Jane Porter - The Latin Lover's Secret Child

Maria bowed her head. “But what is normal, Senor? I don’t think there is a normal. I think there is just life.”

Lucio was still in the office two hours later when Maria knocked on the door again. He’d dozed off in the chair, slumped back, and he woke with a start. “Yes?” he called gruffly, pushing himself forward, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d slept hard and he shook his head a couple times, finding it difficult to wake.

“The Count Galván is here,” Maria said entering the room and taking the empty tray from a side table. “He’s waiting for you in the salon.”

Lucio passed a hand across his face once again. So the big brother had arrived. Dante Galván certainly didn’t waste time.

Lucio was tempted to have Maria show the Count into the study, but glancing around the study with the framed pictures of Anabella on the desk and the personal keepsakes on the bookshelves made the room feel far too intimate.

Better to meet on neutral ground.

Or as neutral a ground as they were going to find in Lucio’s former house.

Entering the salon Lucio found his brother-in-law standing in the great room with the high painted beams, the plaster walls washed cream, the floor terra-cotta tiles imported from Italy. The oil paintings all dated from the 17th Century and the rich art and fine antiques spoke of wealth, class, prestige.

Lucio saw Dante glance around the room, Dante’s gaze briefly settling on one of the Italian paintings, a landscape with cherubs and maidens frolicking at a tree-shaded lake.

“You know how valuable these are, don’t you?” Dante said, gesturing to the wall. “Especially this one,” he added, pointing to the maidens by the lake.

Lucio would have smiled if he had the strength. With his world coming down around him, Dante wanted to discuss Lucio’s wealth? “Yes.”

Dante continued to study the oversize canvas. “When did you buy it?”

“Before I married your sister.” Meaning, with my money, not hers. And not yours.

Dante’s head lifted and the two men, both Argentine, Dante Italian aristocrat, and Lucio, Spanish-Indian, stared at each other with open hostility.

“I bought the house complete.” Lucio broke the tension-fraught silence. “The owner fell on hard times. I bought the land, the villa and all the furnishings with cash.”

Dante’s lashes flickered down but Lucio saw the doubt in his eyes. “You’ve never explained how you made your money.”

“I made my fortune gambling—”

“Gambling?”

“And then took what I made at the gaming tables and invested it here,” Lucio concluded as if Dante had never interrupted.

Dante made a rough sound. “Gambler to vintner? Sounds awfully far-fetched.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Count. But I’ve always been a gambler. You should know that. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t take risks.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have seduced my sister—”

“No.” Lucio felt his temper rise but he kept it controlled, hidden by a pleasant smile. “I wouldn’t be here now, this afternoon, if I didn’t believe that this was a good opportunity for both of us.”

“Opportunity?” Dante shot him a sharp glance. “You don’t honestly think you’ve got a chance with her again?”

Lucio shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an optimist. I will never give up on Anabella. I will never give up on us.” And Lucio had said the words to spite the Count, but once he’d spoken the words he realized he meant them. He did want a second chance. Maybe God had given him a second chance to make Ana fall in love with him again.

Dante’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew bitter. He moved towards the window and stared out, his gaze fixed on the dark green vineyards undulating in the distance.

For a long moment Lucio said nothing. He just watched Dante and waited for whatever was to come next. Lucio could afford to wait. It’s all he’d been doing for weeks. Months.

Years.

Finally Dante turned, acknowledged Lucio with a slight nod of his head. “I suppose I should thank you for coming.”

Lucio bit his tongue.

“The doctor said you were in California,” Dante continued.

“You waited an awfully long time to call.”

“I waited until Ana asked for you.” Dante’s golden gaze clashed with Lucio’s. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

Lucio kept his temper—just barely. And yet he had to keep reminding himself not to pick a fight with his brother-in-law. Feuding wouldn’t help Anabella. What he needed was facts. More information. Pieces of the missing puzzle. “Is this how she emerged from the coma?”

“She was hallucinating even before your Dr. Dominguez induced the coma. It was the hallucinations that helped get her properly diagnosed. Until then everyone here, including her staff, believed she had the flu.”

“You visited her here then?”

“Your housekeeper called me and I flew out. I sent for the ambulance as soon as I arrived. I knew it was serious. She was feverish. She was definitely ill.”

“And that was what? A month ago?” Despite his best intentions, Lucio felt the bitterness rise. He wanted to remain calm, controlled, but deep down he’d never forgive Dante for shutting him out.

“Nearly.” Dante hesitated for a long moment. He appeared at a loss for words. “She is better,” he said quietly. “She may not be the old Anabella yet, but she’s greatly improved from where she was a week ago.”

Lucio could feel the Count’s concern. Dante genuinely cared for Anabella and Lucio was reminded of the autumn five years ago when he first met Ana and her family. Just seventeen, she was starting her last year of school, and already such a rebel, so at odds with her older brother’s authority.

Dante and Anabella. The two had gone round and round but no matter what happened between them, they were family.

Lucio slowly exhaled, the air almost hissing between his lips. “I’m curious about your definition of better.”

The Count looked at him, puzzled. “Her muscle tone is returning. Her strength is returning, but as you might have noticed, there are some memory issues.”

Lucio didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Oh, I noticed.”

There was a moment of silence following Lucio’s answer and as the silence lengthened the Count’s expression grew wary. “What happened? How did she react to you when you arrived—”

Dante was interrupted by a scream from upstairs, the shout carrying down the stone stairwell into the high ceilinged living room. Dante jerked but Lucio’s features remained hard, impassive. In the six hours he’d been home, he’d heard every sound imaginable.

“What the hell was that?” Dante demanded, his gaze lifting to the ceiling where the beams had been stenciled in cream, red and green designs.

Lucio moved swiftly towards the stairs. “Anabella.”

THE furious cry was followed by the sound of bare feet running down the stairs. Anabella practically jumped down the last two stairs, her white shirt untucked, her long hair flying. “What do you want, Dante? What are you planning now?”

Dante took a stunned step backwards, hands rising to calm his youngest sister. “I came to see you.”

“And do what?” Her fine aristocratic features were pinched and her dark-lashed eyes bright. She reached up and swiftly knotted her hair into a rough ponytail. “Or do you not think I know what you want to do, what you intend to do?”

His expression hardened. “I have no intentions,” he said impatiently. “I’m here because you’ve been sick and I’ve been worried.”

Ana made an indignant sound and her hands flew in quick Italian gestures. “I haven’t been sick. I’ve just been upset. I missed Lucio, but he’s back now.” She drew a quick breath, eyes blazing even hotter. “And no one can keep us apart now. No one, Dante. Not you. Not Mama. Not even all of Mama’s hired soldiers.”