Page 35 of Lela's Choice

“That’s the stereotype we’re trying to shake, macho man, not reinforce. Women can’t do anything without a man at their side.” No man had made Lela tremble inside, made her feel this overwhelming desire to reach out and touch him, take him. Last night and now—a yearning, which hit without warning. She needed to fight the slow roll of need turning her bones to water when she was near him.

“I’m aware women can do anything themselves. However, sometimes accepting help, accepting protection is not a weakness.” An undercurrent in his voice alerted Lela. Another conversation where the thread started with a darker story. He’d withdrawn in the same way when they’d digressed into the topic of babies making a family. Had he known a woman who’d insisted on doing something by herself, and it had gone horribly wrong?

“A learned response,” she apologised. “Fighting Papa’s views of how a good Maltese woman should behave has become a habit. Especially because I know he’s a few decades out of touch with how Maltese women behave.”

“From my experience, the gender balance here in Malta is more nuanced. You’re the one who emphasised the importance of family to Maltese people.” The urbane and always-in-control Hamish ran his hands through his neat hair, mussing it, and the improbable gesture disarmed her.

She resisted the urge to comfort him, as he’d comforted her last night, to finger-comb his dishevelled locks back into order for him. Instinct told her a casual touch wouldn’t ease the memory she’d sparked. But it could be enough to catapult them back to where they’d been in the pool this morning, when each of them had struggled to find a path between duty and desire.

“Mariella Debrincat is likely to respond to a solid front.” His phone buzzed again. “That’ll be Marty with an appointment for later today. I could go alone.”

“Now you’re being deliberately provocative.” Lela knew Mariella was a common Maltese name, still it forged a connection to know Sophie’s mother, Mari—short for Mariella—and Peter’s aunt shared the same first name.

“I saidwewere coming.”

“If I went alone, I could tell you what I discover.” She discovered she liked teasing him.

“Ditto.” He stood watching her, a grin twisting his mouth. “Mariella Debrincat is expecting a united front.”

“Worth a try.”

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LELA SPOTTED HAMISHwhen she exited the hotel. He was checking his phone, leaning negligently against the rental car parked in the shade to one side of the entrance. A reminder his work in Sydney backed up while they searched for Sophie.

He looked up, as if he sensed her arrival, then pushed his long frame away from the car, and, for an instant, her heart stalled. He was gorgeous. Dressed in a classic grey suit, crafted by a master. Her gaze was once again drawn to his tie—Salvador Dali melting clocks, incorporating the stunning russets, blues and golds of the original masterpiece. The weather was hot enough to melt metal.

An elegant crusader for the rights of children.

“You dressed for the part,” he said, running an appraising eye over her navy suit and white blouse.

“Looks like we both had the same idea.” Lela waited until he’d settled in the driver’s seat before speaking. “Although your tie would incite a riot where I work.”

“I rest my case on the narrow-mindedness of bankers.”

“Bankers don’t wear watches like that either.”

“You like it?” He turned his wrist to check the face of his watch, where the spider continued its steady march with each second.

“Like the tie, it catches the eye.”

“Mothers are often reluctant to let small children out of their sight when they’re running for their lives. Everyone’s unsettled in that first interview.” He pressed the ignition. “A spider helps break the ice.”

“A nice touch.” It was a thinking-outside-the-square touch, reassuring Lela about how he’d deal with Sophie. Hamish said his interest in child custody had been triggered by his parents’ work. His commitment went beyond professional interest. She sensed it was both a vocation and a duty. Duty wasn’t always a happy place. “You’re an unlikely rebel.”

“I’m not a rebel.” His gaze shifted to hers, surprised.

“Your eye-catching ties and quirky watch don’t match the usual buttoned-down conservative.” They did add another endearing dimension to Hamish MacGregor.

“Your watch, while beautiful, is old-fashioned.”

“It was Mama’s.” She brushed a gentle finger across the face. “Then Mari’s.”

He squeezed her knee briefly in silent comfort. “Mrs. Debrincat lives beyond Paola.” He made a left-hand turn.

“Sounds familiar.” She studied her surroundings for a few kilometres. “I expected to recognise a few landmarks from my trip from the airport, but I can’t identify a thing.”

“Paola is the closest town to the Hypogeum, possibly Malta’s most famous archaeological site, and that’s saying something. The country’s littered with ancient ruins.”

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