A Price Worth Paying?. Trish Morey

over his shoulders, a set of keys in his hand. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Like how we met, for a start. We need to get our stories straight and I’m assuming you’d prefer I didn’t go around telling people you knocked on my door and asked me to marry you. Plus we need to work out how quickly to progress this arrangement. Given the state of Felipe’s health, I’m guessing you’re not after a long engagement?’

      ‘Well, no …’ She hadn’t really thought about it. He was right, of course, it was just that she hadn’t given herself the luxury of thinking that far ahead. Not when she’d never actually been confident of pulling this plan off and securing his agreement.

      ‘Then let’s make it next month—it’ll take that long for the legalities, and meanwhile we need to be seen together and in the right places. We can work that out on the way.’ He snatched up car keys from a drawer. ‘Besides, I think it’s about time I reacquainted myself with my prospective grandfather-in-law.’

      His car was low and lean and looked more as if it belonged on a racetrack than on any road. It didn’t help that it was black. She regarded it suspiciously. ‘Are you sure this is street legal?’

      He laughed, a low rumbling laugh that she felt uncomfortably low in her belly, as he ushered her into the low-slung GTA Spano that seemed filled with leather and aluminium and cool LCD lighting.

      Safe in her leather seat, the car wrapped around her like an embrace, the panoramic glass roof bringing the outside inside.

      He didn’t so much drive through the busy streets of San Sebastian as prowled, driver and machine like a predator, waiting for just the right moment to switch lanes or to overtake, using the vehicle’s cat-like manoeuvrability and power to masterfully take control of the streets, until they hit the highway and the car changed gears and ate up the few miles before the turn-off to the coast and small fishing village of Getaria.

      Along the way they sorted the story of how they’d met by chance in San Sebastian when she’d stopped him on the street to ask directions. Or rather, Alesander sorted their story, while she tried hard to ignore the blood-dizzying effect of sharing the same confined space with him. She didn’t have to turn her head and see him to know he was right there beside her, she could taste him in the very air she breathed, and somehow the scent of leather only added to the heady mix. She didn’t have to watch his long-fingered hands to know when they were on the steering wheel or when he changed gears because she could feel the whisper of air that stirred against her leg.

      It was disconcerting. She couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so aware of anyone in her entire life.

      Or especially any man.

      But then she’d never asked anyone else to marry her before either, much less have them agree. This was brand new territory for her. Little wonder she was so on edge.

      The closer they got to Getaria, the more anxious she grew and she found herself wishing she’d caught the bus after all. Now she’d have no chance to warn Felipe that she’d bumped into Alesander, no chance to let him get used to the idea before having him turn up on the doorstep. He would come around, she was sure, but he was bound to be a little unreceptive at first.

      ‘Don’t be surprised if Felipe is a little gruff towards you,’ she warned. ‘Given what’s happened, I mean.’

      ‘Given the fact I own three-quarters of his estate now, you mean?’ He shrugged. ‘As long as I have been alive and, indeed, for a long time before, things have never been easy between our two families.’

      ‘Why is that? What happened?’

      ‘What is the reason behind any family rivalry? A cross word. A dark look. And, in this case, a bride stolen out from under my great-great-grandfather’s nose and married to another before he could stop her.’

      ‘Who did she marry?’

      ‘Felipe’s grandfather.’

      ‘Oh, I see. Wow.’ She shook her head. ‘But still, that must have happened years ago. Surely something that happened a century ago isn’t still a sore point. The families are neighbours after all.’

      ‘Honour is very important to the Basque people and memories are long. One does not forget when one’s pride has been trampled upon.’

      ‘I guess not.’ And she wondered how she would be remembered when she was gone, after probably the shortest marriage in Esquivel history. It would, no doubt, add cause to keep resentment towards the Otxoa name simmering for the next century or more. Just as well she could disappear home to Australia when the marriage was dissolved. ‘What about your family? How will they take the news of you marrying an Otxoa?’

      He smiled. ‘Not well. At least not initially. But I will tell them it is time to move on. I will make them come around and see that we cannot hold a grudge between our families for ever. And then, when it is over, they will delight in telling me that they told me so and that they were right all along.’

      ‘Will you mind that?’

      ‘I don’t care what anyone says, not when I’m going to end up with the land.’

      ‘Oh, of course,’ she said. The land that made it all worthwhile. The land she’d bargained away. His family would probably forgive him anything for that.

      ‘Tell me,’ he said, changing the topic, ‘is there a boyfriend at home in Australia waiting for you to return home? Who might be upset about your getting married and turn up suddenly to stop the wedding?’

      She laughed. She couldn’t help it, the thought of Damon turning up to claim her from the clutches of marriage to another man too funny not to laugh out loud. But Damon wouldn’t have the guts to show his face, even if he had decided he wanted to get back with her. ‘No. No boyfriend.’

      He looked across at her. ‘You make it sound like there was one.’

      ‘There was, for a while. But he’s history and he’s staying there. Believe me, he won’t be turning up to stop the wedding.’

      ‘What about other friends or family? Won’t they be concerned for you?’

      ‘There’s no family to speak of. Not now.’

      ‘But your father’s family?’

      She shook her head. ‘I know it sounds odd, but I never met them. Dad discovered he was adopted when he was thirteen and he never forgave his adoptive family for keeping the secret from him for so long. And he never met his birth parents but he hated them for abandoning him in the first place. I think that’s why he and Mum got on so well together. They understood each other. They were alone in the world and they were all each other had.’

      ‘Surely they had you?’

      ‘They did but …’ She raised her head, searching the night sky through the clear glass roof for the words. How did one go about explaining such personal things to someone who was a virtual stranger, and yet who should not be such a stranger, given they were now engaged to be married? How much did he need to know? How much did she need to tell him?