Another profound silence. Pia stacked her white hands. Her mother sipped her frosted glass of white wine.
“I understand the social ramifications,” Pia said, spine never faltering from its finishing school posture. “We’ll marry as quietly as possible. Remove to a honeymoon somewhere unobtrusive and return after the holiday party season dies down.”
“I never agreed to that,” Angelo cut in.
“To marriage? Then we put Sebastián off for a year,” La Reina said to Pia, apparently enjoying a quick pivot herself. “It’s only fair to his future heir that there be clear distinction. You’ll go away, as you do, and we’ll work out a suitable arrangement with...” She gave Angelo a disdainful nod.
His scalp nearly came off. “I didn’t agree to some furtive, backroom ceremony that implies we have something to be ashamed of. We’ll marry with a proper wedding where everyone we know is invited.”
These people really
knew how to allow a silence to do their talking. He looked from Pia’s downcast lashes, to La Reina’s pointedly raised brows, to Javier’s disinterested sip of his brandy.
“Are you embarrassed that your daughter is pregnant by me?” Angelo asked Javier. It was a double-barreled question, one the older man neatly brushed aside.
“The children and the family’s social standing are La Reina’s bailiwick.”
“Is that a yes or a no?” Angelo asked with more antagonism.
“Angelo.” Pia’s clammy hand touched his.
“When one is drawing the wrong sort of attention, one ought to mitigate the damage,” La Reina said in a chilly voice. “Take control of the conversation and lower the tone, for instance.”
He barked out a humorless laugh.
“Am I speaking too plainly? My child is not something indecent to be swept under the rug.” A bastard. A stain. The product of a crime. No one was saying it, but he heard the labels from his past and felt each one like the whip of a belt.
“Keeping a low profile will benefit all of us, including the baby,” Pia said.
“If you act like we’ve done something wrong, people are going to believe we have. No.” He rose, too angry to sit here like one of these overcivilized relics clutching their pearls. “Speed up the timetable if you’d rather not be showing in our photos,” he told Pia. “The sooner the better works for me, but we are giving this wedding every bit as much fanfare as you would with one of those interchangeable grooms on your mother’s list. We’ll announce our engagement with a press release tomorrow.”
“Have you thought this through, Pia?” her mother asked as if he hadn’t spoken. “Faustina’s parents are backing your father’s challenger because of Rico’s situation with Poppy. This reinforces accusations that Monteros lack moral fortitude.”
“Maybe they do,” Angelo interjected. “Given you don’t want to recognize your own grandchild.”
“I didn’t say we wouldn’t recognize the child. Of course the child will be a Monetero.” La Reina sent a small frown of affront toward her daughter. “Pia.”
The word was a signal of some kind. Pia stood.
“Angelo and I will iron out the details in private, but I wanted you to be informed. We won’t stay for dinner. Thank you for seeing us.”
Angelo was no stranger to being shunned and insulted and run off like a mangy cur. He didn’t intend to hang around for more of the same, but he was astounded that Pia allowed herself to be dismissed like some panhandler daring to come to the door.
“Will you take me home or shall I ask Mother’s driver?” Pia asked him, her face a blank mask.
Angelo shot one last glower at her parents. “I’ll take you home.”
CHAPTER SIX
“IT’S BEEN A long day. I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” Pia said when Angelo ignored her direction to turn into her street.
“We’re not going to the hotel.” He still sounded furious.
She bit back a whimper of helplessness, one limp, cold hand cradled in the other. It really had been a long day. She wasn’t up to further confrontations. Nevertheless, she tried to explain. “That wasn’t shame they were expressing.”
“The hell it wasn’t.”
“It was damage control.”