She didn’t know why she did that to herself, but if the weather was fine, she always went past the house where she’d grown up. It was masochistic on some level, but her father was the only member of his family who’d spent any time there. His English family had never used it. After his death, they’d sold it to an American actor, who rarely visited. The house stood empty, which infuriated Sorcha all over again at being evicted.
Today the clouds were low and the sky drizzly, so they were staying indoors. She didn’t take the gloom as a bad omen, though. The sun had made another brief appearance as they left the church, casting angelic rays through the clouds so the cobblestones and brightly painted facades along the high street glistened. In the distance, the hills had glowed a verdant jade. The faint tang of salt in the air was brisk and fresh, putting color in all their cheeks. Despite her misgivings, in that moment of leaving the church as Cesar’s wife, her future had looked brilliant.
But she wondered what Cesar was thinking of all this. While she and her sisters talked a mile a minute, Sorcha cast a wary glance toward him—was he really her husband? Was he enjoying his conversation with the one other male in their party, her brother-in-law, Corm?
Corm was usually very closemouthed, if endearingly tolerant of his wife’s family. He had grown up around the bunch of them, since he and her second sister had made Sorcha’s niece before either of them had finished school. They now owned a pub and were doing well enough with their family of four, but their early years had been a terrible struggle.
“Football,” Cesar responded when she asked him later what they’d talked about.
Of course, she thought with a private grin. Both men were fans.
“Your sister didn’t stay long. Do you think—” She didn’t know what she thought he should think. Her own family’s scandal might have been replaced by a dozen others here in the village over the past fifteen years, but her turning up with Cesar’s baby and forcing him to cancel his wedding was a fresh scandal for his.
His sister, Pia, had come with camera in hand. She was a marine biologist, who, apparently, was willing to photograph more than orca fins and sea stars. When Sorcha had thanked her for coming, she’d offered a polite if somewhat inscrutable, “Thank you for including me. The ceremony was very nice.”
Had Cesar invited his entire family and only Pia had shown up?
She realized Cesar was waiting for her to finish what she was saying.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged self-consciously. “It didn’t sound like your family was pleased by our marriage. I’m glad she came, but I was surprised to see her.”
He paced restlessly, no doubt feeling claustrophobic in this narrow sitting room, if not by their shotgun wedding. “She was headed to Iceland for a symposium. It was on the way.”
“Well, it was nice to se
e her. I’ll have to send a note.” She was babbling, nervous as she changed their son on the sofa, already thinking about how she would undress and share that slant-ceilinged bedroom with Cesar after they went down for dinner.
She was also feeling the pressure of this marriage, perhaps not trapped in it, but surrounded by hazards and obstacles. She was very unsure how her life would proceed.
But it was time to overcome one of her biggest concerns, she decided, as she finished zipping Enrique into his pajamas.
“Here,” she said casually, scooping up the little bug and giving Cesar no choice but to take his son or drop him. He wouldn’t let the baby fall, she knew that, but with that many Kelly women vying for a chance to cuddle their nephew and grandson, and a carrier with a handle making the boy feel more like a suitcase as he was transferred in and out of cars and buildings, Cesar had put off touching his son for long enough.
“What...? Why...?”
“I have to wash my hands,” she said, moving into the powder room, pretending she didn’t notice that the whites of his eyes were showing. “I can’t leave him on the sofa. He might roll off,” she called back, taking her time like she was scrubbing for surgery, glancing in the mirror to ensure her most innocent expression was firmly in place.
Enrique was just over a week old and barely keeping his eyes open for longer than thirty minutes. He wasn’t going to roll anywhere for a while yet.
She came out to see Cesar wearing an uncomfortable expression. He held Enrique cradled in his two big hands, suspended in the air as though the infant was a dripping mess of sod or something equally cold and unpleasant that should be kept at a distance to avoid staining his clothes.
Her heart sank, but she reminded herself that his family wasn’t like hers. His sister had come to their wedding because it was on the way. Had he ever held a baby in his life?
Moving across, she ignored the way he offered the boy to her and gently pressed his hands closer to his own body. “Keep him warm while I change. And watch his neck. He’s holding his head up really well, but just in case. Talk to him.”
“About what?” Now he held Enrique against his shoulder like he’d grabbed one too many items in the grocery store and really wished he’d picked up a handbasket.
“He’s been listening to my voice for nine months and it makes him feel safe when he hears me. He needs to associate your voice with safety, too. Use Valencian. You don’t want me to teach it to him. I have an accent.” She headed for the bedroom.
When she glanced back, he was staring at her the way he looked when she gave him backtalk he didn’t like.
“Pretend he’s Corm. At least he won’t contradict you over who the best goalkeeper really is.”
* * *
Sorcha swung the door mostly closed and Cesar knew she was undressing behind it. That he was willing to help with. This...
He had held kittens as a child, when the mouser in the vineyard had had a litter, but never a human baby. He’d never even picked up a young child and this... This baby was so new and fragile, his skin so delicate, Cesar thought he’d tear him if he moved wrong.