The Alcolar Family. Kate Walker
thinking of the isolation of the big house in the country, of herself and Joaquin alone there together through the long days… the nights.
‘You could both come home to us if you’d prefer,’ Mercedes put in. ‘I’m sure Papá would be delighted to have you there, and your room is empty.’
Cassie glanced automatically at Joaquin’s face, seeing the determined ‘No way!’ expression that was stamped onto his hard features. But perhaps it might not be such a bad idea. There would be plenty of other people around to distract Joaquin, Mercedes and his father to talk to…
But then she hastily rethought.
On the few occasions they had visited Joaquin’s father and sister in the past, Juan Alcolar had proved remarkably and unexpectedly tolerant about the fact that she and his son were a couple. They had always been given a room together, always the same one. And so now she knew only too well that that was the room Mercedes was referring to as ‘your room’.
In his father’s house they would automatically be expected to share a bedroom—and a bed. And that was something she didn’t feel at all happy about right now.
Happy? The thought had all the nerves in her stomach tying themselves in knots.
At the finca, there was at least plenty of space—lots of bedrooms. She could make up some excuse—she’d have to—she couldn’t tell Joaquin why she wouldn’t share his bed.
‘We’ll go home,’ she said, praying that the terrible, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn’t been echoed in the sound of her voice.
Obviously not, because Joaquin’s wide, brilliant grin, missing from his face for so long, resurfaced at her words and she was bathed in its warmth. For a moment she gloried in the sensation, but then a double whammy of realisation hit her hard in the stomach, driving all the air from her body in a faint gasp of horror.
‘Is something wrong?’
Joaquin had caught the sound, sparking his curiosity.
‘N-no—it’s just that I—I remembered…’
‘Remembered what?’
Cassie’s mind went blank with panic. How could she say that she had just remembered how long it had in fact been since she had seen that smile on Joaquin’s face? Almost as far back as the night of Mercedes’ party, which was the point at which Joaquin’s memories stopped. It was after that that he had started drifting away from her, losing the warm closeness they had shared and becoming colder, more distant with each day that had passed. Coupled with that had come the realisation of how little Joaquin actually meant that smile, did he but know it. When his memory returned, then all the warmth of it would fade from his face, his handsome features setting taut into a cold animosity, his eyes taking on the gleam of polished jet, opaque and totally impenetrable.
‘I remembered…’
‘That you have some things you’ll need to collect from my place before you head home,’ Ramón put in quietly, subtly reminding her that all her clothes, everything she had taken with her when she’d left his house, were still in the guest bedroom in his apartment.
‘Oh—yes.’
Cassie flashed him a grateful look. She was no good at this sort of deception, no good at all. That was why she had had to leave the finca when Joaquin had made his feelings for her so plain. She could not have lived with him and not given away the state of her own emotions. It had been strained enough in the last couple of weeks; she couldn’t go through that again.
‘I have to go and pick them up.’
And do it without Joaquin finding out. How was she going to manage this?
‘We can do it on the way home,’ Joaquin stated firmly.
Which was just the sort of thing she was most dreading.
‘And go all the way back into town and then out again? It would add almost half an hour to the trip.’
‘I’ll drive Joaquin home.’
Once more Ramón came to her rescue.
‘I have my car here after all, and it’s bigger and more comfortable than yours—you’d have a much easier ride,’ he added with enviable casualness to his brother. ‘Then Cassie can go to my flat, pick up her bits and come along in her own car. Here, Cassie…’
He tossed her his house key, which she caught neatly and headed for the door before Joaquin could voice the protest that was clearly hovering on his lips.
‘I’ll see you there,’ she tossed over her shoulder, escaping thankfully from the tension that had been clawing at her ever since she had first heard the news about the lingering after-effects of the blow to Joaquin’s head.
As she hurried down the hospital corridor, the keys clutched so tightly in her hand that later she would find the impression of them embedded in her flesh, she found that her heart was thudding hard, sending the blood racing round her body in a flurry of panic that she could no longer subdue.
Just how was she going to get through the next couple of days—maybe even the next couple of weeks, if it took that long? She couldn’t lie to Joaquin for all that time, but then, at the same time, she had been forbidden to tell him the truth.
He had to remember for himself, the doctors had insisted—no good would come of trying to force things. The possible consequences of that could be risky, even dangerous. And for a week or so at least, Joaquin had to avoid any stress, any upset that might cause a relapse, or worse.
So for the time it took for the memories he had lost to return, Cassie had to live with him and pretend that nothing was wrong. She would have to act as if they had never rowed, never split up, never…
With a soft moan, she stopped dead, leaned back against the wall and covered her face with her hands, struggling for control. She had to pretend that all was well, while all the time knowing that as soon as Joaquin discovered the truth—or what he believed to be the truth—he would see this time she spent with him as one of deliberate deception, perhaps even trying to win him round by concealing the truth.
She had no way out. She was damned if she did, damned if she didn’t. She had never really understood the phrase about being caught in a cleft stick before, but she did now. She could not go forward, and she could not go back. She could only stay where she was, marking time, and knowing that one day, with a dreadful inevitability, the truth would all come out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘I THOUGHT we would never get here!’
Joaquin’s impatient stride into the house matched the irritation in his tone.
‘When did you become such an old woman when you drive?’
‘I was taking care of you,’ his brother pointed out reasonably, his soothing tone grating on Joaquin’s already badly rattled nerves. ‘You’ve just had a—’
‘A nasty accident—I know, I know!’ Joaquin snapped. ‘But I’m not an invalid. I don’t need wrapping in cotton wool!’
He pushed his hands into the pockets of the black jeans that Cassandra had brought to the hospital that morning, shoulders hunched under the white polo shirt, and glared at his brother. Ramón appeared totally unconcerned by his irritation.
‘And I don’t want to be responsible for you suffering any sort of setback.’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s much likelihood of that! Unless you count the possibilities of exhaustion from the length of time it took to get here. Cassandra would have had time to get to your place, collect whatever it was that she’d left there and still get here before us.’
If she was here at all, some nasty little voice inserted into his brain. Deep down, he knew that this was the real reason for his irritation and that he was taking it out on Ramón quite unnecessarily.