‘Trust takes time, Annalisa,’ Ramon said. ‘You didn’t have any time with your father, and your mother was too heartbroken to explain. But somehow I’m going to prove to you that trust is possible—however long it takes.’
‘But—’
‘What do I have to do to keep you quiet?’ he demanded softly. And without waiting for an answer, he swung her into his arms and carried her back to the bedroom.
CHAPTER NINE
‘DO YOU mind if I take a look around up here while you take your bath?’
‘Of course not,’ Annalisa said. She had nothing to hide. ‘But be warned—the only bedroom that I’ve done anything with is this one.’
‘Why aren’t you using the master bedroom?’
He didn’t need to know that as soon as she’d realised it had been her father’s room she had shut the door and never opened it again. ‘No reason. I just preferred the view from this room… It’s smaller…and should be easier to keep warm in the winter…’
His brows knit together. ‘You’re not in England now,’ he pointed out. ‘Surely when the hot nights come you would be more comfortable in a larger room?’ He didn’t press it when she stayed silent. ‘Sure you don’t mind?’ he said, making for the door.
‘Go right ahead,’ she said, swinging out of bed.
She had finished her bath by the time Ramon came back to the bedroom.
‘Look at this,’ he said, sitting beside her on the bed.
As she took the faded photograph from him her heart began to thunder. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘In the main bedroom. Aren’t you going to look at it?’ She held the piece of dimpled card tighter, as if touch was all it took to reveal the images contained on the faded print.
‘I’m surprised you didn’t see it sooner. It was lying right on top of that old carved chest.’
As if someone had intended her to find it… ‘I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to search every inch—’
‘You don’t have to explain,’ Ramon said. ‘You do know who it is?’
Of course she did. Her hands dropped to her lap, still clutching the photograph. The laughing girl was her mother—a much younger version, but unmistakable. The man with his arm around her, smiling into her eyes, was— She let out a small cry and thrust the photograph back at Ramon. ‘I don’t want to see it. Take it away.’
‘But that’s your father,’ Ramon said gently. ‘I was hoping to find something like this…to prove to you—’ He sighed heavily when he saw that her face was set and distant. ‘Look, Annalisa, you can see for yourself how much they loved each other.’
‘I don’t need to see proof of what he felt for my mother!’ she exclaimed. ‘I lived with the results of that love every day.’ Confusion was churning around inside her. If her father had loved her mother so much, where had it all gone wrong? ‘I’ll always be thankful for the money…for the finca. But I can never forget what my mother went through…the poverty, the bitterness—’
‘Stop it, Annalisa,’ Ramon insisted fiercely. ‘I won’t let you do this to yourself.’
‘Why not? Because it’s true? Because it would suit you very well if I went down the same path as my mother?’
His silence was absolute. In a single heartbeat his eyes turned to stone. ‘I thought we were long past that.’
‘What?’ Annalisa demanded, throwing her arms wide in a gesture of distress and frustration and anger.
‘The point where you insult me by suggesting I can’t be trusted,’ he said coldly, standing up and moving away from her.
‘I’m not suggesting anything. I’m stating facts as I see them.’
‘But that’s the trouble, Annalisa. The facts as you see them have nothing to do with the truth.’
‘So what is the truth? Pregnant woman discarded by Spanish grandee awarded generous pension? How are you going to clean that up for me, Ramon?’
‘Life is never as straightforward as you seem to think it should be,’ he said. ‘Get your head out of the textbooks, Annalisa. Take a look around at real life, real people, real problems… You find me some nice straightforward situations and then I’ll concede you’ve got a point.’
‘And what about our “situation”?’ she said, stressing the word to emphasise the ambiguity of their relationship. ‘How would you describe that?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What if I’m pregnant?’ The words shot out of her mouth without making contact with her brain. It was instinct, sheer instinct, and terror at what he might say if he ever gave that possibility some thought.