A Price Worth Paying - By Trish Morey Page 0,56

that would tell her if her passionate encounter with Alesander amidst the vines had resulted in a child.

It had not.

She hadn’t bothered to tell Alesander and he hadn’t bothered to ask, whether because he’d lost count of the days or merely lost interest she didn’t know. Maybe because he’d believed her when she’d assured him it would be okay. Maybe because all he’d ever cared about was the land and any day now it would be his—every day brought him closer to his goal.

Whatever, Alesander had stopped caring. He didn’t want to know.

And then, when it all came down to it, Felipe didn’t need to know either.

She looked over at him, shrunken and tormented on the bed, biting her lip. Would it matter to tell one more tiny lie? One more on top of all the others?

No, she decided, watching his busy fingers worry the bedding again.

One more tiny lie would make no difference at all now.

She sat down beside him, took his cold fingers in her own and squeezed them gently. ‘Abuelo, it’s Simone.’

One of the nurses called him, warning him it was close, and for a while he wondered whether he should even be there. He’d kept his distance the last few days she’d been living at the cottage again. Felipe was her grandfather and after the month they’d had, he wondered if she even wanted him there.

But he couldn’t stay away.

She would be leaving soon. Once Felipe died, there would be no reason for her to stay. She would pack her things and return to her home and her studies in Melbourne.

He would probably never see her again.

He needed to see her again before that happened.

Besides, she was about to lose the only person she cared about in the world. She needed someone to be there for her.

He wanted that person to be him.

He wanted her to know he was there for her, even if she didn’t care.

He stepped into the tiny cottage, his eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the gloom after being outside, and saw Simone sit down next to the bed where her wizened grandfather lay.

‘Abuelo, it’s Simone.’ She took his cold fingers in hers, wishing him her warmth.

He muttered something low and hard to understand, but he was awake and still listening.

‘Abuelo, I have some good news.’ Tears squeezed from her eyes at the lie she was about to tell. One more lie to follow all the others, but maybe this would be the end of it, she told herself. And if it let him go, maybe this lie was the most important of all of them. ‘You got your wish, Abuelo. I … I am expecting a baby. And I am hoping with all my heart it will be a boy because then we will call him after you. We will name him Felipe.’

‘Ah,’ the old man said on a gasp, his hand jerking, tugging her closer as his jaw worked up and down. ‘Ah!’

She leaned over him. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

‘Happy,’ he gasped. ‘Gracias, mi nieta, gracias.’

The effort almost seemed too much as he sagged back into the pillows, and she thought he was finished until she heard his thready voice. ‘Maria … Maria is here. I must go to her.’

‘Sí,’ she said, nodding as tears filled her eyes and spilled onto the bedding. ‘She has been waiting for you. She will be so happy to see you again.’

How long it was after that she couldn’t tell. She only knew that one of the nurses finally touched her on the shoulder. ‘He’s gone,’ she said, and Simone nodded, because she had sensed the exact moment Felipe had gone to join his wife.

It was done.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHE WAS PREGNANT.

Alesander reeled from the room, needing air, blindsided by Simone’s confession to a dying man. She was pregnant and she hadn’t even bothered to tell him—the child’s father—first.

He should be angry.

How long had she known? A few days? A week?

No, not just angry. He should be furious.

This was exactly what he had feared all along, and it was really happening. Their temporary arrangement had suddenly got a whole lot more complicated.

And she hadn’t even bothered to tell him.

He turned his face to the sky, into air now as crisp and cool as the Txakolina wine produced from the grapes in these vineyards, searching for answers.

So why wasn’t he furious?

Instead he felt almost … relieved.

He breathed out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Because she couldn’t go home now.

Strange how that idea