Claimed for the De Carrillo Twins

She focused her attention on her boys, who were huddled close, brown eyes huge. ‘Matty, Sancho...you know this is your Uncle Cruz’s house, where we’re going to live from now on?’ She ignored the pang inside her when she said that, and the thought of a life stretching ahead of her as a wife of inconvenience.

‘Man. The big man,’ Matty observed.

Trinity bit back a smile at the innocent nickname. ‘Yes, sweetie—but he’s also your uncle and he wants to get to know you better.’

Sancho said nothing, just regarded his uncle. Then he said imperiously, ‘Play with us.’

Matty jumped up and down. ‘Yes! Play!’

Sensing things starting to unravel, Trinity said firmly, ‘First lunch, and then you can play again for a little while.’

She scooped up Matty and handed him to Cruz, who took him awkwardly and rose to his feet. She then picked up Sancho and started to walk inside, almost afraid to look behind her and see how Matty must be tarnishing Cruz’s sartorial perfection.

He was saying excitedly, ‘Higher, Unkel Cooz...higher!’

Seeing his brother in the arms of the tall, scary man who now wasn’t so scary was making Sancho squirm to get free from Trinity’s arms. ‘I want higher too!’

They walked into the bright dining room where Mrs Jordan was waiting for them. Trinity didn’t miss the gleam of approval in the woman’s eyes when she saw Cruz carrying one of his nephews.

Trinity thought again of that rare chink of vulnerability Cruz had revealed outside. She realised belatedly that this had to be hard for him—coming from such a dark and dour place with only a half-brother he’d never been allowed to connect with properly. And yet he was making a real effort.

A rush of tenderness flooded her before she could stop it.

She tried to hide her tumultuous emotions as she strapped Sancho into his high seat. When she felt composed again she looked up to see Mrs Jordan showing Cruz how to strap Mateo into his. He looked flummoxed by such engineering, and it should have emasculated the man but it didn’t. It only made that tenderness surge again. Pathetic.

Cruz sat down at the head of the table. The boys were seated one on each side beside Trinity and Mrs Jordan. Staff scurried in and out, presenting a buffet of salads and cold meats, cheese and bread. The boys were having chopped up pasta and meatballs. They ate with their habitual gusto, insisting on feeding themselves and invariably spraying anyone in close proximity with tiny bits of pasta and meat.

Trinity sneaked another glance at Cruz to see if this domestic milieu was boring him, but he was watching his nephews, fascinated.

‘How do you tell them apart?’ he asked, during a lull when small mouths were full.

Trinity nodded her head towards Mateo on the other side of the table. ‘Matty is a tiny bit taller and leaner. He’s also a little more gregarious than Sancho. Where he leads, Sancho follows. She scooped some of Sancho’s food back onto his plate and said with a fond smile, ‘Sancho is more watchful and quiet. He’s also got a slightly different coloured right eye—a tiny discolouration.’

Cruz leaned forward to look and Sancho grinned at the attention, showing tiny teeth and a mouth full of masticated food.

When he pulled back, Cruz said a little faintly, ‘Rio had the same thing...one eye was slightly lighter in colour.’

‘He did...?’ Trinity had never noticed that detail.

Cruz sent her a sharp glance and she coloured and busied herself cleaning up Sancho’s tray, feeling absurdly guilty when she had no reason to. It wasn’t as if she’d spent any time looking deep into Rio’s eyes. Not that Cruz would believe that. She wondered if he ever would.

It didn’t escape her notice that Mrs Jordan had excused herself on some flimsy pretext. Trinity sighed inwardly. She wouldn’t put it past the woman, who subsisted on a diet of romance novels, to try and matchmake her and Cruz into a real marriage.

The thought of that was so absurd that she coloured even more for a moment, as if Cruz might see inside her head.

The very notion of this man looking at her with anything other than suspicious disdain was utterly inconceivable.

But he looked at you differently once before, said a little voice.

Trinity blocked it out. Cruz wouldn’t touch her again if his life depended on it—of that she was sure. And that suited her just fine. If he ever discovered how susceptible she still was—and how innocent she still was, in spite of his belief that her marriage to Rio had been a real one... The thought sent a wave of acute vulnerability through her.

Cruz’s comprehensive rejection of her had left a wound in a deeply private feminine space. The thought of opening herself up to that rejection again was terrifying.

Cruz cleared his throat then, and said, ‘I’ve arranged for you to be taken to a local boutique tomorrow morning, where a stylist will help you choose a wardrobe of clothes. Think of it as a trousseau.’

Trinity put down the napkin and looked at him. She felt raw after her recent line of thinking. She hated to be so beholden to him. It made her feel helpless and she didn’t like that. She saw the look in his eye, as if he was just waiting for her to show her true avaricious nature.

‘There’s not just me to think of,’ she said testily. ‘I need to get the boys some new clothes too, more suitable for this warmer climate. They’re growing so fast at the moment that they’ve almost outgrown everything.’