Postcards From Madrid. Lynne Graham
evening, and only half an hour late—which was really good going for Sophie in terms of promptness—she travelled up in the lift to Antonio’s suite. She had Lydia cradled by one arm on her hip. ‘Now remember…lots of smiles. You’ve got to make the running with Antonio and sell yourself,’ she instructed the baby gazing up at her with trusting brown eyes. ‘He’s sensitive to screams, so you have to take the fear out of fathering for him. If you cry again, he’s going to avoid you like the plague…okay?’
A middle-aged guy dressed like a waiter ushered her into the suite.
‘Is Antonio in?’ Sophie asked nervously and the man responded in what might have been Spanish with an apologetic shake of his head.
She hovered in the centre of the fabulous reception room, shook her head when a sofa was indicated and did so again when the drinks cabinet was spread invitingly wide. A communicating door opened and Antonio appeared. Relief and tension struggled inside her. ‘I thought maybe you were out.’
In one skimming glance Antonio took in the unexpected presence of the baby and settled his attention on Sophie. In a shabby cord jacket with a fur-trimmed hood and black trousers ornamented with an embarrassment of zips, she looked painfully young. Her sudden vivacious smile lit up her heart-shaped face and for a split second he forgot what he was about to say and simply stared.
‘I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you arrived,’ Antonio responded, his recovery almost immediate while on another level he sought to solve the riddle of her appeal. ‘I was taking a call. Did Maureo offer you a drink?’
‘Is that his name? I didn’t want anything. It’s nice of you not to say anything about me being late.’
‘I have a great respect for punctuality,’ Antonio sliced back softly.
‘We’re going to have a problem,’ Sophie forecast with unblemished good humour. ‘I try really hard to be on time, but things tend to hold me up. Everywhere I go I’m always running against the clock—’
‘Better organisation will improve that.’
Sophie wondered if he had any idea how hard it was to organise a baby.
‘Maureo would like to take your coat,’ Antonio explained as the older man hovered nearby.
‘Would you like to hold Lydia?’ Sophie asked brightly, ignoring the tautening of his spectacular bone structure and moving closer to helpfully tug up his arm and pass her niece deftly into his grasp. ‘Smile and talk to her…she loves people.’
Antonio marvelled at how little Lydia seemed to weigh. He could not recall ever taking a close look at a baby before. With her soft fluff of curls, creamy skin and big brown eyes, she was really quite pretty, he decided in surprise. He could see no resemblance to Pablo. His mobile phone rang. The baby jerked, her face screwing up as she loosed a plaintive howl of fright. Antonio stuffed Lydia back into Sophie’s arms with unconcealed haste.
‘Perdón…’ He took his call.
Sophie soothed Lydia and interpreted Maureo’s gestures to take a seat at the table by the window. Antonio was talking in a foreign language, moving his hands to accentuate certain points with a confidence that she found irresistibly attractive. His lean, darkly handsome features were intent with concentration. Some day, Sophie thought fiercely, I want him to look at me like that. Like I’m important and interesting. In shock at that lowering aspiration that had come out of nowhere at her, she froze. Shame-faced, she cleared her mind and refused to think about it again. She would marry Antonio because that was the price of keeping Lydia. That, she assured herself firmly, was the only reason she had for marrying him. Only a real idiot would get romantic ideas about a guy who said he wanted to be a free agent.
Maureo reappeared toting a highchair for Lydia. Thanking him warmly, she strapped her niece in and put some toys on the tray to keep her occupied.
‘You’re a very busy guy,’ Sophie remarked brittlely when Antonio sat down opposite and the first course had arrived.
‘Invariably.’
‘Well, like you forecast, I’m about to say yes to the deal. But I have a couple of conditions to make,’ Sophie told him while she opened the small container she had brought with her, put some finger foods on her side plate and set them down in front of Lydia.
‘Conditions?’
‘I want to have a proper wedding,’ Sophie advanced uncomfortably. ‘Nothing fancy, just us and the witnesses with a few frills…a dress and some photos to make us look like a real couple. I don’t want Lydia to know this is a deal and not an ordinary marriage.’
‘She’s six months old,’ Antonio murmured drily.
‘But she won’t always be. I don’t ever want her to know that I had to marry you to keep her because that would make her feel bad—’
‘Why should it?’
‘I remember how I felt knowing I was just a burden to the grown-ups who looked after me.’ Sophie set a feeding cup down on the tray of the highchair, her delicate profile taut. ‘So, what do you think?’
Antonio recognised that he had not thought through every angle. He had no plans to go public with an announcement that he was making a marriage of convenience. Consequently, he would have no choice but to act out a charade of normality. Appearances mattered little to him, but to the majority of his family appearances were everything. ‘The frills aren’t a problem but I would like the wedding to be quiet and discreet. What other conditions?’
Sophie worried at her full lower lip with her teeth before speaking. ‘Just one… I want you to promise me that you’ll try to be a father to Lydia.’
Antonio flung back his arrogant dark head and dealt her a searing look of indignation. ‘Who are you to address me on such a subject?’
Sophie was very pale but she persisted. ‘This is just a deal for you. You’ve made that clear. But you’re still likely to be the only father Lydia ever has.’
‘The deal is between you and I only. My niece’s position in my life is unassailable,’ Antonio spelt out with cold clarity. ‘I will naturally make every effort to fulfil a paternal role.’
The main course arrived in the tense silence that followed.
‘I will not apologise. You were offensive,’ Antonio drawled when Maureo had departed again.
Watching Antonio look challenged as Lydia grizzled because she was over tired, Sophie tried not to wonder when his parenting efforts would begin.
‘I have certain conditions too,’ Antonio affirmed. ‘Before the wedding can take place you will have to sign a pre-nuptial agreement.’
Unexpectedly Sophie grinned. ‘Like a Hollywood star?’ she prompted in visible excitement. ‘Are you really that rich? Crazy!’
‘The agreement will specify financial arrangements and—’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah… Do we have to talk about that now?’ Lifting Lydia down onto her lap to soothe her fractious whimpers, Sophie ate her meal with a fork in one hand, quite unconscious of Antonio’s amazement at her dexterity. He watched his niece’s eyes drift shut in contentment and marvelled at Sophie’s remarkable control over a baby whom he considered to be as volatile as dynamite. He congratulated himself on having made a very wise decision: Sophie was worth five nannies.
‘We can leave any discussion of the terms of the prenup to our lawyers.’
‘I don’t have any—’
‘You must engage one for independent advice.’
Sophie wasn’t listening. She gazed across the table at Antonio, dazzled by the stunning symmetry of his lean bronzed face, and her eyes took on a dreamy cast. ‘What do you want me to wear for the wedding?’ she asked softly.
‘I have no wish to be rude,’ Antonio confided