up on trying to work or contacting Carlo. He picked up the letter again and headed for the kitchen, unable even to consider trying to sleep. More coffee was required. As it brewed he read the letter again, trying to understand why his brother had felt the need to do this when he’d offered to buy him out several times. What point was he making?

Exasperated, he tossed it on the kitchen table and walked over to the windows. The faint light of dawn crept across the sky, and with it he hoped would come answers and solutions.

* * *

It was still very early, but Georgina knew that Santos was likely to be up and about, so she quickly scanned the living room, relieved to see it empty, and headed for the kitchen. She flicked on the kettle and searched for a mug, needing as much caffeine as she could get after her sleepless night. She noticed the partly drunk cups of cold coffee—evidence that either Santos had been entertaining or he too had had a bad night.

The coffee’s aroma revived her and she leant back against one of the kitchen units to sip her drink, wrapping her hands comfortingly around her mug. It was then that she noticed the letter. It looked official, and at first she turned the other way, but as she did so a name caught her attention.

She looked more closely and nearly gasped at what she saw. The letter very clearly stated that Carlo had renounced his claim on his father’s estate.

Guilt rushed through her for even thinking of looking at Santos’s mail, but that was hotly followed by anger and disappointment. This letter changed everything. Santos would inherit his father’s business without the need for a wife—or an heir. He didn’t need her any more. So why was he tormenting her like this? Insisting she stay with him? To punish her?

She should feel relieved. At least she could walk away from him and try and piece together her life. Emma had Carlo and didn’t need her any more, so she could get that longed-for peaceful cottage in the country.

The coffee turned bitter in her mouth and she put the nearly full mug down on the side, turning her back on the letter and all it meant. She felt sick when she should be relieved that she could at last walk away from this sham of a marriage. She should be heading out of the door right now and not giving the man she’d married a second thought. But she couldn’t.

She couldn’t just walk away.

She loved him.

‘They’re back.’

Santos’s voice broke through her rambling thoughts. His hair was still damp from the shower. The last time she’d seen his hair wet they had just shared the most amazing moment in the shower. Did he remember that? She looked at him, as immaculate as ever in his designer suit, and found it hard to believe he would.

‘Are they all right?’ She pushed aside her memories and worries as she watched him walk past her into the kitchen. She was mesmerised by him, by the powerful aura he exuded, and found all she could do was watch as he organised fresh coffee.

‘Of course they are. We’ll have dinner with them tonight. Sort everything out.’

He sounded cheerful, not at all weighed down by the problems of the last few days. That letter had obviously made everything right for him, but when was he going to tell her? Then it hit her. How long had he known?

‘No.’

The word rang out in the kitchen and he stopped and looked at her, a frown creasing his brow.

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t you want to see Emma? I thought it would be what you wanted?’ He looked puzzled. He flicked the switch on the coffee machine and walked over to her. ‘What’s the matter, Georgina?’

The concern that should have been in such words was missing, replaced by suspicion.

She bit down hard on her tongue. She wanted to tell him she knew about the letter, wanted to demand to know when he’d known about it. But as she looked up into his face, searched his eyes, all she could do was shake her head.

He reached out to her, holding her arms loosely, and looked at her. ‘What’s wrong?’ And this time he did sound concerned—but not for her, surely?

Wrong? Everything was wrong. And suddenly she knew she couldn’t walk away from him without telling him why.