Proof Of Their One Hot Night by Emmy Grayson
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CALANDRAKEPTHEReyes focused on the passing scenery and tried to keep her thoughts, and her gaze, off Alejandro as he guided the car through the French countryside. She’d awoken that morning feeling surprisingly refreshed after her confession and, after seeing she had a text from him asking how she was feeling, giddy. Giddy. A giddiness she couldn’t shake no matter how sternly she talked to her reflection in the mirror as she’d gotten ready.
He’d been waiting outside the villa, looking like he’d walked straight out of a fashion ad in black jeans and a dark blue polo shirt fitted perfectly to his broad chest and muscular arms. The car ride had been surprisingly relaxing as they talked about everything from their past travels to his favorite movies and her favorite books.
Alejandro gestured to the north. A village perched on a hilltop, the collection of white stone buildings arranged in a charming cluster on the mountainside.
“The village of Gordes.”
“It’s lovely.”
“Glad you like it.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Most women I’ve known wouldn’t enjoy this. They would want something fancy.”
“Sounds like most women you know are stuck-up.”
“Pretty much.” That thousand-watt plastic smile flashed, not the genuine grin or teasing twist of his lips. “They date me because they want the fantasy, not the reality.”
Sadness crept over her.
“Is that what you think, Alejandro? That if they knew the real you they wouldn’t want you?”
The smile faltered, a slip in his carefree mask that spoke volumes.
He didn’t answer. Awkwardness filled the space between them until all she wanted to do was escape the car and disappear down one of the little cobblestone streets she spied. They continued on past Gordes as the sun rose in the sky. Surely they were close to wherever Alejandro was taking them. She needed to get out, stretch her legs and have some time to think.
Why was Alejandro hiding behind this pretense of being spoiled? In the years she’d known him, she would have described him as one of the most confident, self-assured men she knew. Yet she’d seen the cracks in his persona this week, as well as views of a man who intrigued her, who made her long for more than just a hot tryst in a hotel room.
Or on a yacht, her mind taunted.
She thrust that thought away and reflected on what she’d seen of Alejandro this week. The man she’d seen onboard La Reina with a deep passion for his work. The man who stood up to his father on her behalf even after she’d hurt him. The man who watched classic movies with his mother and wanted to go into business with his brothers because he respected their work. In the moments he’d tried to impress her with his wealth, the similarities with her father and her genuine disinterest in having anything in common with his previous paramours had helped her stay aloof.
It was the moments when he hadn’t tried that had broken through her resolve to keep him at arm’s length. When she’d seen the man he was beneath the money and glamour.
The hill on the right sloped down, and the sight before her drew her out of her reverie. She gasped.
“Oh!”
She’d heard of the legendary lavender fields of Provence. But she wasn’t prepared for the stunning beauty of it in person. A stone church sat at the base of tree-covered hills, surrounded by thick bushes nearly bursting with violet-colored flowers lined up, one after another.
“Sénanque Abbey,” Alejandro said. “Built in 1148.”
They drove by the front two lavender fields, the first a large open area with at least a dozen rows of thick, bushy lavender plants. Across a small bridge and behind a line of trees lay another field, smaller but still boasting the same vibrant purple flowers.
“This is incredible,” she breathed.
“One of my mother’s favorite sites.”
“Thank you, Alejandro. For sharing this with me.” She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I never would have gone to a place like this on my own.”
He pulled his sunglasses off and gave her one of those genuine smiles that made her heart flip in her chest.
“Calandra Smythe, are you thanking your arch nemesis?”
His joking tone teased a reluctant smile from her. “I wouldn’t describe you as a nemesis. Just a thorn in my side.”
“A thorn? How flattering. I would have hoped I might compare to something a bit larger.”
“No comment.”
He chuckled. “You’re certainly good for bringing a man down a peg or two.”
“So I’ve been told.” She grabbed her purse off the floor, surprisingly eager to see the abbey and the lavender fields up close.
They walked up the drive, the walls of the abbey growing larger as they neared. She found herself entranced by the ancient stone, the elegantly carved windows and the tower that stood proudly against the backdrop of the tree-covered hills. The soothing scent of the lavender surrounded them, floral and sweet.
“It doesn’t seem real,” Calandra finally said. “Like a fairy tale.” She glanced back at the almost empty parking lot. “I guess not many people know of it.”
“They do. Peak tourist season for Provence occurs in July.” He shot her a smug smile. “Hence why lavender field excursions for La Reina’s guests will occur in late June. Two weeks of exclusive access to some of the most beautiful fields in France, minus the elbowing and clamoring for space among the crowds of tourists.”
“Smart.” Her eyes softened as she gazed at the abbey. “It’s the kind of place you’re so grateful to discover, but you don’t want too many others to know.”
When he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his muscular chest, she gave in to temptation and leaned against him.
“I’d like to share something with you.”
The seriousness in his tone made her freeze. For a moment she said nothing, her breath caught in her chest. If she said no, she’d be doing what she’d been doing from the beginning—staying safe inside her little fortress of solitude while taking away his chances of proving himself.
If she said yes, the door she’d slowly been opening all week as she’d spent time with him, confided in him, would be flung wide-open. The potential for so much joy. So much heartbreak.
She breathed in deeply and leaned deeper into his embrace.
A heartbeat passed. Then his arms tightened around her and he started to speak.
“I had a good childhood. My mother was incredible, always there for Antonio and me.”
“Not Adrian?”
“They didn’t have the best relationship for a long time. But it’s getting better.” He huffed out a breath. “I can’t say the same for my father and me. It’s always been terrible. My first memory of him is showing him a drawing I’d done when I was about four. He’d just gotten back from one of his trips. He didn’t even look, just ruffled my hair as he walked into his study and shut the door.”
Her heart ached for the little boy who’d just wanted his father’s love. Such a simple thing, and yet one that, at least in her experience, was too much to ask.
“I imagine it wasn’t the first time he ignored me, or the second or the third, because I remember grabbing a lamp off the table. It broke all over the floor. My father came out, berated me, put me in time-out. I was in trouble, but I had something I hadn’t had before—his attention.”
A small group wandered past, chattering in English and snapping photos of everything in sight. Alejandro released her and drew her away, his body angled protectively between her and the tourists as he kept one arm wrapped firmly around her waist. As they walked toward a smaller lavender field, he continued.
“I only misbehaved when he was around. It became a game. What could I do when he was home to get his attention, to make him react. The more I did, the angrier he got. I never did it around my mother, and I don’t think he ever told her. We kept at it, me acting out and him losing his temper. Adrian didn’t attend Eton until he was fifteen, but Padre sent me there when I was thirteen. He told me point-blank the less he saw of me, the better.”
They stopped next to a tree with long, crooked branches and thick leaves that provided welcome shade from the growing heat of the afternoon sun. Alejandro’s arm dropped from her waist and he stepped forward, hands tucked in his pockets as he stared at the green hills beyond the abbey.
“One day I came back early for a holiday. My father was with a woman in the library.” Anger edged into his voice. “I knew the moment I saw them. I knew that my father had betrayed my mother. When he saw me in the doorway, he became enraged. I accused him of cheating on her. He said if I ever told my mother, he would deny everything, insist that I was lying and acting out the way I always had. I had no intention of telling her—she loves him.” The smile that crossed his face was almost cruel in its harshness. “So I decided to punish him instead. Breaking lamps was nothing compared to what I would do the rest of his life.”
The parallel between his parents and hers, between how he’d threatened his father and her last conversation with hers, made the ache in her chest intensify. She knew exactly what that moment felt like, when one discovered that a parent had committed such a grievous sin against the other.
“I mentioned my father presents a priggish front. He grew up from nothing, so he’s obsessed with the image he maintains. Every article that’s published, every photo that’s snapped, is just another knife in his chest.”
It was almost surreal, this glimpse into what could have been her life had Father not died a week after Mom’s funeral. Would she have pursued his punishment so zealously? Crafted her entire life around reminding him of his transgressions every chance she got? While she’d never wished him dead, she found herself grateful for the silver lining his death had granted her.
“What does your mother think?”
“Not a fan of the parties.” A fond smile temporarily chased away the gloom that had settled over his handsome features. “We were so close, though, that when I started to make the papers, she asked if I was happy. Probably knew I wasn’t, but knew me well enough not to push. I wasn’t doing anything illegal. I overheard her tell my father once she thought I needed to find myself.” His bark of laughter startled a bird out of the tree. It tweeted its dismay, spread its wings and soared up into the summer sky.
“She sounds like a good mom.”
“She was. Summers when I was off from school, we watched The Black Pirate with Douglas Fairbanks and The Court Jester with Danny Kaye. My father discouraged rough play. My mother and Diego, our butler, strung up a rope in the backyard so Antonio and I could pretend we were pirates and swing off one of the trees into the pool.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Calandra said with a touch of longing.
“It was.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It should have been enough. But for whatever reason, I wasn’t able to let go of this fixation with my father. By the time I graduated from Eton, we barely spoke. When I graduated from Oxford, Padre put me in charge of the weakest of all his holdings—Cabrera Shipping. Five ships, three of them rusty and behind on maintenance. Crews full of dissatisfied men working long hours for horrid pay. He’d given Adrian Cabrera Wines. Antonio was a year behind me at Oxford and had already interned for some luxury resort, so he was in line to head the hospitality management side of Cabrera holdings. Javier had to give me something to save face with the outside world.”
“But you turned Cabrera Shipping into a success.”
“I pointed out the same thing to Javier about a year ago. He said he’d given me everything to make Cabrera a success and that anyone could have made it profitable.” He laughed, the sound hollow. “It shouldn’t have made an impression, but it did.” He let out a long, slow breath. “I spent the majority of my life acting out, breaking the rules, for my father. First to get his attention. Then to punish him. Every time I ended up in the papers, every time my picture was splashed across some magazine, I got a phone call or a text from him. It embarrassed him. Not being embarrassed mattered more to him than being a part of our family. So I did it more.”
Sunlight kissed his cheekbones, highlighting his chiseled features, the strength in his jaw. A man so handsome and yet hurting so deeply it twisted her heart. How many times had she dismissed him as her boss’s spoiled little brother? She’d been clinging to her own pain and prejudice so tightly she hadn’t been able to look past the surface.
“And here we are.” Alejandro spread his hands. “The spoiled, billionaire playboy who wanted to get his father’s attention through sex, parties and alcohol. Except the last year I’ve realized that my hard-earned reputation that was designed to punish my father instead kept me from pursuing what I really wanted. I enjoyed my work for Cabrera. I worked hard to make it a success. But again, to prove my father wrong. So I went after what I wanted.”
His eyes fell to her, then drifted down to her stomach.
“Once I set my mind to something, I’m invested.” He took a step closer, then another. Her heart jumped into her throat at the raw emotion in his eyes. Sadness, anger and need. “I want to be the father mine never was. That includes being there for our child.”
His words settled deep into her bones. In that moment, she knew he meant every word. If she could let herself trust him, be just as vulnerable with him as he’d been with her, their child could grow up with two parents who adored it.
Was it too selfish to hope that, perhaps, there was a possibility for them, too?