The only things she learned about the man himself were that he had a penchant for ancient artefacts and no need for mirrors. In this villa that contained eleven bedrooms and twelve bathrooms, the reflective surfaces were confined to internal glass walls and doors, and shaving mirrors. The only bedroom with a full-length mirror was the one she’d been initially designated.
Things would be easier to manage and cope with if Javier didn’t continue to keep her at arm’s length. He left for work early and on three of the evenings failed to make it home in time for dinner, leaving her to dine alone. He would make a point of saying hello to her when he arrived back but would then disappear, joining her in the bedroom when, she knew, he hoped she would be asleep.
He made no effort to touch her. Sophie would find herself lying wide awake in the darkness psyching herself to turn over and put a hand to the cold shoulder facing her.
She didn’t think he slept either. He was just too still.
If she had more confidence she would say something but every time she opened her mouth her throat would close. She didn’t know the words to say without making herself sound like a needy nymphomaniac.
He was doing as she’d asked and sharing a bed with her. If he didn’t desire her she couldn’t force it.
Or was it something else? It hadn’t been just the contract he’d wanted her to sign that stated they would share a bed only one night of the week, but the contract he’d drawn up for Freya too.
Could it be simply that Javier had no interest in sex?
The conception of their child proved the lie in that, not just its conception but the way it had been conceived. Sophie had been a virgin but she had also spent her life in the hotbed of the ballet world, where passions always ran high. She knew passion when she saw it and in Javier’s arms she had felt it, had tasted it in his kisses.
Whatever lay behind his reluctance to touch her and however many times she told herself that it was early days and to give it time, Sophie’s hopes of creating a bond with him were fading.
The arrival of her parents brought some happiness into her heart and she spent the day before her wedding with them, plastering a smile to her face, keeping up the pretence that everything was fine and that this was a marriage she was entering with high expectations that it would last.
Luckily, Sophie was a pro at convincing her parents that everything was rosy. Their love and pride had given her the focus to get through ballet school and work like a Trojan to succeed in the ballet world. Her first concrete memory was of her mother clapping her hands in delight to see four-year-old Sophie perform in her first ballet recital. Her pride had filled Sophie’s heart and been the kick-start to the rest of her life.
Through dance she could make the woman who had given her a home and showered her with love beam with happiness.
The nights when she would lie awake yearning for the path her heart wanted would be put aside when the morning came. She would fix the image of her parents in her head and drag herself out of bed to start another day.
On that last day as a single woman, she was enjoying a meal out with them when her phone rang.
She would have been less surprised if it had been the Spanish prime minister calling.
The restaurant being too loud to hear, Sophie excused herself and went outside to call Javier back.
‘Where are you?’ he asked, picking up on the first ring.
‘In a tapas bar with my parents,’ she answered, surprised to hear what could be interpreted as brusque concern in his voice.
‘Where?’
She named the street and district. ‘Do you want to join us?’
‘No. Why didn’t you use my driver?’
‘I didn’t know I could. I took a taxi. Why do you sound so cross?’
‘I’m not cross.’ He sounded affronted at the mere thought. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Tomorrow. I’ve checked into my parents’ hotel. They’ve brought the wedding dress over, so it makes sense for me to stay with them.’
‘I should have been consulted on this.’
‘It was only decided today. I was going to call you later to tell you.’ She looked at her watch. It was eight thirty.
‘Tell me?’ he said dangerously.
Sophie rolled her eyes at his double standards. ‘Considering you do as you please with no consultation with me, you’re hardly in a position to moan when I do the same.’
The line went silent until he said tightly, ‘So this was punishment for me working hard?’
A wave of weariness washed over her and she took a seat on a nearby bench. ‘No, Javier, it wasn’t a punishment. You haven’t been home earlier than nine o’clock these past three nights. I didn’t want to disturb you while you were working. I was trying to be considerate.’
Another lengthy pause. ‘Next time, disturb me or message me.’
‘Okay. But if you want me to account for my movements, it’s only fair if you do the same.’
A grunt played into her ear before he said, ‘Message me the details of the hotel. I’ll send my driver to collect you in the morning.’
‘Not too early,’ she interjected. ‘My mum says it’s bad luck for us to see each other before the ceremony.’
The grunt he gave this time had a tinge of impatience to it. ‘He will collect you at eleven. Enjoy your evening.’
‘What are...?’
But she never got to ask him what his own plans for the evening were because the line had gone dead.
Sophie put her phone to her chest and closed her eyes, the beginning of a smile forming on her lips.
It had never occurred to her that Javier would come home at a decent time and that he would be worried to find her missing. She’d thought the only thing he would feel was relief to have the place to himself.
Her legs felt much lighter when she walked back into the restaurant. Her chest felt lighter too.
Javier had worried about her, and even if his concern had been because she was the vessel that carried his child, it still meant that, in his own way, he was beginning to care.
* * *
Javier splashed the remnants of shaving foam off his face, then turned his back on the small mirror and patted his face dry as he walked into the empty bedroom.
He could not believe how heavy his limbs had become. His chest felt as if a lead weight were compressing it.
He dressed methodically, underwear, white shirt, charcoal trousers, navy silk tie, then sat on the unmade bed to put on the hand-stitched shoes he’d had buffed and polished.
He’d expected to sleep well without Sophie lying beside him and catch up on all the sleep her presence had denied him this past week.
He could curse. With or without her fragrant body beside him, sleep had become a foe.
The one good thing was he’d been able to reclaim his usual side of the bed but that had turned into a bad thing because the sheets hadn’t been stripped and so he’d spent the night inhaling her perfume that clung to her pillow. Chucking the pillow on the floor and using his own had done nothing to help because by then her scent had crept into his senses and stuck there. He’d still been able to smell her when he woke after a few snatched hours.
At least he hadn’t felt compelled to lie like a statue all night. He could spread his limbs out, roll over, all the usual things a person did in the comfort of their bed without having to worry