Every night in her dreams Afonso came to her and kissed her. Those kisses had the same passion and fervor she remembered, but the frustration mounted when she woke each morning.
She knew what the real kiss was like, and dream-Afonso’s kiss was not the same as the one she’d received from real-Afonso.
They still hadn’t talked. Afonso had tried, and although a man who wanted to discuss his feelings was a new experience for her, she’d been avoiding that conversation. Unless talking about a kiss brought another kiss, what was the point of it? It was too complicated. She craved simplicity. The simpler the better.
Through the ajar door, the far-away sound of the piano reached her ears. Only in the early morning when everything else was quiet could Catarina discern the music with a few off-key tones. Afonso played every day now; or maybe he’d played every day before and she’d never heard it. Now she was more in tune with him, and his notes came more easily to her, bringing a peace and calm she’d never expected.
How frustrating was it to play on a broken piano? Could it even be fixed? Did he wish for a newer one with unstained keys and a perfect tone? She was like that—stained and imperfect.
Catarina pushed at the sheets and stretched her arms and legs. Another restless night, another night of wishing for what she could not have.
Afonso had kissed her, but he didn’t know about her. He would never want her once he found out the truth. Why would he?
She was pregnant with another man’s child, a penniless widow who’d lost everything. She was a liar who kept secrets about her own identity and about her past. She didn’t deserve happy endings.
Nobody would ever want her again. Least of all Afonso.
Her hands slid to her belly. As her fingers cradled her small, round stomach, the flutter of a butterfly grazed from the inside. Catarina stilled. Was that the baby moving? How could she know for sure? Tears swamped her eyes, and she brushed them off with an impatient hand.
There was no one to share the moment with her.
Catarina rolled to the side and curved into a ball.
Hours later, when she woke again, the sun was high and the light bright. Since coming to Sunset Manor, where none of the windows had curtains, her body had learned to sleep without room-darkening blinds.
A knock sounded at the door, and Dona Madalena pocked her head in. “May I come in?” She carried a tray in her hands.
Catarina sat up in bed. “What time is it?”
Dona Madalena placed the tray on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s way past noon. Senhor Afonso said to let you sleep in and to bring lunch up to you.”
Catarina’s cheeks heated. “Oh. I wish you hadn’t. You’ll think I’m lazy.” Her stomach rumbled at the sight of food. She spooned the scrambled egg onto the corner of a piece of toast and took a bite.
“Rest and nutrition are a sign you’re taking care of yourself. And taking care of yourself means you’re caring for the baby too.”
Catarina stilled. “What did you say?”
The older woman smiled and drew the box of prenatal vitamins from her apron’s pocket. “You left this downstairs. Did I assume too much?”
A sense of relief came over Catarina that someone else knew her secret. “No, you’re right. I am pregnant.” Catarina took the box and placed it under her pillow. “Did anyone else see it?”
“Men are easily distracted, and they don’t need to know what doesn’t concern them.” She winked at Catarina. “Besides, it’s not my secret to tell.”
Catarina took a drink of milk and set the glass down on the tray. “It’s not the kind of secret I can hide for much longer. Everyone will know pretty soon.”
“I think you’ll find out that this kind of issue has a tendency to resolve itself.” Dona Madalena stood from the bed. “I’ll come for the tray later.” She gestured at the closest window. “You should open up the window. It’s a beautiful day today.”
Catarina ate everything Dona Madalena had brought: the scrambled eggs, the toast, the yogurt and mixed berries. She’d gained an appetite in the last few days and with the nausea gone, she was eating more than she could remember before. Was eating for two a mental excuse, or was there some truth to it?
The sky was the bluest she’d seen in a long time. She approached the window and pulled up on the sash, letting the fresh air and the birdsongs in. If her life were a musical, this was the moment where she’d open her mouth and sing. The thought brought a smile to her lips. Even if everything wasn’t going perfectly, she still had reasons to be grateful for what she did have. A speck of hope took hold in her heart, however brief and light it was.
A movement by the largest linden tree caught her eye. Hanging from a branch, a swing swayed gently in the noonday breeze. From her bedroom window, it looked to have a wooden seat, but the rest of the details were hard to make out in the distance. She frowned. What was Afonso up to?
When Catarina brought the tray to the kitchen, Dona Madalena turned from the sink and smiled wide at her. “Did you see it? What do you think?”
Catarina sat down on the closest chair. “Do you mean the swing? Did Afonso get it?”
“He didn’t get it. He made it. With my Francisco’s help.” She rinsed a small pot. “But Senhor Afonso did all the work, looking for the best wood, finding out which kind of rope wouldn’t give splinters. You should have seen the planning he did. And today he got up at sunrise to hang it from the tree. He took his time with that. And then he called me to make sure it was level and swung straight, but I told him the person who the swing is for should be the first one to ride it.”
“You’re saying he made the swing himself?” Catarina asked.
Dona Madalena wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “That he did. Did you go try it out yet?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He put so much work into it. It’ll be a shame if you don’t.”
“I’ll go later, when the sun is lower.” She wasn’t ready to see the swing or Afonso. “When is he coming for lunch?”
“He came by for a quick sandwich only. My Francisco stayed for a full lunch, but I couldn’t convince Senhor Afonso to sit at the table. He said he was too busy.”
He was too busy to sit for lunch, but he’d spent hours making her a swing. Catarina tried to understand his motivations. Juan-Carlos had always wanted something in return when he did something for her.
The Silvas and Catarina were in the middle of dinner when Afonso came in through the service door.
He poked his head in the kitchen. “Don’t wait up for me. I’m going to take a shower and get some laundry done.”
He’d started keeping a change of clothes in the laundry room, most likely to avoid being seen wearing a towel and nothing else. Probably for the best, even if Catarina had enjoyed the view that one time. She chastised herself and shook the mental picture. With her luck, it would come back to haunt her dreams again.
When dinner was done, Dona Madalena dragged Catarina to the front of the house and out the main door. “Come on, Menina Catarina. I want to see you try that swing before we leave tonight.” The Silvas returned to the caretaker house every night, a ten minute walk to the east side of the property.
She’d been battling curiosity all day, telling herself she didn’t want to see the swing.
But she did. Nobody had ever made her anything, not since second grade when Avô António had made wooden toys for all the grandchildren for Christmas. Juan-Carlos had preferred the convenience of what money could buy. There had been many expensive gifts over their married years, but not anything that he’d put more effort into than handing over his credit card. There she was, throwing comparisons again.
Dona Madalena and Catarina arrived at the tree, and Catarina stopped to admire the swing. It had been sanded smooth and varnished to a polished coat, enhancing the color of the veins in the wood.
“It’s chestnut,” Dona Madalena said. “He found it on the west side.”
Catarina touched the seat. “What do you mean?”
“He didn’t buy the wood. He found a felled tree, and he had it cut in the village. Then he spent a week sanding it by hand into the perfect shape.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Senhor Afonso asked my Francisco for help.”
The rope had been encased in transparent tubing, a good way to avoid splinters.
“Have a seat already.” Dona Madalena propelled Catarina closer.
Catarina sat down, and her hands wound around the rope. It surprised her how wide the seat was, comfortable and deep. She wouldn’t be slipping off this one.
How many years had it been since she’d been on a swing? Probably the summer when she was sixteen. She’d sneaked a few times when the older cousins weren’t looking and the younger ones were too busy with something else. In her seventeenth summer she’d gone to the Algarve with some friends to work there, and a year later she’d married Juan-Carlos a week after turning eighteen.
If only she could go back and undo some of the bad decisions she’d made. If only it were that simple.
After Dona Madalena left with her husband, Catarina stayed on the swing, pushing her foot against the ground, back and forth, back and forth. The gentle rhythm soothed her, and as the bright sun faded into pink ribbons against the sky, Catarina let go of her worries, if only for tonight.
She placed a hand on her belly. “It’s you and me, baby. Just you and me.”
When she heard the front door open and close, she didn’t have to turn to know it was Afonso. Maybe it was time she stopped running from him.
Afonso leaned against the tree a few paces away from her, watching the sunset. “I hoped you’d like it,” he said softly.
Catarina slowed down but didn’t stop the swinging. “I like it. Obrigada.” She met his eyes and gave him a slow smile.
His hair was still wet from the shower, and he’d changed into the jeans that looked too good on him and the soft-from-wear blue T-shirt that brought out his chocolate eyes.
“De nada.” He bent down and plucked a blade of grass between his fingers. “That was one of the few things you’ve shared about yourself.”
She’d barely shared anything personal, and he’d remembered. “I just don’t understand why you did it.”
“Can’t friends do things for each other?”
Catarina almost paused the swinging but kept going, not wanting to change anything in the moment around them.
A friend. Afonso Cortez called himself her friend. Catarina’s chest filled with a strange emotion, and she wanted to close her eyes and peer at the feeling more closely. But doing so would call Afonso’s attention to her, and he was already watching her so attentively.
He locked his eyes on her. “I’m sorry for the way I handled the situation at Sete Fontes.” He passed a hand through his hair, as she’d noticed him doing when he was nervous and frustrated. “I freaked out when we were forced off the road. Not for myself, but for putting you in danger.” He looked away and then back at her. “I don’t know what she wants or why she’s come back, but I can’t stand that you were caught in it.”
Catarina stopped pushing her foot and turned to Afonso. “Who is she?”
* * *
“Her name is Anabela Rialto. She’s the one who sabotaged the Princess Catarina, putting everyone’s lives in danger.” Afonso scoffed. “And I protected her by not telling anyone what she was doing.”
After the sun went down, they moved to the library. Catarina sat on the leather sofa, and Afonso took the chair closest to it. Did she think he was the dumbest man alive? He already knew he was, but he cared about her opinion, and he fiercely wished she could see how much he regretted his past, how willing he was to change his future.
“Why did she do it?”
He shrugged. “She lied to me, so who knows?” Anabela had lied to everybody. “I’m sure she had her motivations and, in her mind, she probably thought she was justified, but her gross disregard for safety and physical property prove she only cared for herself.”
“Were there any injuries?” Catarina’s expression showed interest and concern, not disgust, and Afonso’s hope rose a notch that she wouldn’t think ill of him.
“Only minor ones, thank goodness, but the repair costs totaled thousands of euros.” His indictment had included a report of the damage.
“And you think she was the one who pushed us off the road?”
“A man was driving, but she was the passenger.” His jaw clenched at the memory.
“Has she tried to contact you?” Catarina settled against the corner and crisscrossed her legs. “What do you think she wants?” Her expression was open and her eyes laden with concern, encouraging him to go on.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck where a tension knot had taken up residence in the past few weeks. “I did get a text that same afternoon when we were in Castelo Branco that could have been from her, but I have since bought a new phone and changed service providers so that won’t be happening again.” If Anabela wanted to talk to him, she’d have to do it in person.
“I shouldn’t have forced you to go to the police station without telling you my plans. But I wanted to remember all the details and get a report out since there’s a warrant for her arrest.” He let out a long breath. “It still doesn’t excuse the way I dismissed you. I’m sorry.”
He remembered the frustration as well. For a week after the accident, he’d been in close contact with Matias and Filipe, reporting back to them after his patrols on the perimeter while trying to keep the regular schedule. Despite being on alert, he hadn’t seen anyone or anything unusual. He drove to the village every other day, and even once to Castelo Branco to pick up more supplies, but he hadn’t seen Anabela again, nor the vehicle. As a precaution, Afonso had ordered digital security cameras that he could check remotely on his phone and tablet, and after picking them up in Castelo Branco, he’d spent two early mornings installing them around the exterior of the manor before Catarina got up for the day.
Catarina had kept to her bedroom during that week and only came to the kitchen when the Silvas were present as well. Had that kiss meant anything to her? He couldn’t get it out of his mind. After unsuccessful attempts to talk to her, Afonso started planning the swing. At least it partially worked—she was asking him questions.
Maybe he could try asking her one too. “Why can’t you be seen in public?”
Catarina winced and turned her face away from him.
If she had a hard time trusting him, how was he supposed to protect her? “Do you believe I’d bring any harm to you, Catarina?”
She sighed heavily. “No, of course not.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything more. After a long minute, he added, “You know where to find me when you’re ready.” He rose from the chair. He didn’t like forcing her to talk to him, but how else would he find out what she needed?
Talking to Catarina was useless, especially when she didn’t say anything. What he needed was work. He should have started pruning the rosebushes weeks ago. A pair of pruning shears would do the job.
“Afonso, wait.” She followed him. “I came to Sunset Manor to hide,” she started.
He had guessed as much. Afonso took a seat on the sofa and waited.
Catarina joined him. “There was—there was a scandal surrounding my husband’s death.” She drew her knees up and looked at her toes for a moment.
She wore a summer dress, something flowy and suncolored, with spaghetti straps that wouldn’t stay put. Afonso’s hand itched to bring the thin band to its rightful place and brush his fingertips across her skin. The extra weight looked good on her, had filled some of her curves, and he longed to have her in his arms again. Kissing her once had not been enough.
“The paparazzi hounded me.” Her mouth formed a thin line. “It got really bad. Filipe saw it on the news and came for me, brought me here. The media thinks I’m in Spain, and I’d rather nobody finds out my location.”
The questions came to Afonso one after another, but voicing them would only make her raise the barrier she hid behind. He settled for one question. “Why don’t you want your family to know you’re here?”
Her shoulders dropped, and her spine bowed. “I broke my ties with them when I left.” Catarina’s voice lowered. “I met Juan-Carlos when I went to Spain with a friend after we graduated from high school. My friend and I were supposed to work for the summer and start college in September, but when Juan-Carlos proposed, I didn’t care about any of that anymore. When I called my parents and told them, they said I should come home. Instead I eloped.” She sighed, her eyes still down. “I made so many mistakes. It’s better if they don’t know where I am.”
He didn’t agree with her decision, but it wasn’t his place to say anything on the subject. Her confessions were vague but the most she’d told him about her situation. It was a start. “I repeat what I said, Catarina. You can trust me.”
The corners of her mouth raised in a smile, but it didn’t extend to her eyes. “Obrigada, Afonso.”
“I’ve noticed you like to stick to the manor.”
She ducked with a sheepish look in her eyes. “I guess I’m a bit paranoid, but I can’t risk being seen. I just want a chance at a clean start. Is that too much to ask?”
“No, it’s not.”
That was what he wanted too. Maybe she wasn’t as hard to understand as he’d thought.
He cleared his throat. “Are we going to pretend we didn’t kiss?”
“Is there any point in talking about it?” She traced the pattern on the blanket draped over the armrest. Her cheeks flushed, and she kept her eyes down as if it were the most interesting thing she’d seen all day.
She couldn’t even face him. Regret surfaced inside him again. “I want to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong of me.” He shouldn’t have brought it up either.
Catarina looked up at him. “Wrong? What do you mean?” Her eyes flashed at him, dark with an emotion he couldn’t decipher.
This time he was the one who couldn’t look at her, for the shame he felt. “Your husband hasn’t been dead for too long, and I’m sure you miss him a lot. You have more to think about than me forcing a kiss on you.” It had been a heck of a kiss and as much as he’d like a repeat, he’d do well to stay away from her and forget the attraction. She needed the time to move on, and she’d have as much time as she needed. He wouldn’t be interfering with it.
Catarina put a hand up. “Stop, Afonso. Just stop. You’re assuming too much about me, and that never ends well. I—” She sighed. “I really don’t want us to fight.” The weariness in her voice cut him.
How much was he assuming of her? The questions came, but he swallowed them. This wasn’t about him. It wasn’t meant to be.