A Spanish Awakening. Kim Lawrence

not think of any.

      In the past he had done his duty and pleased others, namely his father. That unquestioning compliance had resulted in a failed marriage entered into when he was too young, stupid and arrogant to believe he could fail at anything.

      On paper his father had been right. He and Rosanna had been the perfect couple, they had a lot in common, they came from the same world, and, most importantly from his father’s point of view, his bride had been good breeding stock from a family who could trace their bloodline back almost as far as his own family.

      Emilio slid into the driving seat of his car, his lips twisting into a bitter smile of recollection as he fastened his seat belt.

      Luis Rios had been incoherent with outrage when the marriage he had promoted had failed. He had used every threat and bullying tactic in his considerable arsenal and had become frustrated when he saw none made any impression on his son.

      His fury had turned to scornful contempt when Emilio had introduced the topic of love, suggesting mildly that the absence of it might be a possible reason for the short life span of the doomed marriage.

      The irony in his voice had sailed—predictably—directly over his father’s head.

      ‘Love?’ his parent had snorted contemptuously. ‘Is that what this is about? Since when were you a romantic? ‘

      The question had, Emilio conceded, been legitimate. It was true that his own attitude towards the hype around romantic love had always been at best condescending, at worst contemptuous.

      He had continued to feel that way right up to the moment he had found out the hard way that love was not an invention of overactive imaginations, that it was possible to look at a woman and know with every fibre of your being that she was meant to be yours.

      The instant was indelibly seared into Emilio’s memory, every individual detail of her breathless late arrival midway through the boring dinner carrying the scent of the warm summer night into the stuffy room with her.

      His heart had literally stopped, which was crazy when you considered how many times he had seen her walk into a room previously, but in that moment it had been as if he were seeing her for the first time.

      Wary of sliding into self-pitying mode, jaw clenched, Emilio pushed away the image of her face allowing the far less pleasing image of his father’s face to fill the space it left. He no longer attempted to fill the empty space in his heart; he lived with it.

      You didn’t lose her, he reminded himself. She was never yours. Because the fact was it was all about timing and his had stunk.

      He crunched the gears, wincing at the sound as he heard his father say, ‘If you want love, take a mistress. Take several.’ His father had sounded astonished that such an obvious solution had not occurred to his son.

      Emilio could still remember looking at the man who had fathered him and feeling not even filial duty—there had never been affection—but coruscating revulsion that burnt through his veins like acid.

      The idea of putting anyone through the humiliation his father had inflicted on his mother had filled Emilio with deep repugnance. Emilio might have entered into a marriage of convenience, but he had always intended to be faithful.

      ‘Like you did, Papa?’ It had been a tremendous struggle to keep his voice level, but he had not struggled to disguise the anger and disgust he felt.

      The older man had been the first to look away, but during that long moment their eyes had met a profound change had taken place in the relationship between father and son.

      Luis Rios had never attempted to carry through with any of his threats to disown him, but Emilio would not have cared if he had. Part of him would have relished the challenge of building a life away from the financial empire his great-grandfather had begun and each successive generation had built upon.

      It had been shortly after this event that his father had stopped taking any active part in the business, retiring to the stud where he bred racehorses, leaving Emilio free to put in place wide-ranging changes with no opposition. Changes that meant the global financial downturn had left the Rios brand virtually untouched and the envy of many rivals. People had begun to speak enviously of the Rios luck.

      That luck appeared to be working in his favour as he drove into what appeared to be the only vacant parking space a full ten minutes before his ex-wife’s flight was due in.

      Emilio walked towards the terminal building feeling glad as he passed by a group of vociferous placard-carrying air-traffic controllers that he was not here to catch a flight. The building was filled with anxious and, to varying degrees, angry people who clearly were.

      He spared a sympathetic thought for them before his thoughts turned to the reason for his presence. He sighed, wishing he shared Philip’s apparent belief that one word from him would somehow magically remove any obstacle in his friend’s path to romantic fulfillment. Still, some of the things his friend had said had made it seem that there were things that had been left unsaid.

      Emilio had not seen Philip Armstrong for almost a year, so it had been a surprise to see his old friend walk into his office yesterday.

      Emilio gave a sardonic smile—it had not been the last!

      He chose a vantage point where he would see Rosanna and allowed his thoughts to drift back over yesterday’s extraordinary conversation.

      ‘There is a problem.’

      It was not a question. A person did not have to be an expert at reading body language to see that there was something wrong in Philip’s world.

      ‘I’ve never been happier.’

      The gloomy reply made Emilio’s lips twitch. ‘It does not show.’

      ‘I’ve fallen in love, Emilio.’ If anything, the Englishman’s gloom seemed even more pronounced as he explained the source of his great joy.

      ‘Congratulations.’

      Missing the sardonic inflection, Philip produced a dour ‘Thanks.’ Adding, ‘Oh, I don’t expect you to believe it. I’ve often wondered, you know …?’

      ‘What have you wondered?’ Emilio asked, mystified but not inclined to take umbrage from the underlying antagonism that had crept into the other man’s manner.

      ‘Why did you ever get married?’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s not as if you were—’

      ‘In love?’ Emilio suggested without heat. ‘No, I was not. I am presuming you did not come here to discuss my marriage.’

      ‘Actually, I did, sort of,’ Philip Armstrong conceded. ‘The thing is, Emilio …’

      Emilio repressed his impatience.

      ‘The thing is, I want to get married,’ the Englishman revealed in a rush.

      ‘That is surely good news?’

      ‘I want to marry your wife.’

      Emilio was famed for his powers of analytical deduction, but he had not seen this one coming!

      ‘You’re shocked. I knew you would be,’ his old school friend announced with darkly pessimistic gloom.

      ‘I am surprised,’ Emilio corrected honestly. ‘But if I was shocked, would it matter? Rosanna has not been my wife for quite some time. You do not require my blessing or my permission.’

      ‘I know, but the thing is I think she feels guilty about finding happiness.’

      ‘I think you are imagining things,’ Emilio said, wondering if he ought not at some level to feel a little jealous.

      He didn’t. He was still fond of Rosanna, but then that had been the problem: he had been fond of Rosanna just as she had been fond of him. It was one of the many things they had in common, and they had both agreed that mutual respect and common interests were a much stronger foundation