Exotic Nights
“I was just thinking that they didn’t need me. It was an odd feeling.”
“You are needed here.”
But he didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to mean it. “Only for the next couple of months,” she replied more crisply than she’d meant to.
Marcos either didn’t notice or purposely ignored the dig. “We are retuning to Buenos Aires in the morning,” he said. “I’ve been away from my business for too long as it is.”
Her heart began to throb. “What about baby Armando? Will he come with us?”
Marcos shook his head, his hands shoved in the pockets of the crisp black trousers he’d worn to the funeral. “I am working on finding him a home, but for now I think it’s best he stay here where he is familiar with every thing.”
Francesca gaped at him. “He’s a toddler, Marcos. He’s familiar with us. We could take care of him—”
“No,” he cut in almost brutally. “Do not think we are taking this child, Francesca. He needs a permanent home, and he needs people who will not abandon him when he’s come to love them.”
She slapped a hand to her chest. “I wouldn’t abandon him.”
“Ah, but you will when our marriage contract is up.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
BUENOS AIRES WAS a shock to the senses after the high desert beauty of Mendoza and the wine country. But even more of a shock was the reality of her situation with Marcos. They’d made love every night at the winery, they’d spent days walking in the vineyard, talking about Ana and the Foundation and the kids that it helped. They’d spent hours with Armando, playing with him, taking him for a sunny picnic once under the lone olive tree, and tucking him in at night.
In short, they’d played a happy family and she’d let herself be sucked in by the performance. No matter that he’d said he didn’t love her, she’d thought surely he must love little Armando, that he would want her to stay and help him take care of the child.
Instead, he planned to let someone else adopt the boy.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She’d been stupid to let herself believe, because when it came down to it, Marcos was not going to want to stay married to a woman who couldn’t have his children.
And she didn’t blame him, not really. He deserved children of his own, and she was not the woman who could ever give that to him. This was not a permanent marriage and would never be so. Marcos was under no delusions about the reality of it, while she kept trying to convince herself that he cared and that things could change given time.
As the day wore on, Francesca realized how much she missed little Armando. How could you fall in love with a child in a week? But she had, and while she didn’t doubt that Marcos wanted the best for him too, she was sick to think that she’d never see the little boy again.
Marcos returned from his offices downtown sometime around eight that evening. Francesca had not heard from him since they’d touched down that morning and he’d gone to Navarre Industries’ headquarters. She was watching television in the living area when he stalked in and tossed his briefcase and suit jacket on one of the couches.
Her heart always leapt at the sight of him, but now her joy was tinged with hurt and sadness. He picked up the remote and clicked the mute button.
“We are having a cocktail party here tomorrow evening,” he said without preamble. “I need you to coordinate the menu with the chef. You will also need to choose a suitable dress since you will be wearing the Corazón del Diablo.”
Francesca blinked. Anger began to build like a kettle on a low flame. “And what is this cocktail party for?”
“It’s business—but there will be a couple attending who I’ve been told cannot conceive. They may be perfect for Armando.”
“You certainly waste no time,” she said crisply.
He looked puzzled. “You would be happier if this was not a top priority to find Armando a loving family?”
“I didn’t say that. But you seem to think that cho
osing a family is rather like going to a store and picking out a new suit.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what you expect from me, Francesca. I won’t let just anyone adopt Armando. They are a possibility, not a definite choice.”
What could she say? That she was angry and hurt because he wanted to find the child a loving home? What sense did that make?
None, of course. But it went deeper than that. It was about them as a couple, about the death knell of her dreams. It hurt to be faced with the reality of his feelings for her.
Marcos’s expression changed. Grew softer, pitying even. “Francesca, I’m sorry if this hurts you. But I have to find a home for him. He is my responsibility. I know you grew close to him, but you will not always be in his life. Surely you can see how this is a problem?”