Page 15 of Consequence of One Reckless Night

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“Welcome to my humblehome,” an older gentleman welcomed them with a bright smile, introducing himself as Carlos, Leandro’s grandfather.

Leandro. Her soon-to-be husband.

Unease raked down her spine, but Raquel’s lips turned up in a facsimile of a smile when Carlos took her hand in his.

This marriage proposal had been meant for her older sister, Anabela and at that moment, she wished Ana had agreed to this union, freeing her from the yolk of expectation that sat heavily on her shoulders, crushing her.

Her mother and sister stood beside her, along with her future mother-in-law—Erica, smiling and making small talk, but she couldn’t hear anything past the thundering in her ears.

Raquel looked around helplessly, scouring over the beautiful, landscaped garden, with lights at appropriate distances, showcasing various tropical plants in bloom. It was a beautiful garden, she acknowledged, noticing the lush bougainvillea and frangipani which dotted the landscape, her eyes lingering fondly at the gazebo in the distance. She wanted to make a mad dash for it, to get away from the group talking animatedly, unaware that she was a basket of nerves.

Her fingers clenched in the skirt of her dress, crushing the beautiful material as sweat trickled down between her breasts. The humid island air which she had enjoyed on the way here, suddenly felt stifling, and Raquel wished she could return home, so she could get into bed and hide under the covers, pretending her problems didn’t exist.

“Good evening.” A lazy drawl jerked her from her thoughts. “I’m Leandro.”

Filled with trepidation, Raquel gazed up at the man who was her fiancé. There was something vaguely familiar about him, although she was certain she hadn’t met him before—at least not in person.

Tahlia had gushed enough about the wonderful Leandro Monteiro. Rich, good-looking and heir to the Monteiro fortune, he managed the many luxury resorts and hotels which his family owned. Known to be kind, slow to anger, and immensely patient, Sylvia had agreed that her second daughter was indeed a better choice for Leandro.

“He needs a docile wife—someone who will stand demurely at his side, host his parties and give him heirs,” Sylvia had told Raquel the previous night, unaware that she had gone pale at her mother’s words. “You will be perfect for him.”

But looking at her future husband now, she couldn’t help but notice the arrogant slash of his jaw and the shrewd eyes that watched her closely. Eyes which gleamed with intelligence. Eyes that reminded her, surprisingly, of Alexandre. Blushing, she looked away.

“Would you like to see the gazebo?”

Had he noticed her looking at it? “Y-yes,” she stammered, keenly aware of the curious looks from their family members.

“Come.” He invited her to precede him, and Raquel walked gingerly toward the gazebo—a small wooden structure open on all sides, filled with little cushioned chairs and a teapoy. Once inside, she took a seat facing the sea which spread out before them like an obsidian blanket.

Apprehension filled her as she sat staring—blindingly ahead, unsure how she was going to get through the evening.

“You seem tense.”

Was her distress so obvious? Her eyes flicked to Leandro. He was calm and collected. Wasn’t he even a teeny bit anxious about their upcoming wedding?

“Why did you agree to an arranged marriage?” Raquel heard herself ask.

He shrugged. “My grandfather wishes it.”

“And you do whatever your grandfather asks of you?”

He nodded. “If it is within my power, yes.”

Her gaze dropped to her clasped hands. “Why?”

He leaned forward to catch her whispered question. “Why what, Raquel?”

She released a shaky breath. “Why agree to an arranged marriage? You can have any woman you want. Why marry a total stranger?” She raised her head. “Why marry someone like me?”

“You talk as if you are a poor choice.” His lips curled up in a smile. “Carlos wanted someone from Pérola, because this is where our family is originally from.”

Leandro went on to explain the history of his family—about his ancestor who came from Portugal when the Portuguese colonized India some four hundred years before. He explained how his ancestor married a local woman and decided to raise his new family in the coastal state of Goa.

“I have a Portuguese ancestor, too,” Raquel muttered, telling him about Afonso, a merchant who had settled in Pérola with his Goan bride.

The next few minutes were spent discussing their mixed heritage—Leandro and Raquel were both descendants of Portuguese merchants who had chosen to settle down in a foreign country which they later called home.

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