Page 76 of Modern Romance Collection March 2025 (1-4)

‘They already have them,’ he confessed. He’d anticipated this argument and so had fixed it before it arose. ‘I arranged it.’

Her gaze flew back to him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. ‘When?’

‘Two weeks ago. I signed for them the other morning before I left for Athens. They’re in the safe in the study.’

‘You never mentioned it.’

‘I wanted it to be a surprise.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘I didn’t know fathers could apply for baby passports.’

‘I have the same legal parental responsibility as you.’

‘Oh, yes…’ She suddenly jerked her chin and blinked. ‘Has our divorce come through?’

It was not the first time she’d asked this. ‘Not yet.’

‘I thought it would be done by now…’ Her voice trailed off as anxiety flittered over her face. ‘You did file the papers, didn’t you?’

Their one-year anniversary had passed six weeks ago.

‘Yes,’ he lied smoothly. The birth of the twins had changed everything as far as Diaz was concerned…not that he’d voiced this to Rose, not with her mental and emotional state being what it was. One step at a time. Getting her to Spain was merely the first step.

Her nod was absent, her thoughts clearly busy.

‘So, that’s settled, then,’ he said decisively before her thoughts could gettoobusy. As much as he wanted the old Rose back, he knew it would be better if she returned while they were in Spain rather than under this roof where the ghosts of their shared past lived.

‘What’s settled?’

‘Spain. I’ll make the arrangements. We can leave tomorrow.’

* * *

Rose clutched at her hair. ‘But wecan’tgo yet,’ she wailed. ‘I haven’t got a suitcase for my own stuff.’

She could scarcely believe how quickly Diaz had made this trip to Spain happen. She’d woken in the early hours to Amelia making snuffling sounds in her sleep, certain she’d dreamed the entire conversation. Most of her life had felt like a waking dream since she’d brought the girls home from hospital. She’d never known such exhaustion existed.

Her precious girls were worth every hour of sleep lost.

It wasn’t until Diaz had turned up while she was giving them their morning feed and asked if she’d started packing that she’d realised their discussion about Spain had been no dream. Things had moved at a rapid dream-like pace ever since, which was a bit of a shock to a system grown accustomed to taking one long day at a time.

Uncertain what was best to pack for the girls, she’d played it safe by stuffing her cases with the entirety of their wardrobes, which Diaz’s driver had already put in the back of the car, and now she had nothing to stuff the bundle of her own clothing currently heaped on the bed into other than an old beach bag.

Strong hands clasped her shoulders. The physical contact made her start. Diaz was around so much that she never really noticed him as anything but the one person who loved her daughters as much as she did. She didn’t have the functioning brain cells to see him as anything but their father, so to feel such solid contact from him when the most they’d shared in five months was brushed arms as they passed the babies between them was another shock to her system.

Stern green eyes locked onto hers. ‘All you need is your passport and I have packed it with mine and the girls’. We will buy whatever you need when we get there, but we have to go now or we will miss our slot.’

‘We can get another slot,’ she protested.

‘No,’ he said firmly, hands still grasping her shoulders. ‘It is the summer. Flight slots are scarce, even private ones. We need to leave. Now.’

Before she could argue again, he let go of her shoulders and expertly lifted both girls out of the cot. Holding them securely in each arm, he headed out of the room without a backward glance.

Trying not to cry—she had no idea where the tears came from—she snatched an armful of clothes from the bundle, shoved them into the beach bag and hurried after them, just as Diaz knew she would. It didn’t improve her mood to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror as she left her room. With her black jeans and light black sweater, she looked like she could be cast as a member of the Addams Family. They wouldn’t even need to bother with gothic make-up. She looked a wreck.

She didn’t want to leave the safety of her Devon home. That was the problem. As tired as she was—and she was very much aware her exhaustion made her more emotional than she would normally be—travelling to Diaz’s territory made her feel all antsy, like there was an undertone of motives, a reason for his determination to get them all to Spain being kept from her. Although what that something could be, her exhausted mind couldn’t begin to envisage.

* * *

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