His Heir, Her Honor (13 page)

Stretching her legs out on the pew, she studied the diamonds sparkling as they caught and reflected the stained glass windows. She stared until her eyes grew heavy and closed as sleep drew her in. This time, she knew there wouldn't be any dreams of Carlos waiting to greet her.

 

The argument with Lilah still reverberating in his head, Carlos watched his baby brother sleep, sitting vigil to give his sister-in-law a break. Sure, Antonio was only eight years younger, but Carlos still saw the kid he'd been when they left San Rinaldo. Carlos held the gold pocket watch in his hand, turning it over and over, remembering another night when their father had given Antonio the antique. They'd been preparing to leave San Rinaldo, and Enrique had told his youngest son to safeguard the timepiece until they met up again.

That long ago day, Antonio had clutched it while wrapping himself in that pewter-colored afghan, telling his brothers the blanket was his shield. The watch was
his treasure. He'd been a child trying to find a frame of reference for the unimaginable.

Then the attack had come just two blocks before they reached the ship that was supposed to carry them away from San Rinaldo. They'd been in a park, such a benign place. Duarte and Antonio had thought they were deep in a forest, but their childish minds had misperceived. They'd been so small, everything must have appeared larger than from Carlos's teenage perspective.

Still, when the attack had started, he'd told Duarte to watch over Antonio. And he, as the oldest, would protect their mother. Duarte had succeeded. Carlos had failed. Now, Antonio had saved their father. The baby boy of the Medina family wasn't so little anymore. Antonio filled the bed with his bulk, an avid outdoorsman even now that he could kick back in an office if he so chose.

They'd all come a long way since that nightmare escape from San Rinaldo. Yet, at the moment, he could have sworn he was still stuck there, in that day, with a home and family he could never have back.

Was it any wonder he'd screwed up so badly with Lilah?

His brother's eyes opened heavily, cutting short maudlin thoughts.

Carlos forced a smile and placed the watch on the end table by a cup of ice chips. “Welcome back.”

“Our father?” he croaked out, rustling the sheets with slow shifting, followed by a wince.

“Is fine. Resting comfortably. As you should be doing.” Carlos passed the cup of ice shavings to dampen Antonio's mouth until his doctor gave the okay for drinking again. “You, my brother, look like hell.”

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who saved the day?” Antonio joked in a raspy voice.

“Ah, now I know you're all right.”

“Damn straight.” He laughed, then coughed with another wince. “Thanks for sitting with me, but don't you have a new bride to spend time with?”

“She's, uh, resting at the hotel.”

Antonio's eyebrow shot up, his gaze unexpectedly clear. Canny. Too damn shrewd. “You're a really crummy liar.”

“And you're a crummy patient.” He passed his brother a small pillow. “Hold this against your incision when you cough. Coughing is good, expands your lungs and keeps you from getting pneumonia. Practice while I find Shannon.” He started to stand.

Antonio clamped a hand on his wrist, his grip surprisingly strong for a guy who'd just been through major surgery. “What's wrong? And don't dodge. We know each other too well. You go into doctor mode whenever you're uncomfortable.”

His baby brother most definitely wasn't a kid anymore. Still, Carlos didn't want to unload his problems on someone in his brother's condition. Although it was unlikely Antonio would even remember given residual anesthesia still seeped through his system.

And hell, he didn't know what to say to Lilah back at the hotel anyhow.

Carlos sank back into his seat. “Lilah thinks I married her just to make our father have the surgery.”

“Did you?” Antonio asked. “I'm not judging. Just wondering.”

“Partly. But not fully.” Carlos looked at his clasped
hands. “She's pregnant. Apparently I'm not shooting blanks anymore.”

“Congratulations, my brother.” He raised a fist, woozily, but steady enough to be bumped by Carlos's fist in salute. “So I'm guessing you forgot to tell her you love her. It might not be obvious to the world at large, but to your family it's apparent how far gone you are for her.”

His eyes slammed shut. Of course he was. Of course he had been since that morning after the fundraiser when he'd run scared from how Lilah tore down walls inside him, how she forced him to step out of the shadows of the past and face the future. Face the risk of loving, of possibly losing that person.

Because, hell yes, he loved her, with a fierceness that rocked him.

“Far gone? That I am.” He couldn't avoid the truth in his brother's words. “What makes you think I botched the proposal?”

“You're a brilliant surgeon and a gifted musician, but when it comes to words?” Antonio shook his head on the pillow. “The years you spent in the hospital cost you communication skills.”

Carlos resisted the urge to snap a sarcastic comment. He'd had enough of people raking him over the coals for one day. Standing, he glanced at his brother's vitals, happy to distance himself with the role of doctor. “You should rest.”

“And you should listen to me.” His gravelly voice carried an undeniable authority. “Women like to hear the words. Unless you are afraid to say it.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Calling me a chicken isn't going to work. We're not kids on a playground.”

“Granted…” Antonio paused for another cough. “But I can't forget the way it motivated me.”

“Pardon?” Was the anesthesia making his brother incoherent? If so, did that mean he could disregard the love advice too?

Antonio set aside the pillow. “That day we were leaving San Rinaldo.”

“I still don't know what you mean.” His memories of that day were full of blood and pain. “I just remember… Mother.”

His brother nodded shortly, his face creased with an agony that clearly had nothing to do with incisions or surgery. “But after she died, you got us out of there. You kept us going, even told me to stop being a chicken and move my ass. Duarte and I would have died without you that day.” The steady beep of his heartbeat on the monitor filled the silence as he swallowed another ice chip. “I understand it chaps your hide that you weren't the one to give an organ to save our dad. But, hell, Carlos, you can't be the hero all the time. It doesn't hurt to be a regular guy every now and again.”

He hadn't thought of it in quite those terms, but his brother's words resonated. Since their escape, he'd been trapped in the past. Trying to save others, save his father, somehow erase the time he'd failed to save his mother. He'd allowed that day to put a wall between him and moving forward with a normal life.

And he'd allowed that wall to block him from seeing what was right in front of his face—an amazing woman to love. He loved Lilah Anderson Medina, and the time had come to not only show her, but to tell her.

And he wouldn't stop until she believed him.

 

Lilah was certain she must be dreaming. Otherwise, how could she be looking into a face full of love?

But the hard church pew hurting her hip felt uncomfortably real enough. She blinked fast to clear her eyes and still Carlos sat beside her, his arms crossed as if he'd been waiting for her to wake. The scent of knotty pine pervaded the chapel. The warm wood walls and rafters remained unvarnished, reminding her of the cabin in Vail where she and Carlos had started this journey.

Sitting up, she scraped her hair back from her face. “Carlos? How long have you been here? Is everything all right with your father and Antonio?”

It must be okay or he wouldn't look so…at peace. “Everyone is fine, all asleep in fact. It's been a long few days. But that's no excuse for the way I handled things with you.”

Her heart tripped over itself, but she couldn't allow herself to turn to mush. She needed something more from him this time. She couldn't settle for half measures and avoidance of what really mattered. Her baby deserved better.

She deserved better. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Going to make me work for this, are you? Good for you.” He lifted her left hand, thumbing her wedding rings. “I've messed this up from the start, from the way I ran scared from how I felt about you to the way I asked you to marry me. I'm sorry for that. More sorry than can be put into words, but I'm going to try my best.”

“Words are good.” They both were such workaholic, type A people, neither of them had slowed down long enough to say some important things along the way.
Hope built inside her. She'd slept away some of the anger, enough to listen with a more open heart.

He skimmed a kiss over her knuckles. “I want to be your husband now and always. Not because of my father, but because my life is so empty without you. I will be here for you and our baby every day of my life. I can't promise not to brood, but I vow to share all those brooding thoughts.”

The deep tone of commitment in his voice, in his words, bowled her over. This was so much more than she'd ever expected, more than she'd dreamed she might find with such a reserved man.

“Brooding is okay every now and again.” She squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. After waiting so long for a sign from him, she intended to soak up every second of this.

“I appreciate the way you keep me from sinking too far into that abyss. From losing myself in my work until I'm no good to anyone.” His deep voice rumbled low, echoing gently around the empty chapel. “More than my lover, my wife, the mother of my child, you are my friend. You're the one person standing between me and a life of supreme loneliness.”

Happy tears clogged her throat for a moment before she could push words free. “Wow, for a man of few words, you're quite poetic when you choose to be. Perhaps some of that artist in you is showing as it does when you play the piano.”

“After being scared to death over the thought of losing you, I'm finding it much easier than I expected to be poetic for the woman I love.”

Love.

Of all the words he could have chosen, that was the
one she needed to hear most. The one she wasn't sure he would ever voice. But as she looked at the emotion burning strong in his eyes, she didn't doubt him for a second.

“Carlos, I wish I could offer words as beautiful as yours, but right now all I can think about is how relieved I am that we figured this out, that we got it right, because I love you too.”

She cradled his face, savoring the bristle of his unshaven cheek, the curve of his smile against her touch. And as she tipped her forehead to his, forging a connection she knew would last a lifetime, she found the right words coming to her. “I adore everything about you, from your brilliant mind to the feel of your hands when we're together. From the way you remember chocolate mint milkshakes to how you devote your life to your patients when you could have so easily taken an easier path.” She skimmed her mouth over his, whispering softly against his lips. “You are an amazing man, Carlos Medina, and I look forward to loving you for the rest of my life.”

“Exactly what I wanted—but didn't dare hope—to hear.” He kissed her deeply, reverently, and the honesty in his touch spoke so clearly she wondered why she hadn't heard it before.

His talented hands stroked down her arms and linked fingers with her. “Will you marry me again?” He gestured to the small, simple altar draped in purple embroidered linens. “Here, now?”

“Of course, my love,” she said to her royal lover, her blessedly human husband. “I will. Or rather I should say I do.”

Eight months later

C
arlos walked the floors of his suite in the island mansion, patting his son's back and singing him to sleep. He wasn't the lullaby sort, but an old Frank Sinatra tune seemed to work just as well. A couple of verses of “Fly Me to the Moon” and the kid was out like a light.

Cradling his seven-week-old sleeping newborn in his hands, Carlos lowered him carefully into the blue eyelet bassinet but didn't—couldn't—step away. Staring at his child had become a favorite pastime of late. Studying the miracle of those perfect hands and feet could keep him mesmerized for a good twenty minutes by this blessing he'd once given up hope of having.

Tiny but long fragile fingers wrapped around Carlos's thumb. “Maybe we've got a future musician in the
family with those hands of yours. What do you think, little Enrique?”

Lilah had insisted on naming their child for his grandpa.

The old king had recovered from his transplant surgery with a surprising strength and speed. His will to fight was back in full form so he could walk the beaches with his namesake—and his other new grandchild, Eloisa's daughter, Ginger.

Both infants were so clearly Medinas they looked like brother and sister with their dark hair and stubborn jawlines. Plans were already in place for all the Medina offspring to know each other well with frequent visits to the island, a pattern already started over the past months as everyone rotated helping the senior Enrique recover.

Little Enrique's arms relaxed as he settled into deeper slumber. Carlos grinned over how well he could already read his son's cues. Lilah had opted to take a year's leave from her hospital duties, but Carlos made a point of coming home for longer lunches to give his wife a chance to nap. He cherished the time with his son. And he looked forward to time with his wife.

Without a doubt, today's afternoon wedding and reception had exhausted the baby for what should be a nice long stretch.

Duarte and Kate had insisted their ceremony include everyone from the most senior member—the king—to the babies. Medina gatherings were a frequent event now, with so much to celebrate in their expanding family. They'd packed even the spacious mansion during the past week before the wedding. Little Enrique's baptism had brought out relatives from Lilah's side as well. And
while she still harbored reservations about her father, she was able to enjoy her parents' delight in their new grandchild.

Now the time had come for Carlos to round out the day with a final—private—celebration with his wife. He dropped a careful kiss on his son's forehead then backed away quietly.

Tugging his tuxedo tie with one hand and nabbing the baby monitor with the other, Carlos strode toward the sound of spraying water emanating from the bathroom. He flung his tie aside and plucked a rose from the sterling silver vase beside the bathroom door. He ran the rose under his nose before stepping into the steam-filled room.

He set the nursery monitor on the marble countertop and opened the fogged glass door. “I need to talk to you,” he repeated her wording from eight months ago when she'd stunned him, dazzled him with her bravado at confronting him in the men's locker room. “And this is the only place I can be certain of catching you alone on an island full of family and our son asleep in the next room.”

Water slicked down his wife's body, caressing every luscious inch as he would soon have the privilege of doing in deliberate, leisurely detail. Motherhood suited her well in every way.

“Well, you most certainly have my attention,” she said, gathering her water-darkened hair and stretching her arms overhead with a come-here smile.

He stripped off his tux in record time and stepped under the heated spray, rose in hand, eager to explore the new curves childbirth had brought. “And I'll be
doing my level best to keep your attention through the night.”

“Am I about to be the lucky recipient of another of your amazing medicinal massages?” She looped her arms around his neck, her slick body against his. Warm pellets of water engulfed them from the multiple showerheads.

“My most thorough massage to date.” He plucked the petals free and tossed the stem back onto the bathroom floor. Grabbing a bar of French soap, he lathered his hands into a mixture of suds and petals, then rubbed the fragrant mixture over Lilah's creamy skin. The flowery scent saturated the steam along with the perfume of her shampoo.

“Mmm…” She arched into his touch with a throaty sigh. “We should insure those hands. I am such a very lucky woman to have found you.”

“I'm the lucky one, and you can be sure I won't forget that for even a second.” He stroked upward until he cupped her face. “I love you, Mrs. Medina.”

“And I love you, Dr. Medina.”