Belle’s lips parted. “Are you saying...?”
“After thirty-five years, the Duque de Sangovia is willing to recognize me as his son.”
And with that, Belle suddenly knew that her whole life, and her baby’s too, had just changed, because a man she’d never met had had a heart attack in Spain.
“I’m sorry I have to postpone the wedding,” he added, but something about his voice made her wonder how sorry he really was. Even as she had the thought, she reproached herself for it. How could she selfishly think about her own hurt, when Santiago’s brother had just died, and his father was reaching out to him for the first time?
She put her hand on his arm urgently. “I’ll come with you. To Madrid.”
He shook his head. “It’s across the Atlantic. You’re getting too close to your due date to travel.”
“I’ll manage. I mean—” she gave an awkward laugh “—isn’t that why you have a private jet? I just had a checkup this morning and I’m not anywhere close to labor. I’ll be fine for a few days.”
He looked at her, his jaw tight. “You would be willing to go to so much trouble, to attend the funeral of a man you’ve never met? At your state of pregnancy? After I canceled our wedding like this?”
“Of course I would,” she said over the lump in her throat. “I’m going to be your wife.”
He set his jaw.
“Come, then.”
She didn’t get the sense that he was overjoyed.
“Unless you don’t want me...”
“That’s not it. I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be fine. I can’t let you face it alone.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” His eyes were unreadable as he looked down at her. “But then, I’d expect no less of you. Such a loving heart.”
His words should have cheered her, and yet somehow, they didn’t feel like a compliment. They felt like an accusation.
He looked her over in the white silk wedding lingerie, as if not even seeing her. “Change your clothes. Pack as quickly as possible. We leave in ten minutes.”
She stared after him, her heart sick with fear.
When she’d woken up that morning, she’d been so scared of marrying Santiago and spending the rest of her life loving him, when he didn’t love her back.
But now she realized there could be something even worse than that. Watching as Santiago fell back in love with the beautiful, aristocratic woman who’d once claimed his heart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MADRID. ROYAL CITY of dreams.
The city was the third largest in Europe, built on a grand scale, from the classical grandeur of the Plaza Mayor to the world-class art of the Prado Museum and designer shops on the wide, graceful Gran Vía.
Santiago hadn’t been back to this city since he’d fled at eighteen to make his fortune. Now he was back, no longer a desperate, penniless teenager, but a powerful tycoon, a self-made billionaire.
At fourteen, he’d begged his father to see him. Now the Duque de Sangovia was doing the begging, not him.
Actually, it had been Nadia who’d begged on his father’s behalf. It had been strange, unpleasant, to hear her voice on the phone, like resurrecting a long-dead ghost. He’d felt nothing, not even hatred.
Perhaps he should thank her, he thought. She was the one who’d spurred him to become the man he was today. Powerful. Rich.
Heartless.
He stared out the car window as the Duque de Sangovia’s chauffeur drove the limousine through the city’s clogged morning traffic, carrying Santiago and Belle and their two bodyguards from the private airport. Madrid had once been a medieval dusty village, until King Phillip had moved the royal court here during the Spanish Golden Age. And even back then, the Zoya family had served their king, fighting his battles to build an empire of their own.