With her heart thumping painfully she took a deep breath and went in. Two sets of eyes turned towards her. One she did her best to block out and one a mirror image of her own. She focused on Zac as she came in, unable to help a smile from spreading across her face. He was a mess, with food everywhere—all over him and his face. He grinned up at her from his high chair as she approached the table.
For one very normal and wry moment she didn’t doubt for a second that his winning grin could change in an instant to tears and tantrums. But even that thought made her heart twist, and the longing to just sit and study every single aspect of him was overwhelming with its force.
Reluctantly she looked away and greeted María, who sat on the other side of the table, also eating breakfast. The woman sent her a hesitant smile, and Rowan reciprocated, feeling grateful. She sat down, and the housekeeper bustled in with a plate heaped high with food. She indicated to where there was fruit, croissants, and poured Rowan some steaming and fragrant coffee.
‘I trust you slept well?’
Rowan glanced briefly at Isandro, whose tone was as arctic as his eyes. ‘Yes, thank you. The room is more than comfortable.’
María broke the uncomfortable ensuing silence. ‘It is a stunning house. I’ve often thought it must have been a magical place to grow up. Zac is very fortunate.’
Isandro slid a mocking glance at Rowan, and then a more benign one to María. ‘Yes, isn’t he?’
Rowan felt the weight of a myriad insults in that comment, but either María was oblivious to the tension or else she was a very good actress, and she chattered on about the house, asking questions. In truth Rowan was relieved that the other woman was there, to divert Isandro’s attention from her.
Isandro was deftly feeding Zac, making all sorts of emotions run through Rowan. In answer to something María said which Rowan hadn’t heard, he said, ‘This isn’t my original family home. My sister lives there, on the other side of Osuna, with her family and my mother.’
Rowan’s insides clenched in instinctive self-protection at the mention of his mother and sister. At least they didn’t live here. Relief flooded her. She needed to be thankful for small mercies. As it was she was sure she’d have to face them sooner or later, and she didn’t believe that time and circumstance would have made either of them any more amenable to her.
Just then María stood up, excusing herself. Isandro stood too, and took Zac out of his high chair, handing him over. ‘I think he’s had all he’s going to eat for now.’
‘I’ll take him up to get dressed.’ The older woman deftly lifted him and took him out.
When Isandro sat down again Rowan’s breath caught in her throat. She’d only just noticed that he was dressed down, in jeans and a T-shirt, the material doing little to disguise the breadth and power of his chest. He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup.
‘No more dreams last night?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
She looked away and down, and Isandro noticed the faint purple shadows under her eyes. Something kicked him in the chest as he recalled his impatience the previous night, and he did not welcome it.
‘I’m sure,’ he drawled conversationally, ‘that it’s just your guilty conscience.’
Rowan’s head jerked up. His words had cut right through her with the precision of a knife.
For a second Isandro couldn’t believe what he was seeing—abject pain in the depths of those deep violet eyes. He couldn’t believe it because it wasn’t there, he told himself. Wasn’t he already witnessing her shy, hesitant smiles with Zac? The way she was charming María.?
‘Isandro.’ Rowan’s voice felt unused and too husky. ‘All I ask is for a chance. That’s all. I’m here on your terms. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I just want a chance. That’s all.’
He sat back in his chair and saw her ramrod-straight back, her tightly held body. It was too thin. The shortness of her hair highlighted her long neck, and the bones in her wrist seemed so fragile—as if he might break them just by taking hold.
‘You’re getting the best chance you’ll ever get or deserve. You’re here, aren’t you?’ he gritted out. He hated being so aware of her.
She nodded and looked down, her hair falling forward across one cheek to shield her eyes from him. He had to stop himself from putting out a hand to pull it back, tuck it behind her ear.
‘Thank you.’
He had to get out of there, away from her sham act of vulnerability. Abruptly Isandro stood from the table, dropping his napkin. He looked at Rowan sternly. ‘You’re here, as I said, primarily because I have no choice—and also because I know you won’t last a week.’ His eyes flicked disparagingly over her worn clothes. ‘All this effort and play-acting … you really don’t need to bother, you know.’