Cathy Williams - Latin Lovers - Passionate Spaniards

‘In Spain you told me that you wanted to live a different life. You said that things for you had become predictable …that you longed to change that. To me that would suggest that you might welcome the notion of living in another country—not be totally against the idea. Surely walking the Camino helped you to have less fixed and rigid views, Isabella?’

He had a point, of course. Feeling acutely discomfited by his solemn-faced cynosure as well as the wisdom in his words, Isabella sighed and ran her hand across her brow. ‘My views aren’t rigid or fixed!’ she protested, glancing down at her slumbering baby. She had never sought to deny him knowledge or influence of his father—on the contrary, she had tried every which way she could to contact him—but at the same time Leandro could not just wade in and take charge of everything now that he was here. If only she could think more clearly for a minute! But that was easier said than done when the strongly magnetic pull for this man kept interfering—like some pirate radio station infiltrating the airwaves. ‘But if you seriously expect me to consider your suggestion, then I need more than three days to think it over.’

‘No,’ he snapped back with a dangerously warning glance, ‘that is not possible! I want my son with me when I return to Spain and I am not prepared to wait while you make up your mind about whether it is a good idea or not! How do I know that when I leave the country you would not flee somewhere else with Raphael and leave no forwarding address?’

Isabella blanched in indignation. ‘I would never do that to you!’ As she struggled to calm herself she could see the genuine fear in Leandro’s expression that she might do just that and her heart turned over with sorrow. She would never deprive him of contact with his son or Raphael contact with his father. ‘Look …this is an impossible situation. I know that. We both have to be reasonable if we’re going to make the right decision …don’t you agree?’

‘The “right” decision?’ For a moment Leandro appeared scornful. ‘The right decision is that we simply have to do what is best for Raphael! And, in my opinion, living with both parents in a comfortable home and not lacking for anything is surely something to be desired and not rejected? Even if it is not in the country he was born in. I want to be in my son’s life on a daily basis—I am not interested in a long-distance “weekend father” kind of relationship! The only way we can accomplish that is for both of you to come and live with me. I say again, Isabella …it is Raphael’s welfare that must take precedence over any other considerations. And I have already been deprived of nine months of his life and do not intend to be deprived of any more!’

At the sound of the raised male voice, Raphael stirred where he lay on the sofa beneath the pretty fringed shawl, opened his startling grey eyes and whimpered softly as he looked up at Leandro.

‘Increíble …’

Lapsing into awed Spanish, Leandro gazed down into the glistening mirror of his infant son’s eyes, his expression rapt. Any vestige of doubt that they were father and son was annihilated into dust in that amazing moment. He let his breath out slowly.

Automatically moving past him to pick up her infant, Isabella felt her own body tremble violently with emotion. She felt for both of them. For her baby son who, did he but know it, was looking upon the face of his father for the very first time …and for Leandro, meeting the child he hadn’t even known existed until yesterday …

I have already been deprived of nine months of his life and do not intend to be deprived of any more!

The ache inside her throat burned intolerably as Leandro’s passionate words echoed hurtfully round her brain. She had tried so hard to contact him when she’d found out that she was pregnant, but every avenue, every door to reaching him, had been absolutely shut in her face. It would have been easier to try and make contact with the Pope! What was she supposed to have done under the circumstances but decide to raise her child on her own?

Frustration and guilt gripping her, Isabella tried to stay calm for her son’s sake. Carefully lifting Raphael up into her arms, she cradled him tenderly as he laid his head on her shoulder and proceeded to suck his thumb—all the while regarding Leandro from beneath his sable lashes with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

‘He’s hungry,’ Isabella declared tightly as she walked back across the room and out into the kitchen. Retrieving a bottle of milk formula from the fridge, she opened the microwave, tapped in the correct heating time and switched it on. As the plate inside started to rotate with the bottle of milk, she turned round to find Leandro framed in the doorway, his expression bordering on accusatory as his gaze met hers across the distance between them. ‘You are not feeding our son yourself?’

For a second or two Isabella froze. Then as another guilty wave immersed her, she bit back the angrily defensive retort that she’d been about to let loose. Instead she started to pat Raphael comfortingly on the back as, sensing her discomfort, he began to struggle in her arms.

‘No …I’m not. I breastfed him for three months but it was difficult.’ Leandro’s steady gaze held hers in thrall and for a tense, troubling moment Isabella could not break free from the spell. Feeling his scrutiny and judgement intensely, she started to rock rhythmically from side to side in a bid to comfort her increasingly restless baby son. It was clear to her that Raphael could absolutely sense her unease and the effect this ‘strange’ man was having upon his mother’s usual calm. ‘I was suffering with post-natal depression for a while and my milk just seemed to—to dry up,’ she continued with her explanation.

The words seemed as insubstantial as cotton wool—as though she were merely making unconvincing excuses for what Leandro must see as her complete lack of determination in the matter. Isabella could have cried with the deep unfairness of his perceived judgement. It had not been easy being pregnant and having to cope with the prospect and reality of bringing a child into the world on her own. Apart from the physical aspects, emotionally Isabella had not known what had hit her. And when she hadn’t even been able to contact Leandro to let him know what had happened after their night together, she had experienced overwhelming fear and the most devastating vulnerability too. Swallowing hard, she jiggled Raphael some more to get him to settle but he would not be comforted. He was as mesmerised by Leandro as she was and kept straining to look at him over her shoulder.

‘You should have had proper help so that you could continue. In Spain we would have done things properly.’

The accusation in his voice no longer open to speculation but just about as obvious as it could get, Leandro walked towards her and held out his arms. ‘Give him to me,’ he ordered quietly. Wanting to resist but somehow unable to, Isabella relented, and surprisingly Raphael immediately quieted. Her heartbeat slowed to an astonished thud inside her chest. Jerking his head a little towards the microwave, then looking straight at her, Leandro positioned his hands securely around his baby son and held him tenderly to his chest. ‘See to the milk. I will take Raphael into the living room and we will wait for you.’ Breathing out with some force as they left the room, Isabella heard the timely ‘ping’ from the microwave and, opening the door, reached inside in a daze to retrieve the now-warmed milk …

‘Soy su padre, mi hijo.’ I am your father, my son …The rest of the world retreated into oblivion as Leandro spoke to his child alone for the first time and he was completely content just to let it. The concerns that had lately been so prevalent and that had seemed to tirelessly dominate his thinking—his father’s death, his mother’s melancholy, the unsatisfactory script for the new film, even his increasing desire to see Isabella again—all stole into a silent void as he willingly lost himself in the wide grey innocent eyes that solemnly gazed up at him. The one thought that did consume him was that in the instant he had glanced back into that curious and innocent glance Leandro knew that he had become the fiercely protective custodian of this beautiful innocent life he held in his arms. He would willingly die before he let harm touch so much as one hair of his son’s head. That being the case, Isabella had no choice but to return to Spain with him and their son. Any arguments she put to him to dispute that choice, Leandro would ruthlessly knock down as easily as a pack of cards. But he would get his way …he had to get his way. He owed it not just to himself, but to the memory of his beloved father who had longed for the miracle Leandro held in his arms right now. Raphael …his perfect little son …