His Suitable Bride(82)

Rowan grimaced inwardly at the way María had immediately called her Mrs Salazar in her broken English. She tried out her rusty Spanish. ‘Please, María—call me Rowan.’ She looked at the other woman with sympathy. ‘I know it must be strange for you to suddenly have me arrive like this, but my only concern is Zac and getting to know him.’

The other woman was obviously taken aback to hear Rowan speak Spanish, but still looked tense, worried. Not sure how to handle this situation.

‘Look,’ said Rowan, ‘all I want to do is spend time with you and Zac for the moment. After all, he doesn’t know me, so he’s going to have to get used to me.’

A look of relief crossed María’s face, and she wondered if Isandro had told her not to let Zac out of her sight while Rowan was there? She wouldn’t put it past him.

María started to tell her what their routine was as Zac happily played on the lawn with an array of toys, mainly cars. Rowan could feel the back of her neck prickle, but didn’t turn around. She was very aware that Isandro would be watching from one of the windows that looked out onto the main lawn.

She firmly pushed all thoughts of her husband out of her head. She had two hours with Zac today, and she was going to make the most of it. She also pushed down the well of emotion that threatened to erupt on a continuous basis every time she looked at her beautiful sturdy son. His personality was already ingrained, strongly apparent. More than a hint of his father. He toddled over to her and she shot a reassuring smile to María as she let him take her by the hand so he could pull her down onto the ground to help him play with his cars.

Isandro looked out of the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. He watched as Zac appeared to be happily welcoming Rowan into his life—as if she hadn’t walked away from him, as if she hadn’t already rejected him in his most vulnerable moment.

Rage burned upwards on behalf of his son, and he had to restrain himself from going out there and pulling Zac away from her grasping hands. And yet … he looked happy. And she wasn’t looking bored or irritated. He hated to admit it, but Zac was naturally cautious with strangers and yet with Rowan, from that first moment in the hotel, he’d shown none of that caution—almost as if he’d recognised her. Isandro shook his head. That couldn’t be possible.

Rowan was down on the ground, patiently nodding as Zac babbled incoherently with all the seriousness of a child on a mission who believed himself to be absolutely understood. She was still dressed in that tatty skirt and T-shirt, and the skirt was riding upwards to show a long length of leg, pale and smooth. His insides contracted, and resolve hardened inside him. He turned abruptly from the window and strode to his desk to pick up the phone.

The following day Rowan went back into the house. Zac had just been taken away for his nap. She hurried through the hall, thinking that maybe one day she would be able to spend time with Zac and not feel as though her heart were being ripped from her chest every time she looked at him.

Her foot was on the bottom step of the main stairs when she heard her name being called autocratically. There was to be no respite, then. It was as if Isandro was some sort of magician, catching her at her most vulnerable moments. She turned reluctantly and hoped her eyes didn’t look too bright. Isandro stood framed in what she guessed to be his study door—she could see a big desk in the background.

‘Could you come in here, please?’ His tone made a mockery of the please.

She nodded briefly, tersely, and walked towards him, avoiding his eyes. He stood back to let her pass and she held her breath, not wanting to breathe in his scent. His essence. For a second she was so wrapped up in trying to avoid being aware of him that she didn’t even see the man who had stood and was now holding out a hand. Isandro was introducing him.

‘This is my lawyer, Ricardo Sanchez.’

Rowan stepped forward to shake his hand, still a little stunned that she hadn’t even noticed him. ‘Señor Sanchez.’

Her heart stopped and started again. The divorce papers. It had to be. She felt a self-protecting numbness spread through her. Even though she’d been expecting this from the moment they’d come to Spain, still it shocked her that he was giving her no time to prove herself … that he was carrying out his threat.

‘Please sit down, Rowan.’

Rowan sat heavily into the seat that had been brusquely indicated by Isandro, and watched as he walked around the desk and sat down. Even in jeans and a T-shirt he looked formidable, frighteningly powerful. The sun slanted in at that moment and gilded his hair with a dark golden aura. She blinked and looked away to his lawyer, who was seated to her right. He was relatively young—she guessed him in his mid-forties—and handsome, albeit in a very buttoned-up way. He looked at her then, and smiled. Rowan was momentarily taken aback at this common courtesy after the past forty-eight hours of tension, and she smiled back, her mouth feeling strange in the movement.