Page 32 of Fairy Tale Marriage

“I want my daughter, Doña,” Chaz interrupted. “I’ve been patient long enough. I’ve given you everything you’ve requested. You wanted me to provide a home for her. Ihave. You wanted a mother for her. Here she is.”

“And now I wish to assure myself that this home you have purchased and this woman you have taken for a wife will be suitable for my Sarita.”

“Don’t push me, Isabella.”

For a split second, her regal facade cracked, revealing an old woman’s vulnerability. All pretense had been forcibly ripped away and her internal battle to do what was best for Sarita waged across a network of lines cut deep into a once handsomeface.

“She is my only female great-grandchild,” she offered in a pained voice. “She is not a stray cat or a dog in need of a good home. If I decide you are unsuitable, Iwill return with her to Mexico. Ican provide her with everything she requires there.”

“Can you?” Something didn’t ring true about the Doña’s statement. “Then why did you come to me? Why tell me of her existence when your granddaughter went to such pains to keep me in the dark? You could have returned to Mexico with no one the wiser. So why ask me to take Sarita if you’re capable of providing for her so well?”

She didn’t reply. Instead, the battle ended and her face smoothed into an implacable mask. She turned and marched relentlessly across the office before pausing in the doorway. “Sarita is in need of some culture, if she is to live in such an isolated place,” she announced. “We leave for San Francisco in the morning. Iwill return at the end of the month. And I shall be interested to see the progress your wife has made toward turning this house into a suitable home for my Sarita.”

Shayne followed, slipping a hand beneath Isabella’s arm. “I’ll do my best.” She opened the door and offered the sweetest of smiles. “Why don’t I see you out?”

Doña Isabella inclined her head. “If that is your wish.”

Damn Shayne’s kindness! Chaz thrust a hand through his hair, thoroughly exasperated. Great. Just great. The woman who’d haunted him for more years than he cared to remember coupled with the woman who’d plagued him nonstop for the past three months. Nothing good could come out of that combination.

“Jumbo!” he roared.

With more speed than grace, Jumbo lumbered into the office. He was a massive man, his skin bronzed to a coppery sheen by a heritage as diverse as it was interesting. His instant response suggested he’d been hovering nearby. No doubt he’d gotten quite an earful, all of which he’d pass on word for excruciating word to his brother, Mojo, and to Penny, as well as to anyone else who’d pause long enough to listen. Jumbo might be one of Chaz’s hardest-working employees, but he was also an inveterate gossip.

“You bellowed?”

“Get supper on the table. And make sure there’s plenty of liquid refreshment, if you catch my drift.”

Jumbo shook his head in disgust. He folded arms that could have passed as tree trunks across his chest and lifted a single, thick black eyebrow that extended, unbroken, from one side of his face to the other. “You gonna drink yourself into a stupor on your wedding night?”

“It’s not my wedding night.” Or was it? Did their pre-wedding celebration count? Damn. Probably not. Nor did the overnight drive it took to get here. “And don’t give me that look. I’m not the one in need of stupefying, not that it’s any of your business.”

A knowing gleam drifted into Jumbo’s odd gold eyes. “Got it. Champagne for the lady? Or wine?”

“Not champagne.” She’d probably kill him. “Wine. Anice merlot, Ithink. And keep her glass full, though I doubt it’ll help.” Nothing would help except to change the events of the past. Unfortunately, if his life had taken a different course, he wouldn’t have Sarita. The knowledge unsettled him. “And keep Mojo in the kitchen. No point in scarin’ my wife off her first day here.”

“He’ll want a peek at her.”

“Tough.”

“Okay, but fair warning. He might not be willing to cook for your wife, especially if she starts messin’ around in his kitchen.”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens.” Since Shayne might not be staying long enough to mess with anything, Chaz decided to back-burner that particular problem. Hell, he had enough other, far larger worries looming over him. “Now will you take care of your brother or do I have to do it?”

Jumbo held up his hands. “Don’t sweat it. I’ll deal with Mojo.” And with that, he returned to the kitchen.

“Offer her more wine,” Jumbo advised.

Chaz shot his employee an infuriated look. Not that it did any good. The man was as immune to the finer points of authority hierarchies as Penny.

He gritted his teeth. “More wine?” he asked Shayne.

“No, thanks.”

“You sure? It’s got quite a pleasant flav—”

“I’ll pass, thank you.”

Right. She’d pass. Again. Just like she’d passed on the salad, and the bread. And no doubt just like she’d pass on most of her dinner and Jumbo’s eventual offer of dessert, and most frustrating of all, any and all attempts at conversation. He reached for the glass she’d refused, before slamming it to the table in sheer frustration. Purple-red wine sloshed over the rim and stained the one good tablecloth he could call his own. Good linen had never seemed important.

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