Santiago Sol (7 page)

“I’m sorry. I took advantage,” he offered.

She heard genuine remorse in his voice, and that made her angry. “I was involved, too.”

He laughed, but the sound was harsh. “That makes me feel better.”

Tansy was glad for the solid support of the counter behind her since her knees were trembling. “It takes two to tango,” she quipped. “Are you familiar with that saying?”

He paused and then nodded. “Still, I overstepped my role.”

“As tour guide?”

He nodded.

Tansy flushed, stomping hard on a silly wish that he could be more to her. No, her best bet was to accept his hospitality and use his connection to the Sandovals to find the patriarch, return the stupid walking stick, and get out of South America as fast as the nearest international flight could carry her.

He followed her back into the living room.

She moved her laptop and files off the small table while Sebastian watched her. Neither of them spoke.

The knock on the door startled them both.

He looked back at her with a blank expression she knew mirrored her own.

“Pizza. You called for delivery,” she said.

His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “I did, didn’t I?” He moved toward the door. Sebastian accepted the food and two colas in paper cups from a housekeeper.

“Gracias.” He nodded, closing the door.

“Let me help you with that.” Tansy stepped toward him just as he turned, and the cups toppled. Ice and soda gushed across the box and drenched him from chest to thigh.

“Oh!” Tansy gasped and grabbed for the cups, catching them before they tumbled to the floor, but the damage was done. “I’m so sorry. You’re soaked.”

Sebastian grimaced. “It’s all right.” He pushed the box toward her. “If you would take the pizza? I’ll get cleaned up.”

Tansy set the now-empty cups on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchenette from the living area, then took the flat box from his arms.

“The bathroom is...” she started to point, but then remembered he owned the building. “Yeah, you probably know where it is.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand, pretending to ignore the teasing glint in his eyes.

****

Sebastian closed the bathroom door. He stripped out of his jacket, draped it over the shower curtain, and pulled his shirt over his head. He used a towel to blot moisture from the material. After a few seconds, he conceded defeat. It was beyond the aid of a towel. He glanced at the jacket. It had survived most of the deluge, but how absurd would it look to wear the jacket without a shirt underneath? He grimaced. The easiest thing to do would be to run upstairs to his own apartment, change, and come back, but then he’d have to admit he not only owned the building, he lived in it.

He placed his hands on either side of the sink and looked at his reflection. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered. Then he reached for the jacket, slipped it on, and wadded the shirt and towel into a damp, sticky ball for the laundry.

“I called the concierge,” Tansy announced when he returned to the living room. She’d set out paper napkins on the coffee table with the pizza box. “They said they could bring up a shirt for you, and more drinks. I’ll pay for it, of course.”

“You will do no such thing. I’ll just put this by the door to take with me.” He pulled a trash bag from under the sink and shoved the soggy wad inside. As he dropped the bag by the door, the buzzer sounded.

The same housekeeper who had brought the pizza and drinks held out two bottles of soda and a shirt—one of his own—on a wire hanger.

The night concierge was more observant than Sebastian had given him credit for. A raise was in order.

Sebastian handed the sodas to Tansy and then returned to the bathroom. When he exited, he added the damp jacket to the bag by the front door, ran his hands through his hair, and exhaled.

“This is the pizza that may never be eaten,” he said.

Tansy laughed. The lilting, musical sound made him want to make her laugh again.

“Hurry and sit down before something else happens,” Tansy replied, dropping into the chair and reaching for a slice.

A half-hour later, Sebastian wasn’t sure what was better: his favorite meal, or watching Tansy
ooh
and
ahh
over it. She was on her third helping, which pleased him. He hated when women picked at their food.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to enjoy this at the restaurant,” he said between bites.

“That’s one of the awesome things about pizza. It’s good no matter where, or when, or what temperature it’s at when you eat it.”

“True.” It would be difficult to mistrust a woman with such an obvious affection for pizza, but Sebastian couldn’t ignore the niggling doubt in the back of his mind that she knew more than she was letting on. “How long have you known Eva?” The question felt stilted, awkward. The only
abuela
Sebastian had ever known was Chilean.

Tansy used a paper napkin to wipe a droplet of garlic butter off her chin. “A year or so. She and I belong to the same church. Our pastor approached me about writing her memoir. I was...er...between projects at the time.”

“Meaning you were out of work?” Suspicion rose. If she was out of work, she was probably struggling financially, and that meant she was a likely target for a Vargas family get-rich-quick scheme.

“I’m a freelancer,” she explained. “I go from project to project.” Her skin flushed, and she averted her eyes, answering his question.

“I assume she’s paying you well to write her memoir?”

“Actually, no. I’m doing it for free.” She placed her crust on the paper plate and brushed crumbs from her fingers.

“Free?” He choked, coughed, took a drink.

“Yes, free.
Gratis
. No charge. Eva took care of my expenses to come here, but I’m not charging her to write her story.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Why?”

She took a deep breath and exhaled before answering. “Because Eva St. John is an amazing Christian woman who has spent almost all her life selflessly helping others. Her story is inspiring and encouraging and hopeful.” Tansy scooted to the edge of the chair. “There are so many stories about terrible people and things that happen in the world. It’s not often a writer gets to tell a true story about a woman who has done so much good.”

She rose and gathered their plates, crumpled napkins, and the box, and carried them all into the kitchenette.

Sebastian stared at the wall and tried to wrap his mind around the idea of an American grandmother who wasn't a villain, as his mother and maternal grandparents had been portrayed in his family history. He was so focused on his thoughts, he jumped when Tansy returned to the room, curled up in the chair and tucked her legs beneath her.

“I’ll send you a copy of the manuscript, if you’re interested,” she said.

“Yes. Certainly,” Sebastian reached for a pen, leaned over and scribbled his e-mail address on a napkin. He pushed it toward Tansy. “I should excuse myself and say goodnight. It’s getting late.”

She took the napkin, glanced at it, and looked up at him. “Thank you for dinner.”

Sebastian dipped his head, then looked up as an idea blossomed in his mind. “We missed the worship service at Iglesia Espiritu Santo. Would you like to attend their Sunday morning service instead?”

Tansy hesitated. “I would, yes.” When he turned to leave, she touched his arm. “I should tell you...I believe the church is part of the ministry that the St. Johns started.”

He shook his head, offered a wry smile, and grazed her chin with his thumb. “Why am I not surprised? Meet me downstairs at nine, sí?” He let himself out and strode down the corridor toward the elevator, heart pounding and mind churning. Was he about to discover the truth about the dark side of his family history?

****

Sebastian found himself whistling on the way to his penthouse. His mood had taken a surprising turn. Tansy Chastain was gutsy, he’d give her that. And independent. And charming. And beautiful. And he’d almost kissed her.

And she was probably lying to him.

His jaw clenched. Since she was probably hiding something from him, yielding to any kind of attraction to her was foolish at best. For all he knew, Tansy Chastain and Eva St. John had made some kind of deal with Diego and his uncle. After all, it was Diego who had managed to find his way to Sebastian’s grandmother’s home. Had he had help from Eva? Or Tansy?

Sebastian had been too short-sighted to look beyond his mother’s role in the theft of the walking stick. His uncle had not, and Diego had made it as far as Eva’s home, with Tansy inside. Score one for Team Vargas. The thought made Sebastian’s stomach clench. He knew the kind of violence Diego was capable of.

The elevator opened into his apartment. Sebastian flicked on the lights, relieved to find his dwelling free of Diego-shaped pests. He headed for his office, sat at his desk, and tapped in the code to open the electronic lock on the top right drawer. Reaching inside, he withdrew Darcy St. John’s diary.

The leather-bound book had been handcrafted by Sebastian’s grandfather, a gift to Darcy from Sebastian’s father, Fabian, just a few months after they met. The last thirty or forty pages were blank, the final entry made the night Darcy had abandoned her son and left Chile.

He thought of all the times he’d lain awake in his narrow bed in his grandparents’ house, poring over his mother’s words, willing himself to understand why she had abandoned him. Abuelo
and abuela didn’t know he had the diary. He had told no one when he found it buried in a box of his baby things. Tansy was the first person to whom he had ever spoken of the journal. He placed the book back into the drawer and closed it, resetting the lock with a new combination, as he did every time he accessed that particular drawer.

Sebastian logged on to his computer and opened two browser tabs to begin simultaneous searches for Tansy Chastain and Eva St. John. He read until his eyes blurred with fatigue, then he yawned, stretched, and pushed the massive leather chair from the desk.

Everything Tansy had said about Eva was true. The woman was a saint in every sense of the word. And Tansy’s name had popped up on the bylines of half a dozen articles. She was a good writer. She would do well with Eva’s memoir.

His cell phone buzzed, and he checked the display. His grandfather. It was late for the old man to be calling. Sebastian tapped the button to take the call, hoping nothing was wrong. “Abuelo? Is everything all right?”

“Hmph. No. My grandson, my heir, is almost thirty years old. He is not married, and he has not found the walking stick his mother stole from our family. Everything is not all right.”

“I’m working on finding the walking stick, Abuelo.”

“So you’ve said. Are you working on finding a wife?”

Sebastian suppressed a groan. “I’ve been a little busy.”

“Diego tells me you are seeing an American woman. Do you plan to marry her?”

“Diego needs to keep his mouth shut,” Sebastian growled. “Anyway, I’m bringing her to meet you tomorrow, at the shop. Is that good enough?”

There was a moment’s hesitation before his grandfather answered. “You only bring the ones you think you’re serious about to meet me at Los Dominicos. Now I’m curious.”

Sebastian clenched a fist. What had compelled him to offer to take Tansy to the
artesanal
?

“I’ll be there tomorrow, as always, Sebastian, but I must remind you, your birthday is this week. I want you to take over Sandoval Industries, but you must be willing to fulfill the family traditions, not continually kick against them.”

“It’s not a matter of being willing.” Even as the words left his lips, Sebastian’s conscience poked him. He loathed his grandfather’s obsession with dried-up, useless traditions.

“I expect a bride on your arm and the walking stick in my hand at your birthday party.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but his grandfather had already ended the call.

He pressed his palms against his eyes. In the last year, with the walking stick still missing and Sebastian still unmarried, he had fallen from his grandfather’s good graces. The descent had been excruciating. Eduardo Sandoval had been grandfather, father, mentor, and friend for as long as Sebastian could remember. He’d felt the subtle shift in their relationship as he would have felt a death.

He stood and turned to look out the window. During the day he enjoyed an unparalleled view of
Cerro San Cristóbal
and the gleaming white statue of the blessed Virgin. The view—day or night—often soothed him, but tonight he was agitated.

He could have provided the old man with a daughter-in-law and a few grandchildren by now if he’d been willing to marry without love. But he wouldn’t sacrifice the possibility, however slim, of finding the love of a lifetime.

As for the walking stick, his repeated searches had failed to unearth so much as a splinter of the prized heirloom. That Eva St. John’s home had been one more dead end discouraged Sebastian, even if it hadn’t been his idea to search there. He grimaced.

Ben would tell him to pray, to petition God’s help to locate his grandfather’s precious treasure, but Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to ask God to rectify his mother’s offense.

A siren somewhere penetrated the glass barrier that separated him from the rest of the city. He listened to the shrill noise heralding some human trauma, then left his office, shoulders hunched under the familiar weight of familial responsibility and his fear of failure.

7

Tansy snapped awake at the first hint of dawn creeping through the curtains. Her skin flushed hot with the memory of their almost-kiss. “Stop it, Tansy,” she said aloud. “This isn’t a romance novel.” She shoved aside the down comforter and silky sheet and swung her legs off the bed.

And what was it, then? The question whirled through her mind as she made her way to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Nothing. Nothing is going on. I’m spending the day with a handsome man who wants to show me his hometown. End of discussion.
She sighed. She hated to argue. Especially with herself. After her shower, she smeared creamy lotion over her skin, and shrugged into one of the complimentary robes. She riffled through the clothes she’d brought, settling on a pair of jeans, knee-high brown boots that worked well in every season and didn’t hurt her feet, a loose turquoise top with three-quarter length sleeves, and a multicolored scarf accented with silver sequins. She tugged out the boots, then reached into the corner of the closet, feeling for the walking stick.