ightness into her voice, she said quickly, ‘It’s not that surprising, is it? Your husband is still working now. Probably he worked even harder when he was younger.’
Sofia gave her a small, tight smile. ‘He did. But it was different. Agusto was different.’ She sighed. ‘He worked for his family and to remind himself of his heritage.’ Her smile stiffened. ‘Luis works to forget that heritage.’
But why?
The question formed on Cristina’s lips, but just as she opened her mouth to ask it Agusto turned towards them and the conversation moved on to the options for dessert.
The next day followed the same pattern—work interspersed with periods of trying not to think about Luis. Mealtimes were the worst, and despite enjoying spending time with Agusto and Sofia, she missed him so much that it hurt like a bruise just above her heart. Not that her heart was actually involved in their particular dynamic. Probably the ache was just a phantom memory—a reminder of how she had felt when her father had left.
As usual, thinking about her father made the breath rattle in her throat, and with a pure effort of will she forced herself to blank all thoughts other than work from her mind.
At first it worked.
She spent the afternoon playing around with the photos on her laptop, but her focus of a few days earlier had evaporated. The screen might as well have been blank for all the attention she gave it. Instead she couldn’t stop thinking about what Sofia had said about her son, and her sadness. Her words played inside Cristina’s head as images of Luis looped through her mind. His dark eyes as she’d asked him to leave, that blank look on his face the moment before he’d turned and walked out…
Her downshifting mood and diminishing concentration weren’t helped by her phone vibrating with persistent regularity in her pocket.
Finally, it was time to wander up to the main house for supper.
She hadn’t been expecting to see Luis, but even so the sight of the table once again set only for three gave her a jolt. The meal seemed to last for ever, and by the end her face was aching with the effort of smiling. Finally, pleading tiredness and a need for an early night, she excused herself and, back in her room, she lay down on her bed, willing herself to fall asleep.
It didn’t work.
Her body felt impossibly restless. There was a sharpness beneath her ribs, and her breathing faltered in her chest. And she knew why she was feeling like this now. It was because he wasn’t here.
She was missing him.
Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the ceiling in confusion.
That made no sense at all. For the last few days she’d been desperate to escape his cool, critical gaze, so why should she be missing him now?
She should be celebrating, or at least feeling grateful that she wasn’t having to spend time with him, for it was clear that despite praising her photos he still thought she was shallow, devious and not to be trusted. His barely concealed contempt for her had left her as breathless as his lovemaking.
Her pulse gave a twitch, heat flaring inside her as she remembered how Luis made love. The cool touch of his fingers, the heat of his mouth, the hard thrust of his body against hers, the feeling that when finally he pulled away she had lost a part of herself…
Her phone vibrated on the bed beside her and her body froze, her thoughts abruptly eclipsed by a shifting and by now familiar apprehension. Glancing down, she felt almost winded with relief as she saw it was her mother calling.
‘Hi, Mum.’
Pressing the phone against the side of her face, a rush of homesickness hit her head-on as she pictured her mother in her room.
‘Oh, Chrissie—thank goodness.’
Hearing the agitation in her mother’s voice, Cristina felt suddenly nauseous. Her mum was usually so good at hiding her emotions, but she wasn’t even trying.
‘What’s the matter?’
Her heart seemed to drop inside her chest. Could Laura have contacted her mother? It seemed unlikely, but not impossible.
Trying to keep her voice steady, she said, ‘Has something happened?’
‘I’ve been leaving you messages for days. I thought something had happened to you. I know it’s late, and I wasn’t going to ring, but I couldn’t bear it—’
Her mother’s voice wobbled and Cristina gripped the phone more tightly, guilt coursing through her. After her father had left both she and her mother had become scrupulous about staying in touch. Even when she’d been at her worst—bunking off school, staying out all night—she’d still called her mum and answered every text from her.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’ She spoke quickly, desperate to reassure the one person in her life who had been constant and caring. ‘The signal here isn’t great,’ she lied. ‘And my phone keeps losing charge.’ Another lie. ‘It’s been a crazy few days.’ That was true—although not in the way she was making it sound.
The rest of the conversation was much easier. Her mum was a good listener, and so partisan in support of her daughter that Cristina found herself relaxing for the first time in days. But even as she said goodbye she could feel her earlier tension returning.