‘Whether you like it or not, I have rights. Any court in the world will recognise that. Whatever I did, I will be allowed to see my son. Eventually.’ Her voice was clipped, her breeding coming through with every well-enunciated syllable, taking Isandro’s mind off the unpalatable reactions in his body.
Rowan watched his reaction warily. He mustn’t know what it was costing her to stand here and speak to him like this. She felt as if she was back in elocution class. But it was the only way she was clinging onto that flimsy control.
Isandro’s face was a stony mask of non-reaction as he took her by surprise, starting to walk away. ‘You will remain in this room for now. If you attempt to leave there is a bodyguard outside this door who will bring you back inside.’ All he knew was that he had to put some distance between them, take stock of what had just happened.
Rowan watched incredulously as his long powerful strides took him towards the door. Belatedly she went after him, stumbling a little. ‘Wait—where are you going? We haven’t finished discussing this.’
He turned at the door and the cold force of his gaze stopped her in her tracks. ‘Oh, yes—we have. For now. Just remember this: you deserted your son and left him with me. I can make this easy or very, very hard. It’s up to you.’
When he opened the door, Rowan saw the great big hulking shape of a bodyguard just outside and heard a small voice chatter excitedly. ‘Papa—Papa!’
The door closed and she felt the bed at the back of her legs behind her. Hearing that small voice was too much. Her legs crumpled and she slid to the ground. For a long time she sat like that, with her legs tucked under her, stunned by everything. It was only after a few minutes that she realised her cheeks were wet with tears, and she held a fist to her chest as if she could soothe the pain in her heart.
Eventually Rowan got up and went into the bathroom, where she splashed some water on her face. Towelling herself dry, she studied her reflection. Her face was white, her eyes huge. She looked and felt like a deer caught in the headlights. She needed to look in control, not half shocked out of her wits and terrified. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her bag on the bed. Isandro must have picked it up from where it had fallen when she’d fainted. She wished she had some makeup, but she didn’t have a thing—make-up had been the last thing on her mind for a long time.
She went back into the bedroom and tried pinching her cheeks to restore some colour. Standing at the window, looking out on the view that Isandro had seen only a short time before, she held her body tense. She still couldn’t believe how the fates had brought them together. It was laughable. She’d chosen this hotel primarily because it was close to St Pancras, where she’d gotten off the train from Paris, and because her solicitor’s office was uncomfortably close to Isandro’s London offices. It had been under A on the internet, for Alhambra Hotel. But in the end she would have been safer meeting David Fairclough at his office.
She felt a fleeting moment of ironic humour. She’d counted on being able to gather all her information, had banked on the fact that Isandro would most likely be in Spain. They would contact him by letter to let him know of her wishes, her intentions to get to know her son … But instead here they were. The chance to explain in depth her reasons for leaving that day by the luxury of a letter was gone. Faced with Isandro’s virulent anger, she knew he was in no mood to listen—possibly for some time. And now he believed that he’d caught her in the midst of an afternoon tryst. The worst possible start to any kind of meeting.
And then there was her son. Her baby. Zac. He was so beautiful. Rowan put a hand to the curtain, gripping it tight as she felt weakness flood her, her legs turning to jelly.
Meeting Isandro again was something she’d been somewhat prepared for. But how did you prepare to meet the child you thought you’d never see ever again? Every step of that walk away from him was etched into her memory like a searing brand. She’d woken from nightmares reliving that walk almost every night for the past two years. Her bruised and battered heart beat unsteadily against her chest. That indescribable pain and the lingering joy of seeing him all swirled together, making her feel like crying and laughing at the same time.
Rowan heard the door open behind her. Her hand tightened on the curtain before she released it from her grip. She took a deep breath and turned around. Isandro. His face was so harsh and austere that Rowan sucked in a breath. He hated her. She could feel it tangibly as he came and stood in front of her, head back, looking down at her with heavy-lidded disgust. His blue eyes were like shards of ice.