had a better offer.” He retrieved the check from the floor and folded it to tuck it in his pocket.
“Cesar—” He was such a pushy, dogged, overwhelming man.
But there was no way she could look into her son’s eyes and admit that she’d had the chance to give him everything he was entitled to and turned it down. Not when she knew how it felt to receive nothing from her own father.
As for love, well, she’d long ago resigned herself to this infatuation of hers with Cesar not being returned. At least she’d be with him, not pining from afar.
“My mother is anxious to see Enrique,” she said as she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I want to go to her as soon as I’m released.” Way to be a tough negotiator, Sorcha .
“Of course. We can marry in Ireland. One of us ought to have family present.”
CHAPTER FIVE
S HE SHOULDN ’ T HAVE been surprised that Cesar would be so single-minded. Or so possessive. His protocols with intellectual property told their own story about the lengths he would go to ensure he would never be stolen from again.
But could he not see that if she wanted her son to have a father, that meant she expected him to be a father? He disappeared to Spain until she was released, asking her to text a few photos of Enrique, but showing little interest in his son or the final DNA report that proved it.
“Go ahead and forward it. My parents will want that reassurance,” he said like it was a bureaucratic hoop he couldn’t avoid.
“Don’t you want to see it?” she challenged.
“If I thought you were lying, I wouldn’t have upended my life to marry you. Are they releasing the two of you now?”
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
He chivalrously turned up with an infant carrier, carting it out himself after interrogating the nurse about Enrique’s health and schedule for immunizations, but he had yet to properly hold his son.
They went to her modest flat, where she had already been packing to give it up, planning to live with her mother through the birth and her maternity leave.
When he saw the boxes, Cesar gave her a sharp look. “Small wonder you went into labor early.”
She shrugged off that comment and called her landlord to explain the situation. Cesar took over, informing the man that his assistant would have everything shipped to Spain before the lease was up and that they were leaving today .
Today? As much as she wanted to see her mother, Sorcha really wanted a nap.
He packed her case while she sat on the bed and nursed, then she slept on his private plane as they flew to Cork. Her customary seat greeted her like an old friend. The hostess knew how to make her tea just right and brought it without asking.
Sorcha relaxed in a way she never had in the flat she’d just vacated. She felt like she was home.
Because she was going home, she reasoned when she woke, groggy and thinking again that her pregnancy had been a dream. But there was Enrique in the seat next to his father, blinking and alert, thankfully unaware his father was sending him the puzzled look he reserved for unexpected experimentation results.
They drove down the coast to her mother’s village and a warm welcome.
Cesar, being a man who didn’t just know how to disrobe a woman, but could outfit them effortlessly, had flown in a modiste from a Paris boutique. The bridal gown she brought only needed a few nips and tucks and the woman took care of that in her mother’s lounge.
The dress wasn’t something Sorcha would have chosen for herself, but it was incredibly flattering. Its empire waist disguised her recent pregnancy and its seed-pearl-encrusted bodice and off-the-shoulder straps made the most of her chest—currently her best asset. Her hair never held a curl, but the straight, golden strands looked right beneath a crown of pink rosebuds.
She looked like a Celtic goddess, strong and empowered.
Cesar spent the night at the hotel while she stayed with her family and poured out her heart,
“Cesar—” He was such a pushy, dogged, overwhelming man.
But there was no way she could look into her son’s eyes and admit that she’d had the chance to give him everything he was entitled to and turned it down. Not when she knew how it felt to receive nothing from her own father.
As for love, well, she’d long ago resigned herself to this infatuation of hers with Cesar not being returned. At least she’d be with him, not pining from afar.
“My mother is anxious to see Enrique,” she said as she realized he was waiting for her to speak. “I want to go to her as soon as I’m released.” Way to be a tough negotiator, Sorcha .
“Of course. We can marry in Ireland. One of us ought to have family present.”
CHAPTER FIVE
S HE SHOULDN ’ T HAVE been surprised that Cesar would be so single-minded. Or so possessive. His protocols with intellectual property told their own story about the lengths he would go to ensure he would never be stolen from again.
But could he not see that if she wanted her son to have a father, that meant she expected him to be a father? He disappeared to Spain until she was released, asking her to text a few photos of Enrique, but showing little interest in his son or the final DNA report that proved it.
“Go ahead and forward it. My parents will want that reassurance,” he said like it was a bureaucratic hoop he couldn’t avoid.
“Don’t you want to see it?” she challenged.
“If I thought you were lying, I wouldn’t have upended my life to marry you. Are they releasing the two of you now?”
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
He chivalrously turned up with an infant carrier, carting it out himself after interrogating the nurse about Enrique’s health and schedule for immunizations, but he had yet to properly hold his son.
They went to her modest flat, where she had already been packing to give it up, planning to live with her mother through the birth and her maternity leave.
When he saw the boxes, Cesar gave her a sharp look. “Small wonder you went into labor early.”
She shrugged off that comment and called her landlord to explain the situation. Cesar took over, informing the man that his assistant would have everything shipped to Spain before the lease was up and that they were leaving today .
Today? As much as she wanted to see her mother, Sorcha really wanted a nap.
He packed her case while she sat on the bed and nursed, then she slept on his private plane as they flew to Cork. Her customary seat greeted her like an old friend. The hostess knew how to make her tea just right and brought it without asking.
Sorcha relaxed in a way she never had in the flat she’d just vacated. She felt like she was home.
Because she was going home, she reasoned when she woke, groggy and thinking again that her pregnancy had been a dream. But there was Enrique in the seat next to his father, blinking and alert, thankfully unaware his father was sending him the puzzled look he reserved for unexpected experimentation results.
They drove down the coast to her mother’s village and a warm welcome.
Cesar, being a man who didn’t just know how to disrobe a woman, but could outfit them effortlessly, had flown in a modiste from a Paris boutique. The bridal gown she brought only needed a few nips and tucks and the woman took care of that in her mother’s lounge.
The dress wasn’t something Sorcha would have chosen for herself, but it was incredibly flattering. Its empire waist disguised her recent pregnancy and its seed-pearl-encrusted bodice and off-the-shoulder straps made the most of her chest—currently her best asset. Her hair never held a curl, but the straight, golden strands looked right beneath a crown of pink rosebuds.
She looked like a Celtic goddess, strong and empowered.
Cesar spent the night at the hotel while she stayed with her family and poured out her heart,
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