Jennie Adams - A Valentine Kiss - A Marriage Worth Saving / Tempted by Her Tycoon Boss / The Unforgettable Spanish Tycoon

Because as soon as she’d given herself time to think it through—with Jordan’s words still in her head—she’d realised her reaction the previous day had been because she was doubting her skills. It wasn’t just about her job either. Jordan’s return had reminded her of her failures—at being a wife. At being a mother.

Her heart hiccupped and she laid a hand over her chest, hoping to comfort herself.

Losing her baby when she was barely six months pregnant had only succeeded in amplifying her insecurities. Insecurities that stemmed from growing up without hearing anyone tell her she was good at something—at anything. She could see now that it had led to her believing that she wasn’t good enough. Certainly not for Jordan when she’d first met him, since he’d had everything she hadn’t had in her childhood.

Love, a family, a home.

A little voice had reminded her of that throughout their marriage. It was part of the reason she wished Jordan had told her he was happy with her. Or that he was proud of her. Or that she was a good wife.

But then, they’d never shared things like that during their brief marriage. She had just accepted what he’d said because she’d been afraid to speak up in case it upset him. She hadn’t wanted to risk him realising that their relationship was too good to be true. That she wasn’t the right person for him.

Now she saw no point in keeping her thoughts to herself—he’d realised all that anyway. And perhaps that had been the reason for Jordan’s surprise—she was no longer meek Mila who didn’t speak her mind. What had that got her? Nothing but a heart broken by the loss of her husband and her child.

‘Nothing beats this view,’ Jordan said quietly from beside her, and her heart pounded when she turned and saw him looking at her. But then he nodded towards the vineyard, and she mentally kicked herself. Of course he wasn’t talking about her—especially since things between them were still tense.

She turned her attention to the vineyard to hide her embarrassment at thinking such a silly thing, and took in the clash of different shades of red and brown. Fields of the colours together was a picture she would never forget—even when it was years in the future and she no longer had any reason to be a part of the Thomas Vineyard. She could see the dam just beyond the fields, large and beautiful, and behind it the hills that made the vineyard look surreal.

Walking the vineyard with him felt like old times. Despite how difficult things were with them now, when they had walked past the chapel where they’d got married, Mila’s heart had longed for the people they’d been then. It didn’t help that the weather had turned from the rain of the previous day to bright sunshine. It reminded her of her wedding day, almost two years ago.

It had been cold, true to the season, but the sun had been shining just as it was today, as though the gods had approved their union. A fanciful thought, she realised now, indicative of the person she had been then. The person who had fallen in love at first sight and married three months later.

The fact that their wedding anniversary was a few weeks away pained her, and she tried to ignore it. Her mind reminded her that she and Jordan hadn’t been together long enough—physically or emotionally—for them to celebrate their first anniversary. Now, on their second, they’d be together physically, but emotionally...

‘It’s more beautiful than I remember,’ he said, and she almost smiled at the sincerity in his voice.

‘It’s become a bit like home to me in the past year,’ she murmured, deep in thought, and then her stomach dropped when she realised what she had said. ‘Because of Greg,’ she added hurriedly, hoping it would make her words seem less like a revelation.

He didn’t answer her, and when she looked over he had a blank expression on his face. How was it possible that the tension between them could become worse? she wondered, her insides twisting.

‘I have memories of every part of this place,’ he said, his face pensive now. ‘This is where I last saw my mother. This is where my father raised me.’

Mila frowned. Had he just willingly mentioned his mother? His reaction the previous night when she’d said something about her had been what Mila was used to. A quick brush-off, an unwillingness to respond. She had wanted to know about his mother so badly when they were dating, when they were married, but she’d never had the nerve to push beyond Jordan’s resistance. Since she didn’t really want to offer information to him either, she’d convinced herself that it didn’t matter. That one day, while they watched their children play in front of the house, he would tell her about the woman who had died when he was five, and she would hold his hand and tell him that it was okay.

But that day would never come now.

Jordan turned towards the amphitheatre and she followed him, and then she stopped, her eyes widening when she realised what going to the amphitheatre meant. Why hadn’t she realised this earlier, she thought in panic, when she could have done something about it? Before she had suggested it, for heaven’s sake!

‘Are you coming?’ Jordan asked her, and she exhaled shakily, forced her legs to move and her mouth to respond.

‘Yes...yes, I am.’

* * *

‘This is great,’ Jordan said when he saw the white marquee that covered the amphitheatre. The edges were pinned down between the trees that surrounded the area, and it had done its job for the most part, he noted. Though water ran down the steps, the seats and the stage were still dry, along with most of the ground. It would do for their event, he thought.

‘Whose idea was it to do this? It was smart.’

He took the steps as he asked the question, and was about halfway down when he realised Mila hadn’t answered him. Nor could he hear her following. When he turned back to look up at her his heart raced at her expression. Her face was white—and so was the hand that clung to the railing that ran down the middle of the stairs. He could see her chest heave—in, out...in, out—and his first instinct was to run to her side and make sure that she was okay.

But somewhere at the back of his mind he realised what was happening, and a picture of her at the bottom of the stairs at their old house, lying deadly still, flashed through his mind.

This is what you left behind, a voice told him, and a ball of grief and guilt drop in his stomach.

Careful to keep his expression blank, even as his heart thrummed, he walked up to her and slid an arm around her waist. She didn’t look at him, and he could feel her resistance, so he waited until her hand finally gripped the back of his jacket. Slowly they made their way down to the bottom of the stairs, and with each step the ball of emotion grew inside him.

‘Thank you,’ she said through tight lips when they got to the bottom, but he could hear the shakiness in her voice—felt it in her body before she stepped back from him.

‘Since the accident?’ he asked.

She lifted her eyes briefly, and then lowered them again as she straightened her shoulders. ‘Yeah. It’s not impossible to do. It just takes longer.’

He didn’t know what to say. How could he say anything at all? he wondered with disgust. He knew the loss of their son had hurt them both—Jordan lived with it every day, no matter where he was. Every moment of his life since that day still held glimpses of what it would have been like if his son had been alive—images of them as a family in the home where he and Mila used to live crushed his heart each time.

But the reality was that he wasn’t a father. And, yes, he had complicated emotions about it—dashed hopes, a broken heart—but his body was fine. Though his heart pained, he could go down a flight of stairs without thinking about the fall that had led to a placental abruption and a premature baby who couldn’t survive outside the womb. His mind, though still dimmed by grief, wasn’t addled by a fear of stairs.