Page 108 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘Thank you.’

It was when he reached the door that he turned back to her and quietly said, ‘We will talk in the morning, yes?’

Her stomach lurched but she met his stare and lifted her chin. ‘Yes.’

It was only when he’d closed the door that a tear rolled down her cheek.

* * *

Rose couldn’t settle. Amelia had gone back to sleep shortly after Diaz left the room but, not wanting to be far from her, Rose had decided to sleep in her old bed even though it was the same distance as the room she shared with Diaz. When she’d crept into their bedroom for nightwear, he’d been awake, staring at the ceiling.

His gaze had captured hers through the light seeping into the room from the landing.

‘I’m going to sleep in my old room in case she wakes,’ Rose had whispered.

His features had tightened but he’d nodded. Thinking, she knew, about the elephants of their past they could no longer ignore.

She’d dozed on and off but her brain refused to switch off enough for proper sleep to take her, and now the birds were singing their early morning chorus.

Climbing out of bed, she slipped her robe on and padded across to the adjoining room.

Her babies were cuddled together, fast asleep.

She messaged the nannies, telling them to call her when one of the twins woke up, then crept out of the silent villa and escaped into the headily scented garden.

For the longest time she stood barefoot on the edge of the sprawling, manicured lawn, soaking in the faint rays of the rising sun, trying to expel all the thoughts crowding her mind.

It felt like every thought and memory she’d ever had had converged and were fighting for supremacy in her head. But there was one memory fighting the hardest, and it was this memory she’d fought the hardest to resist. She’d resisted letting this particular memory form for fourteen months.

She didn’t have the strength to fight it any more.

She’d reached the gate of the fence surrounding the swimming pool area without any awareness of crossing the lawn to it.

Opening it, she stepped to the poolside and dipped a toe into the water. That one little action caused a ripple.

So many ripples, she thought bleakly as she sank onto the poolside and submerged her legs into the cool water.

Some ripples would always be felt, and she closed her eyes and abandoned the fight, and finally allowed herself to relive the night her daughters were conceived.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Fourteen months ago

Thelastofthe catering vans disappeared. The house that only hours ago had been filled with Mrs Martinez’s family, friends and neighbours sharing food and drink and memories now contained only Rose… And Diaz. Every last trace of the wake had been wiped away by the efficient staff.

Rose sank onto a stool at the kitchen island and hung her head. She felt as drained and bereft as she’d ever felt.

Diaz’s footsteps neared and his shadow appeared in the kitchen doorway before his full figure emerged. He’d showered, changing from his black suit into black jeans and a black V-necked T-shirt. Unshaven, damp hair mussed from a towel being run over it, he looked as drained as she felt.

He held up two crystal glasses in one large hand and a bottle of what looked like Scotch in the other, and raised an eyebrow in question.

Longing filled the ache in her heart. A longing to touch his face. To press herself close to him and find comfort and strength in his strength.

In the two weeks since Mrs Martinez had died, they’d continued sharing the house as they’d done in the months leading up to her death, but the only times they’d come together had been when making all the funeral arrangements and touching briefly on the divorce they would file when the first year of their marriage was up. There had been no debate about it. There had been no debate, either, when they’d divided the house into two territories: his and hers. Only the kitchen had been Switzerland and even then, by more unspoken agreement, they’d only used it when the other wasn’t.

They’d been like two ships deliberately giving the other a wide berth, and yet she’d been acutely aware of Diaz’s course, always knowing where he was in the house, feeling his absence like an ache during the long hours he left to conduct business that needed the personal touch, lying in her bed at night consumed with his physical closeness and tormented by his distance.

Today though, they had come together one last time for his grandmother, and stayed by each other’s side until the last guest left. The need to clasp his hand had, at times, been overwhelming.

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