Striving to stay calm, she said, ‘I know. And I get that. But what I don’t get is why you don’t want to talk to your father about it.’ Her breath was weaving in and out of her lungs too fast, as though she’d been running. ‘I’m not judging you—it’s just that I don’t have that kind of relationship with my father, and—’
And I’d kill even to hear his voice, much less have him tell me he loves me and needs me.
She finished the sentence in her head, her stomach churning with panic at the thought of having revealed the truth, even obliquely. The truth that she hadn’t mattered to the one man whose love and protection should have been unconditional.
Luis felt his muscles tighten. He felt ashamed of the way he’d acted at dinner. Yes, maybe his father shouldn’t have brought it up, but he’d handled it badly. Or rather he hadn’t handled it at all. Instead he’d done what he always did when his parents discussed the bank, or him returning to Segovia, he’d got irritated and defensive. And tonight he’d let it get completely out of hand.
It was unforgivable. He shouldn’t have done it—and wouldn’t have except that he hadn’t been thinking straight.
And it was her fault. He glanced over to where Cristina sat watching him, and suddenly it was easier to blame her than himself.
‘You don’t need to “get” it. You’re not here to practise your amateur psychology. You’re here to photograph my parents. Allegedly, anyway.’
‘What does that mean?’ Her eyes were suddenly narrow and blazing with anger.
‘It means that just because I bought you a dress it doesn’t mean that I’ve bought that whole little-girl-lost-on-the-streets-of-Segovia act. Do you really think I believe in that kind of coincidence?’
She stood up so fast that the stool she’d been sitting on spun away from her.
‘What kind of coincidence?’ She was practically shouting now.
‘Oh, you know, Cristina—the sort where we end up in bed one night and then the next day it turns out that you just happen to be taking my parents’ photographs.’
The blood drained from her face. ‘It wasn’t like that and you know it.’ She took a step backwards, her body trembling with anger. ‘And you know something else too. You might not believe in coincidences but I don’t believe in you. I think everything that comes of your mouth is a lie. Not just about me. But about yourself. About who you are, and what you want.’
Her hands curling into fists, she picked up the stool and slammed it back under the counter.
‘And, whatever you might think of me, your parents don’t deserve that. What’s more, you don’t deserve them!’
The room fell silent.
Cristina breathed out shakily. She wanted to say more, but one look at his still, set face told her there was no point. And, really, why should she waste any more time on him? It might not have sounded like much to him but she had laid her soul bare and—
‘You’re right.’
She glanced up at him and felt her stomach lurch. His skin was no longer taut but shifting, like ice cracking on a frozen lake, as pain rippled across his face.
‘I am lying,’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t think you’re that person and I shouldn’t have said I did. You didn’t deserve it.’ He looked past her, his eyes dark with shame and unease.
But i
t was his voice as much as his words that startled her. The strain she could hear in it was heartbreaking.
‘And they don’t deserve a son like me.’
He stopped short, as though it hurt too much for him to go on, and looking across at his stricken face, Cristina felt her anger start to evaporate.
‘Look, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s nothing to do with me. Your father will find someone else to run the bank—’
His face twisted. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not just the bank.’
She stared at him, her body stiffening as though she was bracing herself for a blow. ‘What do you mean?’
His face tightened, the skin taut across his cheekbones. ‘I did something unforgivable.’
Shaken, she shook her head automatically. ‘I doubt that. Whatever it was your parents would forgive you. They would,’ she repeated as he shook his head.
‘No, they wouldn’t. They couldn’t. You see, it was my fault. Don’t you understand? None of it would have happened if—’