She tried not to, knowing he barely tolerated their friendship. “We’re both busy.” She blew her nose, embarrassed. “I don’t mean to cry. I think I’m grieving a little.”
“For Dad?” He withdrew even more.
“For the way things were. Life wasn’t perfect in Greece, but those problems were familiar. I knew how to surmount them. I...” She hesitated, not sure how he would take this. “I feel lonely here. Which isn’t rational,” she rushed to add. “I was lonely on the island, too. At first. Working for Niko didn’t leave time for any sort of personal life. The staff kept a polite distance because I gave them orders on his behalf. If I accompanied him anywhere, I was there to work. Then Kiara joined us and she was caught in this strange middle ground, too. She wasn’t family, but she wasn’t an employee. We became very close.”
His cheek ticked. After a moment, he said, “My cousin invited us for dinner. I put her off because you’re spread so thin, but maybe an evening out would be welcome?”
A few members of Javiero’s extended family had dropped by to meet Locke. They had offered Scarlett a variety of cool, curious and cautious welcomes. That particular cousin had a baby a few months older than Locke and had seemed genuine in her offer to make tea if Scarlett wanted to visit and swap war stories, but Scarlett wasn’t anxious to admit to a stranger that she was struggling.
She could tell Javiero was trying to help, though. She forced a smile. “That sounds nice.”
Accepting that dinner seemed to open a floodgate. Invitations poured in and they were out every other night for the next while, throwing off what little routine Scarlett had established. Most were intimate soirees, but that still meant she was tied up in the evening and had to make time midday for trying on dresses and finding a hostess gift.
It was awkward in other ways, too, especially when they returned to Madrid for higher-profile events. Scarlett was used to wearing a pretty dress and making small talk, but with Niko she’d been relegated to the background. He would introduce her, and then she would largely be ignored.
With Javiero, she was his date. He brought in stylists to up her wardrobe game, and there was no retreating to the sidelines after twenty minutes. He wasn’t the focus of attention because of his attack or his new baby or his mysterious affair with his father’s PA, either. He was Javiero Rodriguez, a marquis guest for any hostess or gala.
Which put Scarlett in the spotlight alongside him.
Thankfully, her Spanish was decent, and she had her position as trustee of Niko’s fortune to mention whenever someone tried to dismiss her with, “I suppose the baby keeps you busy.” The fact she held such a prestigious position always earned her a reevaluation.
It didn’t quash the oblique inquiries as to her exact role in Javiero’s life, however, and apparently he had grown tired of it.
She came back into their room one evening having just fed Locke. She wore only her silk robe and was about to shower and finish getting ready for the charity ball they were due to attend.
Javiero had just come out of the shower. His hair was damp and he wore only a towel, comfortable now in letting her see the scars down his chest. They no longer alarmed her. They were merely a part of him—the same way his nipples were that light shade of brown—but her mouth went dry as she took in his burnished shoulders, muscled chest and abs that went on for days. Especially when he assumed that commanding air and gave her a thousand percent of his focus.
“We’re engaged,” he informed her.
“We are?” He caught her off guard completely with that pronouncement.
“We are.” He produced a velvet box and opened it.
She was further dumbfounded.
“It’s beautiful,” she said of the gold setting that held a round white diamond and at least a dozen smaller stones. The blue-green gems made it truly eye-catching, though. “Sapphires?”
“Blue emeralds. Trilliant cut, or so I was told by the jeweler.”
“It’s not a family ring? It looks like an heirloom.”
“It probably was,” he said drily. “And like my grandfather, whoever owned it must have had to sell his wife’s jewelry to hang on to his house. I was looking for something like what my grandmother wore in our old family photos, and this jumped out at me.” He held it near her cheekbone. “It reminded me of your blue eyes and golden hair.”
His smile quirked with self-deprecation before he picked up her hand. He glanced at her as he began to thread the ring onto her finger, challenging her to refuse it.
Her fingers flexed lightly in his grip, the feel of the ring sliding into place more impactful than she expected.
Perhaps he felt her instinctive tension. His own grip tightened.
“‘Fiancée’ is a lot nicer than some of the euphemisms I’ve been trying to find for ‘mother of my illegitimate child.’ I want to call you my wife, Scarlett.”
“I know.” Guilt had her pursing her lips, but marriage was such a big decision. “I do think about it every day, you know.” She stared at the sparkling ring until her eyes went hot. “What our life would look like.”
“It would look exactly like what we have right now.” He let their joined hands relax into the space between them. His other hand rose to touch her chin, nudging her gaze to come up to meet his. “With the addition of physical intimacy. Which I think about daily.”
Her cheeks went hot and little tugs and pulls accosted her insides.
“Do you?” she asked with a measure of doubt. “You’re very...” She shrugged, trying to turn her spasm of insecurity into a diffident smile. Aside from innocuous touches to her lower back or a brush of his hands against her as they transferred Locke, he only made physical contact with her in bed and that was—at most—a bit of
