Then cold anger snapped his spine straight, made his shoulders broaden to their full width. He looked at her, his soul like ice. “Enough.” He snapped the bag shut. “If you ever speak of love again, this marriage is over.”
And without looking at her again, he left.
* * *
Hana woke to hear the shutters opening. Rich Spanish sunlight poured in from the wrought-iron veranda overlooking their grand tree-lined avenue in Madrid.
“Buenos días, Señora Delacruz,” Manuelita chirped happily.
But it wasn’t a good morning. With a sudden sick feeling, Hana remembered everything that had happened during the darkness, hours before.
Her husband didn’t want her love.
So much so that when she’d told him she loved him, he’d literally packed his bag and left the country.
Hana’s whole body hurt from a night of tossing and turning. Glancing at the gilded clock over the marble fireplace mantel, she saw it was nearly eleven. She must have fallen asleep shortly before dawn. Now, sunlight flooded their bedroom.
But it might as
well have been pouring rain.
She sat up stiffly in the big four-poster bed, yanking the comforter up over her nightgown. Her joints ached, and her lower back. Her hugely pregnant belly felt heavy. So did her heart.
Picking up a breakfast tray from a nearby table, Manuelita brought it to the bed. “Señor Delacruz told me yesterday that whenever he travels, we must take extra good care of you.” She smiled. “He asked me to wake you up each morning with a tray, and your favorite flower.”
Hana looked down at the tray in her lap. The breakfast had all her favorites—fruit, yogurt, crusty toast and jam, scrambled eggs, with orange juice and herbal tea. And in a tiny, perfect crystal vase, a tiny, perfect pink rose.
“Thank you, Manuelita,” she whispered. Smiling, the older woman left with a satisfied nod, as if proud of representing her employer, who had obviously become a romantic, leaving his pregnant wife to sleep in and arranging breakfast in bed, even remembering her favorite flower. So romantic, so loving, so thoughtful.
But it didn’t feel that way to Hana. Antonio had no problem paying people off with money or gifts. He’d asked his housekeeper to take care of Hana. But giving her anything real of himself—his time, his trust, his love—forget it.
Hana gulped water, dehydrated after her night of tears. She tried to eat a few bites of food, but it all tasted like ash in her mouth.
Staring at the little flower, she resisted the urge to crumple it in her hand. Rather than trying to comfort her over the painful fact that he couldn’t love her, or apologizing over the way he’d kicked her out of the company she’d come to love, Antonio had simply left. So she couldn’t argue with him. She didn’t even have a chance.
It was a coldhearted way to win. Ruthless. Exactly the way Antonio always dealt with his mistresses, opponents and rivals.
She’d just never thought he’d treat her like that.
Pushing the breakfast tray aside, she walked across the cool tile floor with bare feet. She pulled on a red silk robe with an embroidered dragon on the back. Opening a side door, she peeked into the baby’s empty nursery. She’d spent hours tenderly picking out the furniture, the crib, the glider, the books, the toys. A huge stuffed polar bear rested against the corner of the pale pink walls. She loved this room, where very soon they’d bring their baby home. Her husband had barely looked at it.
Just as he’d barely looked at Hana when he left.
Turning back to the master bedroom, she opened the French doors. With a deep breath of the fresh, cool air, she went out onto the balcony, overlooking the historic neighborhood of Madrid where they lived.
Vivid pink bougainvillea hung on the edges of the wrought-iron balcony. Blinking fast, she looked out at the classical cream-colored buildings and palm trees beneath the golden sun and blue sky. A cold wind blew against her skin. Autumn had truly come at last. And along with it, the cold truth she hadn’t wanted to face.
Her husband was broken, and her love could not save him. Because he did not even want to be saved.
Hana’s hands tightened on the wrought-iron balcony. She had to find a way out of this. Had to. Why had he forced her to leave the company? They could easily set up a nursery in the office after the baby was born. Since she knew Antonio had no intention of spending less time at work, their only hope to be close as a family was for their family to be at work, as well. Surely he had to see this.
But he didn’t want to see it. He was deliberately pushing her and the baby away.
Her cell phone rang from her bag inside. Turning back to the bedroom, she grabbed it, praying it was Antonio calling to make amends. But it wasn’t her husband’s name displayed on her phone, but someone even more surprising.
“Hello?” she said, a little nervously.
“Hana.” Ren Tanaka’s deep voice was tentative. “I almost didn’t expect you to answer.”