Postcards From Madrid. Lynne Graham
and humiliated. Her face went pink and hot.
‘You blush like a schoolgirl,’ Antonio mocked.
‘Fancy that!’ she tossed back and pushed away her plate, all appetite ebbing.
Sophie was really annoyed with herself for that brief flight of foolishness. If Antonio had decided he needed to deliver a reality check, she could hardly blame him. After all, why would he be interested in how she dressed for their fake wedding? Why had she even asked that stupid, stupid question?
‘So, apart from what’s already been agreed, what are the rules of this deal?’ Sophie enquired briskly.
‘Mutual respect and cooperation, querida.’ Antonio signalled Maureo and the wineglasses were topped up for a toast.
Sophie interpreted his objective without difficulty. She might fancy Antonio Rocha rotten, but at his most basic she understood his expectations as clearly as if he had voiced them: she was to respect him and strive unceasingly to fit in with all his wishes, reasonable and otherwise. He was noble, he was rich and he was successful and she was poor and illegitimate and lived in a home with wheels under it. Equality could not exist in such diversity. Antonio exuded the proud benevolence of a male convinced he was making a hugely generous sacrifice for which she ought to be undyingly grateful.
Soft, full mouth set mutinously taut, Sophie dropped a kiss down onto Lydia’s little drooping head and rejoiced in the baby’s soft, trusting weight against her. Her pride might be stinging, but she had to be more sensible and less sensitive, she scolded herself. If Antonio ensured that she and Lydia had a comfortable home and a secure future, he did deserve her gratitude.
‘VERY colourful…very unusual,’ Norah finally selected with obvious difficulty.
It was Sophie’s wedding day and, as she fully expected that it would be the only wedding day she ever had, she was keen to make the most of the occasion. Refusing to be deflated by the older woman’s lack of enthusiasm, Sophie twirled yet again just for the fun of seeing her dress flounce round slim legs enhanced by perilously high pink diamanté-trimmed shoes. She was overwhelmed by the pleasure of wearing the latest fashion for the first time in her life. Although she adored clothes she had never had the money to follow design trends. Determined not to pose as a conventional bride and run the risk of awakening Antonio’s derision, Sophie had decided to be more audacious in her choice of outfit. She was even more proud of having used only a tiny bit of the money in the bank account that he had insisted on opening on her behalf.
It was three weeks since she had dined at Antonio’s hotel and three weeks since she had seen him. Norah Moore had made no secret of her concern over Sophie’s decision to marry Lydia’s uncle and even though the ceremony was due to take place in less than an hour she still could not hide her disquiet.
‘Please cheer up and be happy for Lydia and me,’ Sophie begged.
‘But you shouldn’t be marrying Antonio for Lydia’s benefit,’ Norah muttered uncomfortably. ‘I’m afraid I never imagined this happening.’
‘Who did?’ Sophie asked breezily. ‘But if I have to share Lydia with Antonio, this is the best way to go about it. He wouldn’t let me bring her up here on my own. And how could I have moved to Spain and coped with just being a visitor in her life?’
‘But perhaps leaving your options open that way would have been more sensible at first. From what you’ve said about Antonio…well,’ Norah continued awkwardly, her worn face rather stiff, ‘he sounds like a trustworthy man—’
‘Don’t put those two words together. I wouldn’t trust Antonio out of my sight.’
‘You can’t judge all men by your father’s example.’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Antonio doesn’t owe me any favours, so I had to be suspicious of his motives. I also have to look out for Lydia—’
‘It’s still not too late to call this wedding off. I don’t feel that it’s right for you to marry Antonio Rocha.’
Amazed by the older woman’s persistence on that score, Sophie frowned in bewilderment. ‘Why not? Antonio knows exactly what he’s doing. I bet he divorces me even faster than he said he would and shunts Lydia and I off to live somewhere well out of his way. He doesn’t care about Lydia the way I do—’
‘He hasn’t had the chance or the time. A lot of men feel uncomfortable around babies—’
‘Why are you so against me marrying him?’
Norah flushed and turned away, her discomfiture unconcealed. Sophie reckoned she knew why, but she was too fond of the other woman to hurt her feelings by being too blunt. Understandably, Norah did not want her to move to Spain. Sophie also suspected that Norah had secretly hoped that Sophie might eventually have a change of heart and start dating her son, Matt. Even though she had never given Matt the slightest encouragement, Sophie had always felt rather guilty about him. His stoic air of misery as the wedding day drew closer had made her feel worse.
‘I just thought there might be some other way of bringing up Lydia other than marrying the marqués,’ Norah muttered evasively.
‘This way Lydia will find out about the Spanish side of her family and learn how to be really exclusive and up-market like…well, like some rich kid,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘She’s going to pick up all sorts of stuff I could never teach her. It’s what Belinda would have wanted for her—’
‘Yes, it probably is.’ Norah nodded thoughtfully. ‘Your sister did set great store by that sort of thing. I shouldn’t have kept on nagging at you. I can see that belonging to a rich family like Antonio’s will give Lydia a terrific start in life and opportunities that she would never get here.’
‘She deserves the best.’ Sophie was grateful that the older woman was finally thinking along the same lines and accepting her reasons for marrying Antonio. ‘That’s the only reason I’m doing this…for her.’
Forty minutes later, Sophie studied the crowd of people waiting outside the church with some surprise. Had a previous wedding started late and overrun its time? Oh, dear, she thought, Antonio would not like that. Well, they would just have to wait their turn. She checked her reflection to see that the tiny concoction of pink chiffon and feathers perched on top of her curls was still at the right angle. She smoothed nervous hands down over the fitted skirt of her dress, which was made of an exuberant fabric covered with big splashy roses. The limo driver pulled in right at the church steps and jumped out to open the door.
With Lydia in a carrier seat, Sophie climbed out. Noisy people shouting piercing questions and waving cameras surrounded her.
‘What’s your name?’ someone asked.
‘Friend of the bride’s?’ someone else shouted from the back.
‘She’s not a guest, she is the bride!’ Norah proclaimed sternly. ‘Now move and let us inside the church…we’ve got a baby here!’
‘Are you Sophie Cunningham?’ a voice demanded in astonishment.
Momentarily transfixed as she was by the sound of her name on a stranger’s lips, a nervous giggle escaped Sophie. Taking advantage of the gap that had appeared in the crush as Lydia’s presence was acknowledged, she hurried on up the steps and into the porch. The elderly priest greeted her warmly.
Norah took charge of Lydia. Sophie’s heart started beating very fast. She sucked in a steadying breath and took a peek down the aisle. Sunlight was pouring through the stained-glass windows and bathing the interior in beautiful jewelled streamers of rich colour. Antonio was at the altar, another smaller, slighter man standing to one side of him, probably the lawyer he had mentioned. She was more interested in staring at Antonio. Even in profile, he looked incredibly handsome. His formal dark suit and white shirt were exquisitely