Lola paused. “Sure.”
“Good,” he said quietly. Hearing a loud, noisy yawn, he looked at their baby in his baby play gym. Then he looked back at Lola, and they both laughed.
“It’s time for his nap,” she said.
“Let me do it.”
She hesitated, then nodded. Reaching down, he lifted the baby gently into his powerful arms.
“You missed your papá this week, didn’t you, pequeñito?” he said tenderly, looking down at Jett.
Seeing the two of them together, the tiny baby held against Rodrigo’s powerful chest, caused Lola’s heart to twist. She quickly turned away before he could see new tears in her eyes. Really, all this crying was getting out of hand. What was wrong with her? Had she gone completely soft?
“Here’s his blanket,” she said, pulling it from her nearby diaper bag. “There’s a bottle already in the fridge. I usually rock him to sleep—”
“We’ll be fine,” he said, still smiling down at the baby. But as he carried Jett toward the hallway, he stopped and looked back at her in the beach house’s great room. “And, Lola?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for trusting me.” For a moment, his dark eyes glowed at her, tender and warm, then he turned back to the baby in his arms, and disappeared down the hall.
Standing in the shadows, Lola stood still. She felt her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Her cheeks were hot. She felt vulnerable, exposed. She’d never shared the story of her past before, with anyone. But then, Rodrigo wasn’t just anyone. Not anymore.
Then, slowly, a smile lifted to her face.
They were a family.
* * *
A week later, Rodrigo smiled at his wife in the back seat of the Rolls-Royce as their Spanish chauffeur and bodyguard drove them through the streets of Madrid.
Her beautiful face lit up with pleasure as she pointed out the sights to their baby in the car seat between them, while their chauffeur drove them down the wide Calle de Alcalá. Lola had always loved Madrid when she’d come here as his assistant. Now, as he looked at her joyful face, everything felt new. For both of them.
He’d been wrong about so much. When he thought of the way he’d tossed her out of his life so ruthlessly last year, he felt almost ashamed. He should have asked Lola for an explanation, rather than just believing the worst of Marnie’s report.
Trust didn’t come easy for him, it was true. Mostly because every single time he’d trusted someone, they’d betrayed him.
But this was different. He’d known Lola for years. He should have given her the benefit of the doubt.
He’d make it up to her, Rodrigo told himself now. He’d watch out for her and give her the life she deserved. The life they both deserved.
A shudder went through him at the memory of the pleasures they’d shared over the past week. Their relationship had only intensified after Lola—tough, fearless Lola—had cried in his arms.
From that moment, all he’d known was that he had to protect her. She was a part of him now, and he never wanted to let her go.
He’d had her story checked out, of course. Trust, but verify. It was the best he could do. Women had lied to him too often, and though he’d believed her, he’d needed proof. There was knowing, and knowing.
But if anything, his investigator had told him, she’d downplayed the poverty and tragedy of her childhood. She’d left out the fact that her stepfather had gone to prison, then died there a few years later. She’d left out the fact that the illness of her mother could have been cured, if only she’d had money and time to see a specialist earlier.
And while the investigator was at it, Rodrigo had had him check to see if Lola had had contact with any other men, especially Sergei Morozov. She hadn’t.
Rodrigo could trust her. Really trust her.
It was a shock to his system. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really trusted anyone.
But it had turned out, though his wife had grown up in poverty in the California desert, and Rodrigo had grown up in luxury in Madrid, they weren’t so different after all. They’d both been hurt.
But never again.