Jane Porter - The Latin Lover's Secret Child

“Do not,” she whispered fiercely even as her green eyes sparkled with humor and mischief, “kiss me as if you are my grandmother.”

Lucio choked on a laugh. He brushed his lips across her forehead before firmly pushing her away and taking a step back.

She sat tall on the counter. “You’ll pay for that.”

He laughed again. He couldn’t help it. This was so Anabella, so perfectly like his Anabella that he couldn’t help the great wave of relief riding through him. Anabella would recover. Anabella would be herself. “Can’t wait,” he replied before he turned away and headed downstairs.

Dante hadn’t gone. He was pacing the living room as Lucio descended the stairs.

“She’s mad,” Dante said, meeting Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. “She’s lost her mind.”

“She’s not crazy,” Lucio answered almost cheerfully, tying his hair back again. His body hummed, and he felt hot, hungry and more than a little relieved. He was only just beginning to understand. It had taken him a while, but it was starting to add up, starting to come together.

She hadn’t lost her mind. She’d lost her memory.

“Anabella has gone back in time,” Lucio said, mentally sorting through his observations, piecing together all the conversations he’d had with her since returning. “And she seems to be living in the past right now.”

Dante looked even more appalled. “She’s back in time? But where? When?”

“That I haven’t figured out yet.”

“But you do think she’s gone back a number of years?”

“Well, certainly back to a place where she felt you were oppressive—”

“I was never oppressive!”

Lucio laughed without the least bit of humor. Dante was kidding himself. “You sent the police after us. Your mother’s hired guns nearly killed me.”

“My mother just wanted Anabella home.”

“Enough said.”

Dante sighed, ruffled the back of his hair, clearly at a loss. None of this was easy. None of this made sense. “So you really don’t think she’s gone over the edge?”

“No. She just needs time and a little less pressure. And frankly, I think your visits are harming her more than they’re helping. You need to give her space. She needs to recover at her own pace.”

“I think her doctor can be the judge of that.”

“You forget, her doctor works for me, Dante. Ana might be your sister, but she’s my wife.”

Dante’s dark head jerked up. “Your wife? She’s divorced you!”

“The divorce isn’t final.”

“But legally—”

“Legally she’s still my wife.”

The two men stared at each other for a long unending moment before Dante gave his head a bitter shake. “So you’re back in charge, are you?”

Lucio hated the violence of his emotions, hated that he wanted to grab Dante and do bodily harm to him. He inhaled deeply, held his breath, fighting for control.

Slowly he exhaled. He had to stay calm. It wouldn’t be fair to Anabella to get into a shouting match with her brother now. She was just upstairs and it’d be far too easy for her to overhear things she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Dante. This isn’t easy for me. I never wanted the divorce. That was her decision, her doing. And she might not remember the present, but I do. I know her feelings changed for me. I know how miserable she was with me.”

Dante’s narrowed glance met Lucio’s. “Yet she doesn’t remember any of that now.”

“She will.”

“And until then? From what I saw here, Anabella still imagines the two of you wildly in love.”

Lucio’s hard smile faded. “Then I guess I’ll have to play along.”

Dante’s lashes flickered, concealing his expression. “And you can do this? You can stay here and put yourself in the middle of her drama?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Of course you have a choice! You have another home, another life. You could be there instead of here.” The Count turned away, passed a hand over his eyes. “You hope to use her illness to your advantage. You’re going to try to win her back.”

“And is that such a crime?”

Dante’s head lifted and his cynical gaze clashed with Lucio’s. Lucio didn’t blink. He’d pledged himself to Anabella five years ago, three years before they married. His love had nothing to do with a ceremony and a piece of paper.

He loved Anabella simply because she existed.

“She’s never been happy living with you,” Dante said at last. “It’s the idea of you she loves. Not the reality.”

It’s the idea she loves. Not the reality. The words repeated in Lucio’s brain. He held still, flinching inwardly as the words sank in.

Dante’s assessment was harsh, sharp, and his words wounded. But Lucio kept the hurt from his expression. “I will call you with updates,” he said evenly. He wouldn’t say more than he already had. “I promise to phone the moment she begins to improve.”

“But otherwise you’re telling me to stay home?”

Lucio managed the briefest of smiles. “I’m asking you to give Ana time.”

After Dante left, Lucio stepped into the kitchen and requested that dinner be served in the small study downstairs instead of carried to Anabella’s room. Then Lucio headed upstairs to check on his wife.

“He’s gone?” Anabella asked hopefully as Lucio entered the room. She was sitting on the foot of her bed, wrapped up in a thick bath towel, her wet hair slicked back from her beautiful face.

Lucio felt a craving to touch her, and he suppressed the craving just as quickly as it flared. “He’s returning to Buenos Aires. He’s going home and back to work.”

“Good. I don’t like him!”

“Ana, you adore him.” He stared down at her, arms folded over his chest and for a moment he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. What if she never did improve? What if she never regained her memories? Never regained her independence? What then?

But Lucio wouldn’t think that far. No reason to go there yet. He reminded himself that she was young and strong and intelligent. Of course she’d improve. They’d just have to take it slowly. They’d have to be patient.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, trying hard to make it sound as if everything was normal, that everything would eventually be normal. “Except you’re still wearing a towel.”

“You don’t think it’s romantic?”

“Not unless you’re the matching bath mat.”

He was rewarded with a laugh. Grinning, Ana slid off the edge of the bed. “Actually, I did want to dress but I couldn’t find my clothes. Do you know where Dante put my suitcase?”

Lucio cocked his head a little. Was she serious? “They’re in your closet, Ana.”

“Where’s my closet?”

“There. In your room.”

“Show me.”

He walked her to the massive walk-in closet across from her en suite bath. Flicking on the closet light he gestured to the rods of hanging clothes and the long wall lined with shoe boxes. “This is your closet.”

Ana peered in. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the racks of suits, dresses, long evening gowns. “Very funny. Now where are my clothes? My shirts, my shoes, my jeans?”

It hit him all over again.

She didn’t know. She didn’t recognize anything here, didn’t realize that she wasn’t Anabella the teenager but Anabella the woman. The last five years hadn’t happened yet…at least, not in her mind.

He looked down at her, his chest tight with wildly contradictory emotions. This was going to be so difficult. He didn’t know how to deal with her…interact with her. He’d come to think of her as remote, sophisticated, self-contained but right now she was as bubbly and effervescent as a bottle of sparkling wine.