It would be a simple affair, a short ceremony attended by family and friends, followed by a late dinner. A judge friend of Santiago’s was going to officiate. They already had the marriage license. Afterward, there would be a sit-down dinner of roast beef and grilled asparagus on the rooftop desk, then dancing to music provided by a jazz trio, cake and champagne toasts, and all done by midnight.
Planning the event hadn’t been too hard. Belle wasn’t that picky, and besides, she’d discovered that living on the Upper East Side, with a driver and unlimited money, was an entirely different New York experience from when she’d shared a walk-up apartment and struggled to make the bills in Brooklyn.
Here, she had a concierge obstetrician who made house calls. Here, she had time. Here, she had space. Her heart fluttered when Santiago came home each night, and they ate dinner together at the long table. He was very busy with his company and often worked long days. But on weekends he would take her out to little cafés—which she enjoyed—and trendy restaurants—which she didn’t.
He’d taken her to see a certain famous musical sold out on Broadway, with front-row tickets that the whole world knew were impossible to get. Sitting next to him in the audience that night, Belle realized that she wasn’t wishing she could trade places with the actress on stage. She liked where she was, at Santiago’s side, with his hand resting protectively on her baby bump. She’d looked at him in the darkened theater. Feeling her look, he’d squeezed her hand.
Then, a minute later, he’d abruptly dropped it.
It was strange. One minute she felt so close to him, as their eyes met in mutual understanding, or a shared joke. But the next minute, he would suddenly seem distant, or literally leave the room. She didn’t know which was worse.
Maybe he was having annoyances at work. Maybe he was nervous about their baby’s upcoming due date, in just three weeks. She could hardly wait to meet their baby and ho
ld her in their arms.
She intended to have their baby sleep in a bassinet next to their bed at first, but she’d already decorated the nursery to be ready. It was a sweet room, with pale pink walls, a crystal chandelier, a pretty white crib, changing table and rocking chair. And a huge stuffed white polar bear in the corner.
That stuffed bear, twelve feet tall, had been brought home yesterday by Santiago, carried into the nursery with the assistance of Kip.
Belle had laughed. “And you say you have no idea how to be a father. Didn’t they have a bigger one?”
“I’m glad they didn’t. I would have had to bring it in with a crane through the window. It barely fit in the elevator.”
“You’re a genius,” she’d proclaimed, kissing him happily. “And to think all I’ve done today for the baby is look through the baby name book.”
“Find anything?”
“Well, maybe,” she said shyly. He seemed in such a good mood, she’d ventured, “What would you think about naming her Emma Valeria, after both our mothers?”
Santiago’s expression immediately turned cold.
“Name her after your mother, if you like. Keep mine out of it.”
And he’d abruptly left the nursery.
She shivered. He was always going from hot to cold. It was bewildering. You never knew what might set him off. Even during their happiest moments, he could suddenly become remote. He could be passionate, demanding, infuriating; he could be generous and occasionally, even kind. But aside from the night after their engagement party, when he’d told her about that horrible woman who’d broken his heart, Santiago had never again let her close. Never let her in.
Thinking about it now, Belle shook her head firmly. There was no point in worrying. Today was her wedding day. She should just relish her joy that Santiago had actually woken up beside her.
Careful not to wake him, she rose quietly from the bed. Going to the bedroom’s tall windows, she brushed aside the translucent curtains and looked down at the New York street, which was already starting to stir into life with taxi cabs and pedestrians, in a pale haze of pink and gray.
Tonight after dusk, she and Santiago would be bound together in lifetime vows, surrounded by family and friends. Letty and Darius had come back from Greece with their fat, adorable baby, specifically to attend. Letty would even be coming to the house a few hours early, to help Belle do her hair and makeup for the ceremony. And that wasn’t all.
Two days ago, Santiago had sent his private jets to collect Belle’s younger brothers: Ray from Atlanta, where he now owned his own plumbing business, and Joe from Denver, where he was training to be a fireman.
Belle had cried when her brothers arrived. It was the first time she’d seen them in two years. For a long time, the three siblings just hugged each other. Her brothers were excited to be uncles. They’d exclaimed both at the size of her belly and the luxurious brownstone mansion.
“You’re in a new world now, Belle,” Ray had said, pulling off his John Deere cap to survey the foyer in awe. Even their guest rooms had amazed them. Joe confided he was afraid to use the towels, until she’d tartly told him that this was her house and she wouldn’t accept any more foolishness. Joe looked at her.
“You’re happy, aren’t you, Belle?” He shook his head. “I mean, I know this guy’s got private jets and mansions and all that. But does he love you? Do you love him?”
And looking at her baby brother’s hopeful, pleading face, Belle had done the only thing an older sister could do. She’d lied.
“Of course Santiago loves me.” Then she’d realized something horrible. Something that wasn’t a lie. She’d whispered, “And I love him.”
Two days before her wedding, she’d been forced to face the truth. She was in love with Santiago.
When she’d first accepted his proposal—when he’d blackmailed her into it—Belle had told herself she shouldn’t take it personally if Santiago didn’t love her. He was just a hard-edged, ruthless tycoon who couldn’t love anyone. Love wasn’t in his character. She’d told herself she could live with it.