“Poor you,” said Belle, who had always dreamed of traveling but never managed to save the money, even for an economy ticket.
His sensual lips curved upward. “I appreciate your sympathy. So if you don’t mind wrapping up your self-indulgent little Wuthering Heights routine I’d like to show you to your room so I can go to mine.”
“If you want to go, go.” She turned away so he couldn’t see her exhausted, tearstained expression. “Tell Letty I’d already left. I’ll get a train back to the city.”
“Are you serious?” He looked down at her skeptically. “How will you reach the station? I doubt trains are even running—”
“Then I’ll walk!” Her voice was suddenly shrill. “I’m not sleeping here!”
Santiago paused.
“Belle,” he said, in a voice more gentle than she’d ever heard from him before. “What’s wrong?”
Reaching out, he put his hand on her shoulder, then lifted it to her cheek. It was the first time he had ever touched her, and even in the dark and cold the touch of his hand spun through her like a fire. Her lips parted.
“If something was wrong, why would I tell you?”
His smile increased. “Because you hate me.”
“And?”
“So whatever it is, you can tell me. Because you don’t give a damn what I think.”
“True,” she said wryly. It was tempting. She pressed her lips together. “But you might tell the world.”
“Do I ever share secrets?”
“No,” she was forced to admit. “But you do say mean and insulting things. You are heartless and rude and...”
“Only to people’s faces. Never behind their backs.” His voice was low. “Tell me, Belle.”
Clouds covered the moon, and they were briefly flooded in darkness. She suddenly was desperate to share her grief with someone, anyone. And it was true she couldn’t have a lower opinion of him. He probably couldn’t think less of her, either.
That thought was oddly comforting. She didn’t have to pretend with Santiago. She didn’t have to be positive and hopeful at all times, the cheerleader who tried to please everyone, no matter what. Belle had learned at a young age never to let any negative feelings show. If you were honest about your feelings, it only made people dislike you. It only made people leave, even and especially the ones you loved.
So Santiago was the only one she could tell. The only one she could be truly herself with. Because, heck, if he permanently left her life, she’d throw a party.
She took a deep breath. “It’s the baby.”
“Little Howie?”
“Yes.”
“I had a hard time with him, too. Babies.” He rolled his eyes. “All those diapers, all that crying. But what can you do? Some people still seem to want them.”
“I do.” The moon broke through the clouds, and Belle looked up at him with tears shimmering in the moonlight. “I want a baby.”
He stared down at her, then snorted. “Of course you do. Romantic idiot like you. You want love, flowers, the whole package.” He shrugged. “So why cry over it? If you are foolish enough to want a family, go get one. Settle down, buy a house, get married. No one is stopping you.”
“I... I can’t get pregnant,” she whispered. “Ever. It’s impossible.”
“How do you know?”
“Because...” Belle looked down at the tracks in the snow. The moonlight caused strange shadows, mingling her footsteps and his. “I just know. It’s medically impossible.”
She braced herself for his inevitable questions. Medically impossible how? What happened? When and why?
But he surprised her.