Jamaica

 

“No? That’s what you call being a choir boy?” I scoff, hating him a lot in this moment because I don’t want to care that he’s sleeping with other women.

Or remember that the last time I had sex was with him. I should totally get a vibrator, I think, sighing loudly because then I’d have to remember batteries and my memory is shit sometimes.

Santiago’s face goes lax again as if he’s trying to keep his emotions under control. It’s a lot more than I’d have expected months ago when knowing what he was feeling was nigh impossible.

That was a huge problem for me then, not knowing what he was thinking, especially when I was baring my heart to him time and time again.

It sucks loving a guy when you know he doesn’t love you back and showing any kind of affection is like finding water in the desert.

“I have many obligations that require I attend social events,” he says reasonably, expecting me to care one way or the other.

I do, but I’d rip off my own nipples before I let him see that.

“And you can’t go stag?” I ask, chuckling unkindly. “Look, none of this matters anyway. I’m here for a limited time only. We have two days to go and then hopefully we’ll have enough information to make this go fast. Now I know you don’t want anyone to know, but I have contacts that can speed things up when we get the file.”

“No.”

I blink at the rapid negative, my mouth falling open because he’s not usually this unreasonable. Santiago is the image of the logical male who cuts down on crap and just takes what he wants. I’d have thought he’d want this handled speedily.

“What do you mean no? Bill is very good at what he does, Santiago. And he’s discreet. If you’re worried about this being leaked, you don’t have to. He owes me a favor and he’ll do it and keep the information buried.” I assure him that my confidence in Bill is absolute.

The man once spent a month in an enemy camp being interrogated and, to hear his partner Gill - yeah, hilarious! - tell it, he was so stubborn he didn’t even tell them what his favorite color is.

“I do not want anyone else involved, Bella. This is a private family matter and one I would like to be kept only among family.”

“Then why call me?” I grind out, my patience wearing thin.

“You are family,” he states simply, in a way that suggests I’m being foolish.

The words make my blood boil. For a long time, I was nothing to him, and now I’m suddenly family? That simple? I ask myself, clenching my jaw tight against the need to blast insults and curses at him. This…I don’t quite know how to respond without dredging up the past so I just keep silent, praying that I have it in me to stick to my detached plan instead of being emotional.

Emotions got me here, to a place where I don’t live for tomorrow, just today and I can’t allow myself to fall into that pit again. There’s too much there already, I’d drown.

“I’m not your family and I never will be, but fine, you don’t want any outside help, don’t say I didn’t warn you. The likelihood of us hitting a dead end is high. I don’t think you understand how hard it really is to find someone, Santiago. This isn’t a James Bond movie. Even with Bill, as good as he is, if that little girl is gone, we’re in deep water. It’ll take a miracle to find her otherwise,” I say, wanting him to know that this hopeful little plan of his is probably a shit shoot.

He breathes in, not saying a word for the longest time while I busy myself finishing the congealed egg and toast and pour myself more coffee. I may have lost my appetite but I’m a big girl, I need to keep this body fueled.

“You have become a very negative person, Isabella. You’d never have given up before.”

Given up? I haven’t given up, I’m just realistic and I tell him so, grimacing at the toast and washing it down with scalding coffee.

“Realistic.” He muses, watching me crunch into a piece of ham while I purposely ignore that delicious damn fruit.

Hell, the ham and fruit would taste divine together, I think, hating that old lady for making this so hard. I love food, damn her old, crusty hide.

“Realistic. As in when we get just one lead, it will likely not lead us right to the girl. Probability is we’ll be led to one lead and then another and another. It’s going to take connections to get us anywhere. I have those, Santiago. Don’t dismiss them out of hand just because you don’t want the press to know that your brother was a dead-beat dad who died in a drunken car crash,” I plead, overriding my guilt to point out the facts in a clear, concise manner.

I don’t want to hurt him and yeah, making his brother out to be an ass isn’t great but that’s the truth, as I see it, and I won’t fudge that just to spare his feelings.

This is about finding a lost little girl who hopefully hasn’t ended up in some hovel or institution, not about Santiago or his family.

“He was not a dead beat.”

“He didn’t even know he had a kid, Santiago! Are you telling me this Lena chick just disappeared and didn’t say a word, knowing she could get money out of your family if she made you all aware of the child?” I ask, calling bullshit. “No. Whatever happened it can only point to her giving up the baby because he didn’t want it. Otherwise, she’d have come running to the Alvarez family with her hand out, demanding support that would have kept her in a lavish style.”

I may not know much about the rich but I do know that any woman worth her salt would have used her kid to cash in. I’ve been thinking about it, thought about it all night while I lay awake with Santiago close, sleeping on the couch and taunting me with memories, and I don’t get it.

Why did Lena Alvarez leave with a baby in her belly and never demand child support or if she didn’t want the baby, why give it away when she would have known that the Alvarez family would have taken her in.

His eyes flicker with something I can’t define before he shuts down again, the blank mask falling smoothly into place.

“I didn’t ask you to dissect her thinking, Isabella,” he says coldly. “I asked you to help me find the child. Stick to that and the original terms and we’ll be fine. No outside interference and no digging into Lena’s motives.”

The ice in his voice makes me still, the cup halfway to my mouth and I flinch when he stands, rising to his feet to tower over me. I’m not a small girl but Santiago Alvarez is bigger and right now he’s making me feel tiny. Out of place. Like a woman who just overstepped her bounds.

I’ve pissed him off, that’s clear.

“Fine. I’ll just swim around in the dark here until we’re lucky enough to find something! Sounds absolutely entertaining.” I snarl, setting the cup down to get to my feet.

He’s still bigger, even with my six feet up and with the added two inches from my heels but at least I don’t feel quite so dominated.

“Good. Now, we have a meeting with a priest who oversees the local church. It’s recommended that we see him and obtain a recommendation from him. The process will go smoother if we have a man like him on our side.”

Yeah, I think, nodding and following him back into the house, a chill sweeping through me. Nothing says stable and a good bet like a man of God throwing his support into your corner.

But lying to a priest…

“This isn’t what I want to do. I’m not sitting around telling some priest that we’re happily married. Lying to a man of the cloth is sinful,” I mumble, sliding into the car when he holds the door open.

Today we’re going normal folk and he’s driving so I have to wait for him to come around and slide into the driver’s seat before he answers me.

“Isabella, you spoke of being reasonable and realistic earlier and I listened, now you need to listen to me. This problem is not one that I ever anticipated. It has upset me very much and I swore to get answers and find the girl. I will do anything, step on anyone, to get what I need. It’s mercenary and ruthless but it is what I must do. Talking to a priest and telling him I care for you is not a lie. I just hope this is the case for you as well.”

He starts the car while I thin my lips, refraining from pointing out that if he’d cared for me, I’d have been in Spain, hugely pregnant and not too far off giving birth to our baby.

It’s in the past, I tell myself, swallowing my words and facing forward when he starts the car and eases his foot onto the gas. We drive for only minutes with him controlling the car while I stare sightlessly at the picturesque view.

I love where Santiago lives, a little village just outside Madrid where the scenery is green and slightly rocky, making the view ever changing and calming.

By the time he stops outside a tiny little parish-like church, I’m in control of myself again and I can say that I won’t be lying to a priest. I do care about Santiago. I once loved him so it would be impossible to say I don’t feel anything.

I just hope to hell the guy doesn’t ask if I hate him a little too because I can’t lie and say no unequivocally.

He comes around to help me out of the car and I force myself to smile and not pull away when he tucks me into his side. It’s way too comfortable there and I have to remind myself not to get used to it.

It’s a job, Jamaica, just a job!

We walk into the dark little church arm in arm, my eyes taking a minute to adjust. A short little man hurries our way, smiling and holding out his hand to greet us.

He only speaks Spanish so I’m largely in the dark about what’s being said and very aware that it’ll be left up to me to communicate our ‘happy marriage’ by preening all over Santiago and throwing him loving looks.

Just great, what I need like a freaking hole in my skull, I think morosely, looking around to distract myself when his hand comes down to my hip and rests there intimately.

“Si padre. Isabella, this is father Antonio, the priest my family has known for decades. He would like to know if you want refreshment while we speak.”

Not really, but it’ll give me something to do while I try not to burn to cinders for the lies that are swirling around in my head. Lies like I want to go home when I know full well I won’t, not until I have answers.

“Water would be great. It’s hot today,” I say, smiling my thanks to the little old man.

He bobs his head and bustles off down the aisle, indicating that we should follow. We’re lead outside to a little courtyard with an awning before he leaves us, coming back moments later with a jug of cool water and fruit juice for him and Santiago.

We sit there, at a little table in the shade, and I try to appear happy while they speak together, the shared looks of commiseration getting on my nerves, especially when they look my way.

I have no idea what Santiago says to the man but before I know it he’s taking my hand and speaking in a measured tone, almost as if he’s consoling me.

“What’s he saying?” I ask, trying to stop from yanking my hand back when he starts what I know is a prayer.

“He says he is very sorry for our loss and that God will provide us with the family we want.”

I go cold inside, the hand on my lap forming a fist that has my nails digging grooves into my palm. I don’t want to believe that he’d tell the priest about…

“Why would he say that?” I ask through a clenched smile, breathing despite the pain that centers in my chest.

Santiago leans closer, the hand resting on the back of my chair going to my nape so he can turn me to look fully at him.

“For our son, Bella. He is saying a prayer for our son and praying that we find the little girl God meant for us to have. Don’t be angry, Isabella, this is not a bad thing. He will help us now.”

The cold, ruthlessness of using my baby has me sucking in a breath and wanting him to die on the spot. I refrain from telling him so only because Father Antonio finally lets me go and sits back to watch us, his smile sad.

He starts talking again and Santiago translates.

“He says that he will make a call to give his support of our application. He says that we look good together and he wishes for us to have a long and happy marriage filled with children, even if it is only those blessedly given to us by God and other people. The baby is in the arms of our Father and we should praise God for giving us the strength to forgive and love again.”

I suck in a breath, hold it and let it out with a shudder, pinning a smile on my face while inside I am filled with what I can only describe as anger and pure hatred.

Forgiveness? Love?

Once I’d have agreed and gushed about what I felt, probably fallen all over Santiago telling him how we could be great together and have that big family.

Now I’m just angry and very hurt that he would bring any of this up now. I don’t want to talk about children and family. I haven’t had enough time to come to grips with what I lost, acceptance or not, so I am not in a place to even consider other children, if ever.

“Thank you, Father.”

Santiago translates and he grins, nodding his head. We sit and talk, well, the men do for a while, and then Santiago helps me up and we greet Father Antonio before leaving for the car.

I hold it all inside until we’re in the car and pulling away before I let it all out.

“How dare you. How fucking dare you sit there and talk to anyone about what happened with the baby! As if it’s okay that you’re using my miscarriage as an excuse for wanting to find a child. Do you think it’s fair to anyone talking about that and then moving along to get your recommendation as if it didn’t matter?” I am irked, hitting his hand away when he tries to touch my leg.

“Isabella, it was not-”

“You did! The baby has no bearing whatsoever on what we’re doing here and I don’t ever want you to talk about him again. He is mine! Not yours and most certainly not a fucking pawn you can bring out when you want to manipulate an end result,” I say on a choked breath, breathing hard when my eyes go wet and the urge to cry comes on strong.

Santiago tenses, his hands tightening around the wheel so hard I hear the leather crack beneath his palms.

“That was not my intention, Bella, and I apologize if that is what you think of me. I would never use our son to manipulate things,” he says raggedly and for a moment I want to believe that he’s telling the truth.

Too bad for him I want to rip his head off right now so nothing he says will make this better.

“Then what were you doing?”

He sighs, his throat working before he relaxes and seems to melt into the seat. I don’t want arguing, not like it was before when I was raw and open. I want forthrightness and the knowledge that when this is over, I can walk away intact and whole.

Santiago bringing up the baby is not something I can accept, though, because it reminds me that this marriage, this farce of a life I’m living right now, is what I wanted just months ago.

Stupid, thinking about it now but for a long time, especially after I found out I was pregnant I had this stupid certainty that things would work out for us because he couldn’t have ignored his child.

Stupid. Optimistic. Unrealistic.

“I wanted someone else to know what we lost!”

Breathe, Jamaica. Just breathe and do not go back to that bad place, I tell myself, shifting in the seat when I am so amped up I can’t sit still. I want out of this car and away from him until I can feel calm enough not to go crazy.

I don’t even want to be talking about this at all, to be honest, but we are not letting this go until I get him to understand how I feel. Just enough for him to stop bringing it up.

“We? We, Santiago? You weren’t even there. Remember? You said it wasn’t your kid so you bailed hard and fast. I was there, I lost and I won’t let you use him to get something out of it. You want this girl found, fine, I’ll find her for you no matter what I have to do, but don’t ever, ever, talk about my son again,” I warn him, happy that I can keep my tone calm even when I want to slug him.

My words make him grind his jaw, I can see his cheek ticking but he doesn’t say another word, just keeps driving. After a long, very uncomfortable silence, I realize we’re not headed in the direction of the villa and turn to look at him askance.

“We need to stay out of the villa for a few hours. Nona is having friends over for lunch and I would rather not be there when she tells them about our marriage,” he explains. “Anyway, the last time you were here you hardly saw anything, choosing to remain at the villa with Mia. I thought I could take you out for a good meal and show you the market in Madrid. You’ll enjoy what’s on offer.”

I don’t argue. What’s the use? It’s not as if I have all that much to keep me busy back at the house so I may as well put a crowd of strangers between us.

No way am I spending all my time with him alone or lounging by the pool where he can see my semi-nude body. I don’t think he’d appreciate the view quite as much as he did before I got pregnant.

I’ve always been tall, lean and toned, something that didn’t work out well when my waistline started expanding and I haven’t exactly tried to get my figure back either, so things are not as they always were.

“That sounds nice. I read somewhere that the tapas are great at that little place close to the tailor your grandmother uses for you.”

He grins, inclining his head at the slight dig, totally not caring that his grandmother still handles his clothing and household because he’s unmarried.

“It is. If we stay long enough, we can take advantage of the bar close to the market. They serve free cocktails if you sit down for early supper.”

I agree, looking forward to finally getting to see some of the culture and the people of this beautiful country, my previous visit having seen only Mia and the poolside or Santiago’s bedroom.

“Okay.”

The next few hours are spent doing nothing but eating, looking at the wares in the market - I buy a great pair of earrings that are big hoops with jade insets - and talking about the growing population that is spreading to the once quiet village town the Alvarez family has lived in for generations.

By the time we eat an early supper, drinking way too many drinks, I’m feeling good, and slightly saddened too. We’ve had a great day together, just leaving the past at the door and it isn’t lost on me that Santiago is really a great guy.

Too bad he didn’t want to be my guy, I think as he helps me into the car before coming around.

“Thank you, Bella, I have had a wonderful day,” he says solemnly once we’re on the road, the mood in the car relaxed and easy.

“Me too. I can’t wait to send Cam the pictures I took of the fountain. It was beautiful.”

“Si. Nona loves to go there every few weeks when she goes out with Loma to the butchers. She eats lunch there and watches the people.”

I can’t imagine that old crow doing anything but sitting there heckling the poor many with her criticism. Spain is a melting pot of people from traditional old-world types to the youth who do everything from wear the latest trends to dying their entire heads funky colors.

The first time she saw the blue streaks I favor wearing in my hair and my cut off jean shorts she almost keeled over. I can’t see her being kindly when young girls with lip rings saunter by.

“She’s not so bad.” He chuckles when I stay silent, choosing not to argue about her personality.

“Santiago, the woman is a star most of the time. When I first came here, she was sweet as syrup to us, even Fran with her terrible language. But you can’t deny that she’s also a mean old bat when she wants to be. She called Fran a…” I trail off, not liking that word.

Okay, so I can’t pronounce it properly but it boiled down the Fran being likened to a woman of ill repute. Enough said.

He laughs outright and I giggle because Fran may not speak Spanish but she speaks a whole other language that she is not afraid to use.

“In any case, Isabella, again, thank you for a good day and thank you for helping me. This situation is very…hard for me,” he says softly, keeping his eyes on the road.

I don’t fully understand the flicker that passes across his face but I shrug, lean back and nod.

“You’re welcome.”