The Latin Lover's Secret Child. Jane Porter

the time, he told himself. And this most certainly wasn’t the place.

      Seated in Ana’s office, Lucio sorted through her mail, filed the stacks of paperwork, wrote checks for businesses that had sent them statements. He’d forgotten how large her business had grown. She owned a shop in Buenos Aires and another here in Mendoza. The Mendoza store was newer. It didn’t have the business Anabella had hoped for. He studied her accounts for a moment, knowing she’d stretched herself too thin, taken on too much. She’d wanted to be successful, wanted to prove to everyone she wasn’t the baby of the family anymore, but the sophisticated antique dealer. The expert.

      He smiled a little and leaning forward he picked up a slender cloisonné clock from the corner of her desk. He’d never seen the clock before. It was turquoise blue with a round ivory face and a pendulum of gold in the shape of a sunburst.

      There was a knock on the door and the door opened. The housekeeper quietly carried a tray into the office with a late lunch and placed it on the edge of Lucio’s desk. “I know you haven’t eaten anything since you arrived,” Maria, the housekeeper said, pushing the tray towards him a little.

      “I’m not hungry,” he answered, replacing the clock back on Anabella’s desk.

      The housekeeper glanced at the clock. “The Senora brought it back from her last trip.”

      The trip from China. Lucio felt an urge to throw the clock, break it in a thousand pieces. If Anabella hadn’t been chasing all over the world in search of exotic antiques she’d be well now.

      He glanced up at Maria. She was a slim barely graying woman in her fifties. He mustered a smile. “How are you?”

      “I’m fine, Senor.” She’d been hired after Lucio and Anabella married. Anabella had hired her. “But you are missed.”

      How nice to hear something like that, especially after the past six months when he felt completely dispensable. “Thank you.”

      “Will you be here long?” the housekeeper asked.

      Would he be here long? Yes. No. Only as long as Anabella needed his help.

      Only until she sent him away again.

      Wearily, Lucio leaned back, rubbed his eyes. “It depends.”

      “Your room has been made up.”

      The room he’d been banished to when Anabella stopped wanting him in her bed. “Thank you.” He watched the housekeeper start to leave and he sat forward. “Maria—”

      She turned towards him. “Sí, Senor?”

      How odd that he already felt like such an outsider. It’d only been a couple months since he moved out of the villa. “Let me know what I can do to help you and the rest of the staff. I realize things are not…normal.”

      Maria bowed her head. “But what is normal, Senor? I don’t think there is a normal. I think there is just life.”

      Lucio was still in the office two hours later when Maria knocked on the door again. He’d dozed off in the chair, slumped back, and he woke with a start. “Yes?” he called gruffly, pushing himself forward, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’d slept hard and he shook his head a couple times, finding it difficult to wake.

      “The Count Galván is here,” Maria said entering the room and taking the empty tray from a side table. “He’s waiting for you in the salon.”

      Lucio passed a hand across his face once again. So the big brother had arrived. Dante Galván certainly didn’t waste time.

      Lucio was tempted to have Maria show the Count into the study, but glancing around the study with the framed pictures of Anabella on the desk and the personal keepsakes on the bookshelves made the room feel far too intimate.

      Better to meet on neutral ground.

      Or as neutral a ground as they were going to find in Lucio’s former house.

      Entering the salon Lucio found his brother-in-law standing in the great room with the high painted beams, the plaster walls washed cream, the floor terra-cotta tiles imported from Italy. The oil paintings all dated from the 17th Century and the rich art and fine antiques spoke of wealth, class, prestige.

      Lucio saw Dante glance around the room, Dante’s gaze briefly settling on one of the Italian paintings, a landscape with cherubs and maidens frolicking at a tree-shaded lake.

      “You know how valuable these are, don’t you?” Dante said, gesturing to the wall. “Especially this one,” he added, pointing to the maidens by the lake.

      Lucio would have smiled if he had the strength. With his world coming down around him, Dante wanted to discuss Lucio’s wealth? “Yes.”

      Dante continued to study the oversize canvas. “When did you buy it?”

      “Before I married your sister.” Meaning, with my money, not hers. And not yours.

      Dante’s head lifted and the two men, both Argentine, Dante Italian aristocrat, and Lucio, Spanish-Indian, stared at each other with open hostility.

      “I bought the house complete.” Lucio broke the tension-fraught silence. “The owner fell on hard times. I bought the land, the villa and all the furnishings with cash.”

      Dante’s lashes flickered down but Lucio saw the doubt in his eyes. “You’ve never explained how you made your money.”

      “I made my fortune gambling—”

      “Gambling?”

      “And then took what I made at the gaming tables and invested it here,” Lucio concluded as if Dante had never interrupted.

      Dante made a rough sound. “Gambler to vintner? Sounds awfully far-fetched.”

      “I don’t owe you an explanation, Count. But I’ve always been a gambler. You should know that. I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t take risks.”

      “You mean, you wouldn’t have seduced my sister—”

      “No.” Lucio felt his temper rise but he kept it controlled, hidden by a pleasant smile. “I wouldn’t be here now, this afternoon, if I didn’t believe that this was a good opportunity for both of us.”

      “Opportunity?” Dante shot him a sharp glance. “You don’t honestly think you’ve got a chance with her again?”

      Lucio shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an optimist. I will never give up on Anabella. I will never give up on us.” And Lucio had said the words to spite the Count, but once he’d spoken the words he realized he meant them. He did want a second chance. Maybe God had given him a second chance to make Ana fall in love with him again.

      Dante’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew bitter. He moved towards the window and stared out, his gaze fixed on the dark green vineyards undulating in the distance.

      For a long moment Lucio said nothing. He just watched Dante and waited for whatever was to come next. Lucio could afford to wait. It’s all he’d been doing for weeks. Months.

      Years.

      Finally Dante turned, acknowledged Lucio with a slight nod of his head. “I suppose I should thank you for coming.”

      Lucio bit his tongue.

      “The doctor said you were in California,” Dante continued.

      “You waited an awfully long time to call.”

      “I waited until Ana asked for you.” Dante’s golden gaze clashed with Lucio’s. “I wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”

      Lucio kept his temper—just barely. And yet he had to keep reminding himself not to pick a fight with his brother-in-law. Feuding wouldn’t help Anabella. What he needed was facts. More information. Pieces of the missing puzzle. “Is this how she emerged from the coma?”

      “She