Taken the Spaniard's Virgin

“Sometimes. When I’m bored on a shoot.” Why was he asking something so mundane when her entire world was shattering around her? “And you’re George Wentworth,” she said to the man seated beside her mother.

Who were these people? Okay, so she knew who they were, butwho were theyin relation to her? What were they doing here in her home, talking to her mother?

The older man stood. “I’m…” He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m George Wentworth.”

Her mom sat up, wiped at her tears and then dried her hands on her jeans and put her arms out, like she had so many times when Amber needed comfort. Only, she didn’t need comforting right now…did she? “Come here, baby. I have to tell you something.”

Unwilling to refuse her mom who was in obvious emotional distress, Amber walked slowly toward her. Mr. Wentworth stepped back, moving to sit in a chair close to the sofa. Amber let her mother pull her down to sit on the couch.

The woman her mom had said was Amber’s sister held her head at the same angle as George Wentworth. Were they related?

Amber met the woman’s gaze. “You look just like me.”

“Almost.” A small deprecatory smile and shrug accompanied the word.

Amber considered that. She, better than another, was prepared to catalog a list of superficial differences. “Your hair is darker. You don’t highlight it at all.”

“No.”

“It’s shorter, too.” A little anyway.

“Yes. And my eyebrows have their natural shape and I weigh at least ten pounds more than you. I don’t dress as trendily and I’m not fond of running,” she said, naming Amber’s favorite form of exercise. “But I love old movies, we wear the same size shoe and I prefer silver over gold jewelry as well.”

Amber’s mom made a sound of distress that echoed the chaotic feelings exploding inside her. But Amber had years experience projecting for the camera and she did not let any of her inner turmoil show on her face. She was strong enough to get through whatever this was and she had a feeling that her newfound happiness, her safe world was about to be blown apart…

She took her mom’s hand. “What’s the matter, Mom?”

“Please don’t hate me, Amber. I deserve it, I know I do, but I can handle anything except that.”

Shock kept her mouth from uttering her initial denial. What was her mom saying? What was she admitting to?

“No one is going to hate you, Mrs. Taylor. We’re going to work through this,” George Wentworth said in a firm but kind tone.

“I could never hate you,” Amber vowed.

“Before you came into the room, Mr. Wentworth asked a question. He wanted…” Her mom stopped, collected herself and went on. “He wanted to know why I’d stolen his daughter.”

Amber’s body jolted as if it had taken a mortal blow. “What?”

Then her mom started talking, telling a story that made a terrible kind of sense. She’d lost her baby due to the same accident that had killed her beloved husband. She’d gone into some kind of postpartum depression or temporary psychosis. She’d been there at the hospital the night the woman who gave birth to Amber and her sister had died.

Something had snapped inside her and Helen Taylor had kidnapped one of the babies, believing she was her own Amber, instead of the child of the deceased woman. Mr. Wentworth nodded, as if he understood how this terrible thing could have happened. Amber thought he had to be one of the most amazing men she’d ever met. He wasn’t screaming or threatening, or anything. Wow.

“Don’t ask me how I managed to get you out of the hospital because I don’t remember. When I got you home, all the baby stuff was still there, I thought you were my little Amber.” Her mom’s voice cracked. “I loved you so much and you were all I had left.”

Amber put her arm around her mom’s shoulder, giving back some of the comfort her mom had extended to her over the years. “It’s okay, Mom.”

Her mom shook her head and kept talking. She’d lived and believed the fantasy for five years.

“But something made you remember,” Amber said gently.

“I saw an article on George Wentworth in a business weekly.” Her mom looked around at the rest of the people in the room. “I’m a financial analyst.”

“We know,” George said quietly.

“Of course.” She took another deep breath and clenched her trembling hands together. “The article mentioned the disappearance of your daughter and suddenlyI knew . I couldn’t remember taking her, but I remembered my baby dying and knew that the little girl who I loved more than my own life belonged to someone else.”

“I don’t understand…you would have taken me back. Mom, I know you…” No way would her mom have kept a child from her father once she realized the truth.