it.
She gritted her teeth, familiar nausea cramping her stomach as she remembered the years of struggle after her father had deserted them.
He had left them penniless, and that had not been all. With no money coming into the house, and a terrifying number of bills to pay, there had been no time to deal with their shock and grief and anger.
But he’d probably never even given them or their feelings a thought. Why would he? After all, he’d relocated to America and just carried on as if nothing had happened.
As if she had never happened.
She had felt so unimportant. So insignificant.
Until last week, when Luis had walked into his parents’ palatial living room and the expression on his face had confused and frightened her so much that she had forgotten to breathe.
She’d thought the shard of misery inside her chest would split her in two.
Luis Osorio was a liar. And a fake.
But—and it was an important ‘but’—he also lived in California. And, despite barely managing to hold all the pieces of herself together during that awkward interview in Segovia, her brain had registered the fact that he was returning to the States at the end of the week—today, in fact.
Her shoulders straightened. She’d been right about him the first time in that club. He was a mistake. But now he was in her past. Here, in the present, it was just her and her camera.
Half an hour later the plane landed in Valencia. Feeling like a minor celebrity, she was whisked through the airport to the promised limousine, and then twenty minutes later was stepping onto a sleek, white motorboat.
Inside, the decor was all smooth, pale wood, cream leather upholstery and discreetly tinted glass. As she sat down in one of the armchairs she suddenly remembered that Agusto had referred to the boat as a ‘dinghy’. Suppressing a smile, she was just about to pull out her camera when her phone rang.
‘Chrissie, darling? It’s not a bad time, is it?’
As usual, the tentative note in her mother’s voice made her heart beat faster with love—and remorse.
Over the years she had been such a brat. More than anything she wanted to make amends, to show her mother how much she loved her. And if she did well with this assignment then finally it might be possible to do that with more than words. She might actually be able to give her mum the security of a home instead of just a couple of rooms that went with her job.
Clearing her throat, she said brightly, ‘No it’s a great time, Mum. I’m just on the boat now. On my way to the island.’
‘How long does the ferry take?’
Her spine stiffened, her mother’s innocent question catching her off-guard.
She hadn’t lied—didn’t lie, full-stop, not even about stupid, insignificant things. As far as she was concerned it was better to say nothing than to lie, and over the years she’d got really good at deflecting or misunderstanding anything that got too close to the bone.
So, no she hadn’t lied, but she’d been reluctant to hint at the Osorios’ insane wealth. With her history of messing up, she’d been scared of jinxing herself. But, knowing how excited her mother would be, she couldn’t resist pressing the phone against her face, and whispering, ‘It’s their island, actually, and I’m not on a ferry. I’m on their motorboat.’
‘A motorboat and a private island.’ Her mother laughed. ‘Oh, darling, it sounds like something from a film.’ She hesitated. ‘And will you be staying with the family?’
‘Yes, they have a house there.’ Actually Agusto had called it a fortress, but had he been speaking literally? ‘I can’t send you any pictures, though, Mum.’
‘Of course not. I wouldn’t—’
Cristina’s phone buzzed. She frowned. Someone was trying to ring her.
She glanced at the screen, her eyes narrowing.
Unknown number. Damn! Agusto had given her his private number but she hadn’t had a chance to put it into her phone yet. Fumbling with her bag, she tried to find the notepad where she’d written it down.
‘Mum, I’m going to have to go. I’ve got another call—’
‘Oh, of course. Well, I’ll hang up, then. Bye, darling, bye…’
Tucking the phone under her chin, Cristina cleared her throat.