Spanish Escape: The Playboy of Puerto Banús / A Game of Vows / For the Sake of Their Son

‘What did he say?’ Estelle asked as Luka strode through.

‘Something about the prodigal son’s homecoming and to save the acting for in front of his father.’

‘Come on,’ Estelle said. There would be time for dwelling on it later.

He caught her wrist. ‘You’re earning your keep tonight.’

He saw the grit of her teeth and the flash of her eyes.

‘Do you do it deliberately, Raúl?’ she asked ‘Does it help to remind me of my place on a night like tonight?’

‘I am sorry. What I meant was that things are particularly strained. When I asked you I never anticipated bringing you here. Certainly I never thought I would set foot in this house.’

They could not discuss it properly here, so for now she gave him the benefit of the doubt. They went out to the garden, where Luka was talking with his father, and they all sat at the table for what should have been a most difficult dinner. Instead, for the most part, it was nice. It was little uncomfortable at first, but soon conversation was flowing as Estelle helped Angela to bring out the food.

‘I never thought I would see this day,’ Antonio said. ‘My family all at the same table…’

Antonio would never see it again.

He was so frail and weak it was clear this would be the last time. It was for that reason, perhaps, that Luka and Raúl attempted to be amicable.

‘You work in Bilbao?’ Raúl asked.

‘I do,’ Luka said. ‘Investment banking.’

‘I had heard of you even before this,’ Raúl said. ‘You are making a name for yourself.’

‘And you.’ Luka smiled but it did not meet his eyes. ‘I hear about your many acquisitions…’

Thank God for morphine, Estelle thought, because Antonio just smiled and did not pick up on the tension.

The food was amazing—a mixture of dishes from the north and south of Spain. There was pringá, an Andalusian dish that was a slow-cooked mixture of meats and had been Raúl’s favourite as a child. And there was

marmitako too, a dish from the Basque Country, which was full of potatoes and pimientos and, Antonio said, had kept him going for so long.

‘So you study?’ Antonio said to Estelle.

‘Ancient architecture.’ Estelle nodded. ‘Although, I haven’t been doing much lately.’

‘Yes, what happened to your online studies?’ Raúl teased.

‘Sol’s happened.’ Estelle smiled.

Raúl laughed. ‘Being married to me is a full-time job…’

Raúl used the words she had used about Gordon. It was a gentle tease, a joke that caused a ripple of laughter—

except their eyes met for a brief moment and it hurt her that he was speaking the truth.

It was a job, Estelle reminded herself. A job that would soon be over. But then she thought of the life that grew inside her, the baby that must have the two most mismatched parents in the world.

Not that Raúl knew it.

He thought she loved the clubs and the parties, whereas sitting and eating with his family, as difficult as it was, was where she would rather be. This night, for Estelle, was one of the best.

‘You would love San Sebastian.’ Antonio carried on speaking to her. ‘The architecture is amazing. Raúl, you should take Estelle and explore with her. Take her to the Basilica of Santa Maria—there is so much she would love to see…’

‘Estelle would prefer to go out dancing at night. Anyway,’ Raúl quipped, ‘I haven’t been inside a church for years.’

‘You will be inside one soon,’ his father warned. ‘And you should share in your wife’s interests.’

Estelle watched thankfully as Raúl took a drink rather than delivering a smart response to his father’s marital advice.

And, as much as she’d love to explore the amazing city, she and Raúl were simply too different. And the most bizarre thing was Raúl didn’t even know that they were.

She tried to imagine a future: Raúl coming home from a night out to a crying baby, or to nannies, or having access weekends. And she tried to picture the life she would have to live in Spain if she wanted his support.

Estelle remembered the menace in his voice when he had warned that he didn’t want children and decided then that she would never tell him while this contract was between them. When she was back home in England and there was distance, when she could tell him without breaking down, or hang up on him if she was about to, then she would confess.

And there would be no apology either. Estelle surged in sudden defensiveness for her child—she wasn’t going to start its life by apologising for its existence. However Raúl dealt with the news was up to him.

‘So…’ Still Antonio was focused on Estelle. ‘You met last year?’

‘We did.’ Estelle smiled.

‘When he said he was seeing an ex, I thought it was that…’ Antonio snapped his fingers. ‘The one with the strange name. The one he really liked.’

‘Antonio.’ Angela chided, but he was too doped up on morphine for inhibition.

‘Araminta!’ Antonio said suddenly.

‘Ah, yes, Araminta.’ Estelle smiled sweetly to her husband. ‘Was that the one making a play for you at Donald’s wedding?’

‘That’s the one.’ Raúl actually looked uncomfortable.

‘You were serious for a long time,’ Antonio commented.

Estelle glanced up, saw a black smile on Luka’s face.

‘Weren’t you engaged to her?’ he asked. ‘I remember my mother saying that she thought there might soon be a wedding.’

‘Luka,’ Angela warned. ‘Raúl’s wife is here.’

‘It’s fine,’ Estelle attempted—except her cheeks were on fire. She was as jealous as if she had just found out about a bit of her husband’s past she’d neither known of nor particularly liked. ‘If I’d needed to know about all of Raúl’s past before I married him we’d barely have got to his twenties by now.’

She should have left it there, but there was a white-hot feeling tearing up her throat when she thought of how he’d so cruelly dismissed Araminta—and that was someone he’d once cared about.

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