By Request Collection Part 2. Natalie Anderson
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Emelia opened her eyes wide. ‘Running away? As in…as in leaving you?’
‘It is just gossip, Emelia,’ he said. ‘Such things have been said before and no doubt they will be said again. I have to defend myself against similar claims all the time.’
She pressed her lips together. ‘I might not be able to remember the last two years of my life but I can assure you I’m not the sort of person to run away with another man whilst married to another,’ she said. ‘Surely you don’t believe any of that stuff?’
He gave her a slight movement of his lips, not exactly a smile, more of a grimace of resignation. ‘It is the life we live, querida. All high profile people and celebrities are exposed to it. It’s the tall poppy syndrome. I did warn you when we met how it would be. I have had to live with it for many years—lies, conjecture, gossip, innuendo. It is the price one pays for being successful.’
Emelia gnawed on her fingernail again as the jet took off from the runway. She didn’t like the thought of people deliberately besmirching her name and reputation. She wasn’t a cheater. She believed in absolute faithfulness. She had seen first-hand the damage wrought when a partner strayed, as her father had played around on each of his wives, causing so much hurt and distress and the betrayal of trust.
‘Do not trouble yourself about it for now,’ Javier said into the silence. ‘I wouldn’t have mentioned the press except they might be waiting for us when we arrive in Spain. I have made arrangements with my security team to provide a decoy but, just in case, do not respond to any of the press’s questions, even if they are blatantly untrue or deliberately provocative. Do you understand?’
Emelia felt another frown tug at her brow. ‘If they are as intrusive and persistent as you say, I can’t evade the press for ever, though, can I?’ she asked.
His eyes were determined as they tethered hers. ‘For the time being, Emelia, you will do as I say. I am your husband. Please try to remember that, if nothing else.’
Emelia felt a tiny worm of anger spiral its way up her spine. She squared her shoulders, sending him a defiant glare. ‘I don’t know what you expected in a wife when you married me, but I am not a doormat and I don’t intend to be one, with or without the possession of my memory.’
A muscle clenched like a fist in his jaw, and his eyes became so dark she couldn’t make out where his pupils began and ended. ‘Do not pick fights you have no hope of winning, Emelia,’ he said in a clipped tone. ‘You are vulnerable and weak from your injury. I don’t want you to be put under any more pressure than is necessary. I am merely following the doctor’s orders. It would help if you would do so too.’
She folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. ‘Do not speak to me as if I am a child. I know I am a little lost at present, but it doesn’t mean I’ve completely lost my mind or my will.’
Something about his expression told Emelia he was fighting down his temper with an effort. His mouth was flat and white-tipped and his hands resting on his thighs were digging into the fabric of his trousers until his knuckles became white through his tan.
It seemed a decade until he spoke.
‘I am sorry, cariño,’ he said in a low, deep tone. ‘Forgive me. I am forgetting what an ordeal you have been through. This is not the time to be arguing like an old married couple.’
Emelia shifted her lips from side to side for a moment, finally blowing out her cheeks on a sigh. ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said. ‘I guess I’m just not myself right now.’
‘No,’ he said with an attempt at a smile. ‘You are certainly not.’
She closed her eyes and, even though she had intended to feign sleep, in the end she must have dozed off as when she opened her eyes Javier was bringing his airbed seat upright and suggested she do the same, offering her his assistance as she did so.
Within a short time they were ushered through customs and into a waiting vehicle with luckily no sign of the press Javier had warned her about.
The Spanish driver exchanged a few words with Javier which Emelia listened to with a little jolt of surprise. She could speak and understand Spanish? She hadn’t spoken it before coming to London. Had she learned in the last couple of years? Why, if she could remember his language, could she not remember the man who had taught it to her? She listened to the brief exchange and, for some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she didn’t let on that she understood what was being said.
‘Ella se acuerda algo?’ the driver asked. Does she remember anything?
‘No, ninguno,’ Javier responded heavily. Not a thing.
During the drive to the villa Emelia looked out at the passing scenery, hoping for a trigger for her memory, but it was like looking at a place for the first time. She felt Javier’s gaze resting on her from time to time, as if he too was hoping for a breakthrough. The pressure to remember was all the more burdensome with the undercurrent of tension she could feel running beneath the surface of their tentative relationship. She kept reassuring herself it was as the doctors had said: that Javier would find it difficult to accept she couldn’t remember him, but somehow she felt there was more to it than that. Even the driver’s occasional glances at her made her feel as if she were under a microscope. Was it always going to be like this? How would she bear it?
When the car purred through a set of huge wrought iron gates, Emelia felt her breath hitch in her throat. The villa that came into view as they traversed the tree-lined driveway was nothing if not breathtaking. Built on four levels with expansive gardens all around, it truly was everything a rich man’s castle should be: private, imposing, luxurious and no expense spared on keeping it that way. Even from the car, Emelia could see a team of gardeners at work in the grounds and, as soon as the driver opened the car door for her and Javier, the massive front doors of the villa opened and a woman dressed in a black and white uniform waited at the top of the steps to greet them.
‘Bienvenido a casa, señor.’ The woman turned and gave Emelia a haughty look, acknowledging her through tight lips. ‘Señora. Bienvenido a casa.’
‘Thank you,’ Emelia said with a strained smile. ‘It is nice to be…er…home.’
‘Querida.’ Javier put his hand in the small of Emelia’s back. ‘This is Aldana,’ he said. ‘She keeps the villa running smoothly for us. Don’t worry. I have explained to all of the staff that you will not remember any of them.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Emelia said to Aldana. ‘I hope you are not offended.’
Aldana folded her arms across her generous bosom, her dark sparrow-like eyes assessing Emelia in one sweeping up and down look. ‘It is no matter,’ she said.
‘I will take Emelia upstairs, Aldana,’ Javier said and, switching to Spanish, asked, ‘Did you do as I asked when I phoned?’
Aldana gave a nod. ‘Sí, señor. All is back where you wanted it.’
Emelia continued to pretend she hadn’t understood what was being said but she couldn’t help wondering what exactly Javier had asked the housekeeper to do.
Her lower back was still burning where his hand was resting. She could feel each and every long finger against her flesh; even the barrier of her lightweight clothes was unable to dull the electric sensation of his touch. Her body tingled from head to foot every time she thought of those hands moving over her, stroking her, caressing her, touching her as any normal loving husband touched a wife he loved and desired.
When he led her towards the sweeping grand staircase she felt the wings of panic start to flap inside her with each step that took her upwards with him.
Even though he was nothing but a stranger to her would he expect her to share his bedroom?
His bathroom?
Or, even more terrifying…his bed?