His Heir, Her Honor (9 page)

If that was the case, why then had he brought her here?

 

Carlos steered the SUV through the scroll-work gates separating his father's mansion from the island. The machine gun-toting guards didn't so much as flinch as he drove by. He and his siblings had agreed to gather at the house to reconnoiter, then go to the island clinic to see their father.

He thought he'd prepared himself for this visit, prepared himself for his father's death. But as he stared at the white adobe mansion where he'd spent his teenage years recovering, the past came roaring up like a rogue tidal wave.

Slowing the vehicle, he eased past a towering marble fountain with a “welcome” pineapple on top. Ironic.

When he'd been here for his brother's wedding, he'd been able to numb himself. However, for some reason, he felt raw this time in a way that he hadn't experienced since a surgeon had retooled most of his insides. His fingers clenched around the steering wheel reflexively before he forced himself to relax and turn
the vehicle over to the uniformed staff member opening the passenger door.

His shirt stuck to his back, and Carlos tried to chalk up the perspiration to the warmer Florida climate. But he couldn't lie to himself. The doctor inside him couldn't deny the physiological reaction to the stress of being here.

Carlos circled the front of the car and before he consciously registered the motion, he reached for Lilah. Strange how her presence here kept him going. One foot in front of the other, in spite of the stabbing pain increasing at the base of his spine. His body shouted subliminal alarms left and right. He tucked his hand against her waist under the guise of being gentlemanly since she would probably think he was nuts if he clasped her hand.

This arrival together was important to him, a commitment from him to her, even if she didn't realize it. Bringing any outsider to the island was a huge step. Especially for him. His family would recognize that right away.

Lilah was his now.

The butler motioned them toward the library. Lilah stayed silent, eyeing her surroundings as they walked through the cavernous circular hall, two staircases stretching up either side, meeting in the middle. He guided her through the gold gilded archway, past his father's favorite Picasso.

Finally, he reached the library, his father's domain. Books filled three walls, interspersed with windows and a sliding brass ladder. Mosaic tiles swirled outward on the floor; the ceiling was filled with frescos of globes and conquistadors. Scents from the orange trees drifted
in through the open windows along with the feel of the ever-present warm ocean breeze.

Beneath a wide skylight, the family had all gathered while his father's wingback chair loomed empty. Enrique's two Rhodesian ridgebacks stood guard on either side of the empty “throne.”

“Lilah, these are my brothers, Duarte and Antonio.”

Duarte stepped forward first, his hand extended precisely. His middle brother would have made the perfect military officer if they'd stayed in San Rinaldo. Their assumed identities as adults had made it impossible for Duarte to sign on as a U.S. serviceman. Instead, he'd become a ruthless businessman.

Lilah wore her overly calm expression, the one Carlos had seen her wear during stressful board meetings at the hospital. She shook Antonio's hand next.

The family maverick sported longer hair. He'd left the island at eighteen and signed on to a shrimp boat crew in Galveston Bay, working his way up to shipping magnate. His weathered face showed lines of worry today. His new wife tucked her arms around his waist in quiet comfort.

Once intros were complete, the women circled Lilah in an impenetrable wall—of protection or curiosity? He wasn't sure. But their half sister, Eloisa, Antonio's wife, Shannon, and Duarte's fiancée, Kate, were filling her ears with everything she could possibly need to know about the island.

Carlos turned to his brothers. “Our father?”

Duarte clasped his hands behind his back. “Still holding his own at the clinic.”

“I want to know why he left the hospital in Jacksonville.” There had been a glimmer of hope when they
finally persuaded their father to look beyond the island clinic for medical help on the mainland. Getting their father to agree had been a major coup given what a recluse Enrique had become. “I thought he was on board with seeing specialists.”

Antonio shrugged impatiently. “He said he's come home to die with his family.”

Duarte's jaw went tight for a second before he continued, “The doctors in Jacksonville support the clinic staff here. Transplant is the only way to go if he wants a chance at beating this.”

“Then what's with his whole death march?” Their father had options. A chance. A liver transplant could even be done with a live donor giving a lobe of his or her liver, and Enrique had a room full of possibilities in his children. “We need to get him back to Jacksonville immediately.”

Duarte laughed darkly. “Good luck convincing him to agree.”

Antonio braced a hand against the dormant fireplace. “Tests show I'm a match as a donor, but the old man shut me down. He's fixated on the notion that he doesn't want me to undergo the risk, even though it will save his life.”

Carlos resisted the urge to bark out his frustration at the outright hypocrisy. His father had demanded his son fight to live after the bullets had torn into his back, to endure endless torturous procedures and rehabilitation in order to beat the odds and walk again. No way was Carlos letting the old man simply check out on the family when there was still a chance. “I will just have to persuade him otherwise.”

“We would have called you about this sooner, but
you're ineligible to be a donor because of the damage to your liver from the gunshot wounds.”

A gasp drew his attention. He turned to see Lilah staring back at him with wide—surprised—eyes, the color draining from her creamy skin. Hell. He'd never told her the real cause of his injuries and he hadn't thought to warn his brothers to stay silent on the subject.

It hadn't seemed necessary to inform her. There hadn't been the right moment. And he knew those were just excuses because he didn't want to revisit that time in his life with anyone.

Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he realized he'd screwed up with her yet again, and that unsettled him as he accepted just how important it had become to have her with him.

Talking with Lilah would have to wait, however. He needed to prepare himself to see his father for what could be the last time.

E
very minute spent on this island only imprinted in her brain how very little she knew about the man who'd fathered her child.

High heels echoing down the marble corridor, Lilah trailed the other women as they gave her a crash course on the Medina mansion, a palatial retreat that felt nearly as large as the Tacoma hospital. They'd already seen the library, music room, movie screening room, pools, more than one dining area and her own suite. Now she was learning where to find the others in their quarters.

Too bad she couldn't just MapQuest the place.

Maybe as she wandered she could collect clues about Carlos from the priceless art collection on walls and pedestals.

Her heart clenched as she remembered the only painting on the wall in his hospital office—a canvas
by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida, one of the
Sad Inheritance
preparatory pieces. She'd always thought the image of crippled children bathing in healing waters to be tied into his own work.

Now she realized how he was connected to that image in a far more tragic way than she could have ever known. Shot in the back? Tears stung her eyes as she envisioned his scars with a deeper understanding.

So far the house wasn't revealing much more about him other than relaying an utter isolation and wealth beyond anything she could have imagined. Her only other option? Ask.

Passing yet another heavily armed and stoic guard, she eyed the women in front of her. Carlos's dark-haired sister Eloisa. Then the girl-next-door blonde sister-in-law, Shannon. And the savvy-eyed brunette fiancée, Kate.

The time with them would be better spent picking their minds about the family than memorizing the floor plan of this mansion maze. She just hoped they weren't as closemouthed as Carlos. Angling to the side, she passed a man vacuuming the molding over a high archway. Given the late hour, she wondered if the staff around here ever slept.

As they walked through a small courtyard, she ran her hand along a sleek jade cat keeping watch over a fountain nestled between the property's vast wings.

Shannon opened yet another door in their marathon tour. “This hall leads to my quarters.” Her Texas twang coated each word as silk Italian drapes rippled with their passing. “I hope you won't mind if I check on my son real quick and relieve the nanny. Then we can have that late-night snack I promised.”

“Please, take your time,” Lilah said, waving the younger mother into the room, balcony doors already parted to admit a gusty ocean breeze. “I'm wide awake on West Coast time.”

Soon she would have those same responsibilities, the privilege of a child in her life. Making sure her child had the most stable life possible increased the urgency in settling her confused feelings about the baby's father.

Her shoes sunk into the Persian rug until the toes blended into the apricot and gray pattern as she followed the other women into the rooms Shannon shared with Antonio. The suite sported two bedrooms off a sitting area with an eating space stocked more fully than most kitchens. Seeming to know her way around, Kate brought a tray with a bone china teapot alongside a plate of tiny sandwiches and fat strawberries.

Lilah lingered by a Waterford vase to sniff the lisianthus with blooms resembling blue roses that softened the gray tones in the decor. Trailing her fingers along the camelback sofa, she hesitated, surprised to find a homey knitted afghan.

Softly, Shannon closed her son's door and crossed to the sofa, caressing the worn-soft pewter yarn with reverence. “Their mother made this for Antonio shortly before she died.” She looked up, her blue-gray eyes sad. “Antonio was only five when they left San Rinaldo. He told me he thought of the blanket as a shield.”

Five years old.

As the other women settled into fat, comfy chairs, Lilah wrapped her arms around herself, chilled to the core by the image of three young boys fleeing the only home they'd ever known. Dodging bullets. Losing their mother. She squeezed her eyes shut briefly. In the four
years she'd known Carlos, she hadn't a clue just how deep and dark those shadows in his eyes went.

Sweeping her sleek, black ponytail over her shoulder, Eloisa propped her feet on an ottoman, balancing a plate of shrimp and cucumber sandwiches on top of her pregnant belly with a wry grin. “It's more than a little overwhelming, isn't it? I'm still growing accustomed to all of it.”

Resisting the urge to touch her own expanding waistline, Lilah focused on the woman's words instead, eager to learn more about these people who would be family to her baby. “Didn't Enrique have visitation rights when you were a child?”

“My parents never had an official custody agreement drawn up. I only met him once.” Eloisa leaned forward for her tea, her silver shell charm necklace chiming against her china plate. “I was about seven at the time of my visit.”

Taking a cup of tea from Shannon, Lilah reviewed what little she knew about the Medina history. “That's years after the last sighting of him.”

Eloisa smiled nostalgically. “I didn't know where we went when my mother and I flew here. It felt like we took a long time in the air. But of course all travel seems to take forever at that age. I never told anyone about the visit after I left here. I may not have had much of a relationship with my father while I was growing up, but I understood that his safety and the safety of my brothers depended on my silence.”

Shivering, Lilah eyed the blanket made by a mother who would never see her children grow up. “Did you meet them as well?”

She sipped her tea to warm herself in spite of the sultry
island air. A burst of chocolate mint flavor surprised her. Had Carlos informed the staff of her recent craving for chocolate mint? The possibility seeped through her more tangibly than the drink.

“Duarte and Antonio were here,” Eloisa answered. “Carlos was having treatments at the time.”

Her teacup rattled on the saucer. Lilah set it down carefully and busied her shaking hands by picking from the assortment of tiny round sandwiches—goat cheese and watercress. “The whole trip must have seemed strange to you, a child so young.”

“More than you know.” Eloisa smiled as Shannon held out a tray of fruit—she selected a chocolate strawberry with obvious anticipation. “My mother had remarried by then and had another baby.”

Her words sunk in. “How did your stepfather feel about the trip?”

“He never knew about the visit, or about any of the Medinas…until recently when the whole world learned too.”

Shannon settled back into her chair, tucking her bare feet under her, expensive shoes forgotten in the timeless ritual of girl talk. “The day that revelation exploded on the internet is definitely one of the most memorable moments of my life.”

The everyday sort of gab session wrapped around Lilah with a strange—alien?—feeling. She had so few people in her life to share moments like this. As the only daughter with two much older brothers, as a woman with a high-powered position, she didn't have many female friends with whom she could kick off her shoes.

Lilah accepted a refill from Kate. “When our hospital staff first heard the news, the whole place went wild over
the fact that one of our own surgeons had been leading a double life.”

She couldn't imagine such an existence of secrecy and fear. She'd been so focused on Carlos's injuries that she hadn't considered how other aspects of his childhood had shaped him as well.

Eloisa waved a hand dismissively. “But my childhood, the whole exposé—” she winked at Kate, whose photos had first started that buzz “—it's all water under the bridge now. I want to tell you about that visit when I was seven. It was amazing, or rather it seemed that way to me through my childish, idealistic eyes. We all walked along the beach and collected shells. He—” she paused, clearing her throat “—um, Enrique, told me this story about a little squirrel that could travel wherever she wanted by scampering along the telephone lines.”

Lilah reached to clasp the other woman's hand. “What a beautiful memory.”

Would these two Medina grandchildren—Eloisa's baby and Lilah's child—have the privilege of hearing their grandfather Enrique tell them the same story?

Reconciling the image of a man who would tell such lovely tales with the notion of a father ignoring his child unsettled Lilah. Greatly. A man who could detach himself came into focus, bringing fears because Carlos had sliced her from his life just as easily.

Had he learned that skill at his father's knee? Could she be in for another repeat in the future, regardless of how open he'd seemed in the Colorado kitchen?

The attorney inside her blared warnings to protect herself, protect her baby against a family with unlimited resources at their fingertips. People with this kind of power rarely surrendered anything. Once Carlos had
the proof in hand about the baby, she didn't doubt for a second that he would claim his child with a fierce determination.

Would he go so far as to try to gain custody of the baby if she didn't marry him? And could she put aside a lifetime of reservations about relationships to agree to a marriage of convenience?

No matter the warm draw of the women around her, the hope of a secure life for her, for her baby—for Carlos—provided a frighteningly heavy allure.

 

Carlos guided the four-wheel drive over the two-lane paved road, Duarte beside him and Antonio in the back. Only a couple more minutes until they reached the island clinic—and their dying father. He thought he'd prepared himself for this day.

But he was wrong.

Of course he'd been mistaken about a lot of things lately, like assuming Lilah would jump at the chance to marry him. The way she'd thrown his proposal back in his face still grated. As much as he tried to play things calm and laid-back with offers of cheeseburgers and milk shakes, he couldn't escape the sense that time was slipping away. That if he didn't settle his life soon, there wouldn't be another chance for him with her.

In the backseat, Antonio leaned forward, arms resting on the backs of his brothers' seats. “Care to share, Carlos?”

His hands tightened around the steering wheel as he steered deeper into the jungle. “About what?”

“Really, brother.” Antonio flicked him on the temple. “You're supposed to be the genius in our family. Who's the lady friend?”

“Lilah and I work at the same hospital. She's the administrator.”

“A lawyer?” Duarte loaded the final word with cynicism, his arm hooked out the open window.

Antonio snorted. “You're the one engaged to a
reporter.
”

“Photojournalist,” Duarte corrected softly, possessively.

Protectively.

His fiancée had been the one to first break the Medina story to the press with a picture she'd accidentally nabbed. Ironically, that snapshot had brought her and Duarte together and now she handled all carefully controlled press releases about the family.

Their youngest brother chuckled. “Journalist or photojournalist. Tomato, tom-ah-to.”

Carlos whipped the car around a corner, toward a one-storey building, white stucco with a red tile roof. The clinic sported two wings, perched like a bird on the manicured lawn. One side held the offices for regular checkups, eye exams and dental visits. The other side was reserved for hospital beds, testing and surgeries. The clinic treated not only the Medinas, but also the staff needed to run a small island kingdom.

Everything was top-of-the-line, easy enough to finance with an unlimited bank balance. Enrique had insisted on the best for the facility where his son would spend most of his teenage years. Carlos knew every nook and cranny of the place.

“Ignore Antonio,” Duarte said, bracing a hand on the dash. “I'm happy for you, my brother.”

Downshifting as he cruised to a stop in front of the double sliding doors, Carlos glanced at his brothers
quickly. “Hold off on the congratulations.” Better to be honest than risk them congratulating Lilah. “I still have to convince her.”

Carlos pocketed the keys and left the vehicle. Guards nodded a welcome without relaxing their stance. Electric doors slid open. A blast of cool, antiseptic air drifted out. The clinic was fully staffed with doctors and nurses, on hand to see to the health concerns of the small legion that ran Enrique's island home. Most were also from San Rinaldo or relatives of the refugees.

Antonio pointed to the correct room number, although Carlos would have known from the fresh pair of heavily armed sentinels. Enrique never relaxed security. Ever. Even when at death's door.

Duarte stopped Carlos with a hand to the arm. “We'll wait out here so you can have time to visit him on your own first. Call when you're ready for us to join you.”

Carlos nodded his gratitude, words stuck in his throat underneath the wad of emotion. Bracing himself, he stepped inside the hospital room.

The former king hadn't requested any special accommodations beyond privacy. There were no flowers or balloons or even cards to add color to the sterile space. Just an assortment of machines and IVs and other medical equipment all too familiar to Carlos, but somehow alien in the context of keeping Enrique Medina alive.

His powerful father was confined to a single bed.

Wearing paisley pajamas, Enrique needed a shave. That alone relayed how ill the old man was even more than his pallor. Even on a secluded island with no kingdom to rule, the deposed monarch had always been meticulous about his appearance.

His father had also lost weight since Carlos's brief visit a couple of months ago for Antonio's wedding. Still stinging from his screwup with Lilah, Carlos hadn't been much in the mood for making merry at a wedding. He'd done his family duty then promptly left with the excuse of a patient in need.

“Mi hijo.”
A sigh rattled Enrique's chest, and he adjusted the plastic tubes feeding oxygen into his nose. His voice was frail, with only a hint of the authority he'd once carried in booming tones.