‘You’re wrong,’ he said, the cutting tone thick with sarcasm. ‘My decision to have you, no matter the cost to my family and my reputation, proves that I am my father’s son after all,’ he added, but beneath the brittle anger she could also hear the regret. ‘I kept his secrets because I was too scared not to. And because of my cowardice, my mother never understood what a bastard he really was. She had no way to protect herself against his lies—when the truth was exposed for the whole world to see—and so she took her own life.’
His jaw hardened as Cerys’s stomach churned. ‘What…what are you saying, Santiago? I thought your mother died in childbirth?’
Wasn’t that what Ana had said? What the press reports had implied? That the shock of her husband’s death had caused his mother to go into premature labour and the subsequent loss of blood had led to her death and her baby’s.
‘She killed herself, and as a result the child inside her,’ he hissed, and her stomach turned to lead as she realised what he was saying. His mother hadn’t died from a miscarriage, she’d committed suicide. Which meant what Santiago had endured that summer had been even more horrendous.
‘I didn’t know she had the pills. I should have realised how much pain she was in…’ he continued. He heaved a tortured breath, his gaze becoming haunted. ‘She still believed he was a good man, that he was worthy of her love, because of my silence.’
She pressed her palm to his cheek, the muscle in his jaw so rigid her instinct was to soothe. ‘That’s not true, Santiago. It wasn’t your fault. You were just a child.’
His gaze flashed to hers and he jerked his head away from her touch. ‘I was man enough to keep his secrets from her for eight years. I knew who he was, and I said nothing. If she had known who he really was—that he hadneverbeen faithful—she would not have been so shocked by the affair, so devastated when he died. That’s on me and I will bear the responsibility for it for the rest of my life.’
‘Santiago!’ she gasped. ‘How can you believe a child of eight could be more culpable than a man of thirty?’
It explained so much, she thought. Why he was so determined to protect his siblings, why he had been determined to protect her—because he believed he had failed to protect his mother… But also why he found it so hard to share his feelings, to be vulnerable, to admit he needed support too. Because he had always been the one to take on the responsibility, to pay the price for his father’s crimes…
But where did all these terrible truths leave them?
‘We can’t legalise this marriage. Not now. Surely you can see that, Santiago,’ she said carefully, even as her heart shattered.
She understood now exactly how much he had lost. How badly he had been hurt. But how could she ever hope for more from him now, when she would always be linked in his eyes to the events which had destroyed his childhood?
‘We do not have a choice,’ he replied, the flat tone only hurting her more.
‘But why not?’ she asked, desperate now. Leaving thecastillo, leaving Ana and María and all the other friends she had made here—even Alejandro—would hurt immeasurably.
The friendships she’d made in Spain over the course of a few months had been more intense, much deeper and more real than any others she had made in her life before now, because she’d always been held back by the fear of abandonment which had dogged her until she’d woken in Santiago De Montoya’s home.
But how could she stay, when being with Santiago, seeing how much he despised her, would hurt so much more?
The full impact of what she had done dawned on her.
She’d let herself fall in love with this hard, cynical man. Even though he’d never really given her any reason to hope for more from this marriage, she’d felt cherished and important. But what they’d had was a lie. Even if one day he could believe she hadn’t faked the amnesia, how could she ever atone for sins that weren’t even hers?
She’d spent her whole life being judged for her mother’s desertion by her father. She couldn’t go through that again—it would destroy what was left of the woman she had discovered in his arms. The woman she might always have been meant to be—reckless, yes, impulsive, and so much like her mother, but also full of passion and hope and love.
‘This marriage can still end the scandal which has destroyed my family’s honour and reputation—and held my business back for fifteen years…’
‘But won’t my true identity only reignite the scandal?’ she said, trying to make some sense of what he was saying, while her mind was still reeling, her heart still in turmoil.
‘Not if we simply state that I knew who you were all along. A marriage between us can then create a new narrative—a love match between us will right the wrongs of our parents’ affair… And add a positive spin to the story before we part.’
‘B-but you don’t love me,’ she murmured, sickened by the brutal yearning in her heart. ‘You never did… You don’t even believe in love…’
‘That is easy enough to fake,’ he said. ‘Especially now we know what a good actress you are.’
She shuddered at the bitter tone.
‘I… I won’t do it,’ she said. ‘I can’t…’
But when she stepped away from him he clasped her upper arm, dragging her back until his mouth was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips.
‘Yes, you will. If you care about Ana, about Alejandro, about the future of this family.’
‘You… You know I do, but how can telling another lie make this okay?’
God, why had she ever agreed to go through with his marriage bargain? When she’d known she was falling in love with him weeks ago. Maybe even from the first moment he’d held her.