He stopped, feeling a sudden pain in his chest.
He would see Marisol soon, he reminded himself. His jet was already gassed up and ready at a private airport outside the city. He glanced at his platinum watch. Mrs. McAuliffe was likely headed for the airport now, if she wasn’t there already, preparing to make the long flight across the country and back. She would collect the baby from his soon-to-be ex-wife. From the woman who still haunted his dreams.
Blankly Eduardo stared up at the green trees above the sidewalk. The trees looked exactly like they had in early September, when he’d first shown up in the West Village demanding marriage. On the day when, in the space of a few hours, he’d gained both a wife, and a child.
His stomach clenched. He suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of going back to work. All those hours of work, all those days and years, and for what? He was a billionaire, and yet he envied his chauffeur, who went home every night to a snug little home in Brooklyn with a wife who loved him and their three growing children. Eduardo had a huge penthouse on the Upper West Side filled with art and expensive furniture, but when he was alone, the hallways and rooms echoed with the laughter of his baby. Of his lost wife.
Soon to be ex-wife.
He clenched his hands into fists. Had Callie signed the papers yet? Why hadn’t she signed them?
It had been two weeks since he’d signed the divorce papers, and the waiting was slowly driving him mad. He wanted it done, finished. Every day he was still married to Callie was acid on his heart, making him question if he’d made a mistake, if there was still a chance she might have forgiven him—if he could have earned back her trust.
He clawed his hair back with his hand. No. No way. She was probably engaged to Brandon McLinn by now and planning their wedding. McLinn’s steadfast loyalty had triumphed at last. And unlike Eduardo, McLinn fit into Callie’s world as Eduardo never would. He’d remember to ask her father for permission first. No one could ever deserve Callie, but if anyone had earned her, it was Brandon McLinn.
So why hadn’t she signed the papers? Why?
He didn’t know. He honestly didn’t know. And it was like crossing a high-wire without a net.
Since Callie had left him in Marrakech, he hadn’t checked up on her once. He’d fired Keith Johnson from her case. He’d even given his lawyers strict instructions not to give him news of her. They were to contact Eduardo when her lawyer had filed the signed paperwork for the divorce, and not before.
But he still hadn’t got the call. Did that mean there was hope?
Closing his eyes, Eduardo turned his face toward the sun as he thought about how he’d isolated her during their marriage. No. No hope.#p#分页标题#e#
“Hey!”
Looking down, Eduardo saw a little girl of about eight or nine, standing apart from five other schoolgirls. She held up a picture. “You dropped this.”
Reaching out, he took the photo of Callie and Marisol, taken at the Spanish villa at Christmas. Marisol was just three and a half months old then, giggling, flashing her single tooth. Callie was mischievously wearing the Santa hat she’d stolen from Eduardo, smiling as he took the picture. Her green eyes glowed with love. Grief choked him, so much his knees nearly went weak. “Thanks.”
“I know how it feels to lose things,” the little girl said. “Don’t be careless.”
He looked up, his eyes wide.
“See ya.” With a skip, the girl turned away, racing back down the street with her friends, with the reckless joy of childhood freedom.
And a lightning bolt hit his heart.
Eduardo had told Callie to leave. He’d been the one who’d filed for divorce. He’d set her free, knowing she deserved better than a man who tried to control her, to spy on her, who wouldn’t trust her.
But what if he could have just chosen to be a different man?
Eduardo stared at the flow of traffic on the busy street. What if his past didn’t have to infect his future? What if he could choose a different life?
Hope rose like a wave inside his soul, no longer to be repressed. He’d set Callie free. But could he do the same for himself—be the man he wanted to be? The divorce wasn’t final yet. Was there still time?
Could he ask her for a second chance?
Ask her to be his wife—not his prisoner, but his partner?
Gripping the photo, he whirled around, causing four construction workers to spit curses as he knocked past them on the sidewalk. Eduardo caught up with Sanchez just as his sedan was pulling from the curb. Yanking open the back door, Eduardo threw himself inside. “The airport!” he panted. “I need to see my wife—now!”