“Too bad,” I said.
Alejandro looked at me in amazement. Coming back, he wrapped his arms around me. “It’s not like you to be bloodthirsty, mi amor,” he murmured.
“I can be dangerous—” I reached up my hand to caress his cheek “—when it comes to protecting those I love.”
“Yes.” The corners of his sensual mouth quirked. Then his expression became serious. “But are you brave enough to face what lies ahead? There will be scandal. Or worse. Though perhaps I can protect Maurine....”
“How?”
“I will say that she was distraught over her family’s death, and that I tricked her into believing I was her grandson.”
“Oh, she won’t like that at all.”
“No,” he agreed. He looked at me, emotion in his dark eyes. “Can you bear it, Lena? The storm that might come? Miguel will lose his legacy....”
“You’re wrong.” I put my hand on his cheek. My eyes were watery. “His legacy is more than some title. It’s doing the right thing, even when it’s hard.”
“And love,” Alejandro whispered, pressing my hands together as he kissed them fervently. “Loving for all your life, with all your heart.”
“It’s family, always and forever.” Looking up at my husband, I smiled through my tears. “And whatever may come—our forever has already begun.”
There are all kinds of ways to make a family.
Some ways are big, such as the way Maurine took in an orphaned twelve-year-old boy and insisted on claiming him as her grandson.
Some ways are small, such as when I sent an invitation to my wedding reception to my cousin Claudie.
Autumn had arrived at Rohares Castle, and with it harvest season for our tenants. The summer heat had subsided, leaving a gorgeous swath of vivid colors, of morning mists and early twilight, full of excuses to sip oceans of hot tea with milk in the morning and go to bed early with my husband with a bottle of ruby-red wine. Every night, we lit a fire in the fireplace—and in our bed. And that fire, as months passed, seemed only to get bigger and brighter.
Just that morning, Maurine had caught us kissing in the breakfast room. She’d laughed. “I don’t think the honeymoon will really ever end for you two,” she said affectionately. Then the doorbell rang, and she’d hurried from the room with a desperate cry: “The florist! Finally!” And we were alone.
I’d given Alejandro a sensual smile.
“Could I interest you in a little more honeymoon?” I said, batting my eyes coyly, to which my husband whispered, “All day, every day,” before he kissed me senseless, then picked me up like a Neanderthal and carried me upstairs, back to bed.
Now, the crowded banqueting hall was lit up for evening, bedecked gloriously in autumn flowers in the most beautiful wedding reception I’d ever imagined. Across the crowds of our guests, I caught Alejandro’s eye. He smiled back at me hungrily, as if it had been a year since he’d last taken me to bed, instead of just a few hours. His hot glance almost made me forget we were surrounded by family and friends.
“I told you he would be your husband,” a voice crowed behind me. “I always can tell!”
“You were right.” Turning, I smiled at Dolores, my neighbor from San Miguel de Allende who’d been whisked here from Mexico for the reception. She’d been equal parts impressed and triumphant when Alejandro had sent a private jet to collect her.
I’d sent Mr. Corgan, Mrs. Morris and Hildy a first-class ticket here from London. They were still working for Claudie. “But she’s mellowed a great deal since she became Mrs. Crosby,” the butler informed me. “He’s rich, and that has made her very happy.”
But I could see that for myself. Claudie had arrived at my door swathed in fur, with her brand-new husband at her side.
“I’m going to give you your inheritance back,” was the first thing she announced to me. “David said it’s the right thing to do. And besides—” she grinned “—we can afford it.”
Same old Claudie, I thought. And yet not exactly the same. “Thank you,” I said in surprise. I paused, then smiled. “Donate it to charity. Introduce me to your husband?”
She beamed. “I’d love to.”
David Crosby was fat, short and bald, but he was indeed very rich, a king of Wall Street. They looked totally wrong together. Until you saw the way they looked at each other.
Claudie told me they’d met through a matchmaking service just for rich people.
“Trophy wives for billionaires?” I guessed.
“After all, Lena,” she sniffed, “not everyone can manage to randomly fall pregnant by the love of their lives.”