Rising Stars. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
He generally relished a good fight. Shrugging it off, she cooed at their baby in her car seat behind them. Through the back window she saw the other vehicle following with their staff and bodyguards as they drove past the twelfth-century ramparts of the medina to the vast sprawling palm desert beyond. The sky was blue above the distant, snowcapped Atlas Mountains.
She turned back to her dark, impossibly handsome husband beside her. He was wearing a business suit, but his dark coloring and black hair made him look like a sheikh. In her own long purple caftan, with the window rolled down and the warm Moroccan wind blowing through her hair, she felt like a cosseted Arabian princess at his side.
It was officially the happiest day of her life. After today, she’d have no reason to ever be sad again.
“Thank you,” she said for the millionth time.
Eduardo gave her a sideways glance. “Stop.”
“You don’t know what this means to me—”
“I mean it.” His jaw was tight as he turned off the main road to a guardhouse. Pulling up to a heavily scrolled metal gate, Eduardo spoke in French to a security guard, who with a very deep bow, swung open the gate. Eduardo drove up a long sweeping driveway with the other car behind them.
Callie looked up through the front windshield, her eyes wide when she saw the enormous Moroccan riad, two stories tall and surrounded by gardens. Willowy palm trees graced the edges of large swimming pool that sparkled a brilliant blue in the sun. The grand house itself was the combination of traditional Moroccan architecture and old French glamour. Craning her head, Callie looked up with awe at the home’s soaring curves and the exquisitely detailed scrollwork. “What is this place?”
“In the 1920s it was a hotel. Now it belongs to Kasimir Xendzov, who loaned it for our visit.”
“He’s not staying here?”
“No.”
She turned to Eduardo in shock. “Why would he leave a place like this?”
He shook his head. “He is in the city as little as possible. He prefers to live like a nomad in the desert.” His lips curved. “Like those sheikhs, in the romance novels you love.”
“But he’s Russian?”
“The local people call him the Tsar of the Desert.”
“Oh.” The romantic phrase made her shiver. “What’s he like?”
“Kasimir? As cold and heartless as his brother. You remember Vladimir Xendzov?”
She tilted her head. “Prince Vladimir? The man who stole the Yukon deal from us?”
“He’s not really a prince, no matter what he says. But yes. They’re brothers. They’ve spent the last ten years trying to destroy each other.”
Callie stared at him, aghast. “That’s awful!”
Eduardo smiled with satisfaction. “A fact that will help me get what I want.”
“Prince Vladimir was vicious,” she said, troubled. “Corrupt. Definitely unsafe.”
“And not a prince.”
She pressed her lips together. “Is it smart to make a deal with his brother?”
“Don’t worry. We are safe here. Kasimir is our host. His honor is at stake.” Pulling the car up to the front of the house, he turned off the engine. Getting out, he handed the keys to a waiting servant. Callie stepped out behind him with her seven-month-old baby in her arms, and heard the soft water of a fountain. She looked at the huge house beneath the hard blue sky of the desert, and saw a shadow move in the window.
“Are they here?” she whispered.
Eduardo gave her a single, silent nod, and an involuntary shiver went through her. She walked towards the riad, her baby against her hip, her husband and bodyguards following behind them.
The house seemed Moorish in design, with a flat roof and intricate tile work. They walked through the soaring arches to the door. Inside, the walls were decorated with floral and geometric motifs, intertwined flowers and vines in green, red and gold-leaf paint all the way to the ceiling. Past the foyer was a cloister, an outdoor walkway built around a lush courtyard garden. Callie took a deep breath of the fresh air, listening to the sound of a burbling fountain mingling with birdsong.
Then she heard a woman’s scream.
Whirling around, Carrie instinctively held up her arm, protecting her baby from the unseen danger.
But there was no danger, just her sister, racing at her full blast!
“Sami,” Callie cried then she looked behind her and saw the smiling eyes of her parents. “Mom! Dad!”
“Callie.” Her mother was openly weeping as she pulled her into her arms. “And is this your baby? My grandchild?”
“Yes, it’s Marisol,” Callie choked out. Her mother sobbed, wrapping Marisol and Callie into a hug with Sami. Her father wrapped his large form around the whole family and she saw to her shock that he, too, was weeping—something she’d never seen in her whole life.
“I missed you all so much,” Callie whispered. She glanced at Eduardo out of the corner of her eye. He was standing back, watching them from the shadows.
“It’s my fault.” Pulling off his John Deere cap, her father rubbed his gray head with the heel of his hand. “I never should have written that nasty letter, chewing you out. It was just your Mom kept weeping, and you know I can’t think straight when she’s crying. I don’t blame you for the silent treatment.” His voice caught. “I wouldn’t have written me back, either …”
Callie had no idea what he was talking about, but it felt so good to be with her family and have them clearly happy to see her and the baby. Marisol, looking at all the crying adults around her, gave a little worried whimper, looking up at Callie for reassurance. “It’s all right,” she told her, smiling. “It’s finally all right.”
As Jane Woodville held out her arms, tears were streaming down her plump cheeks and she looked like a slightly more wrinkled version of her granddaughter. “Can I hold her?”
The baby looked uncertain at first, but within sixty seconds, Jane had won her trust. Ten minutes later, Sami and then Grandpa Walter held her, and they heard Marisol’s sweet baby giggle. Callie looked at her family, and could hardly believe that she’d been apart from them for seven months. They were the best, kindest people in the world.
Except for her husband. She looked at Eduardo adoringly, but he remained back in the shadows across the room.
“Mari-Marisol?” her father asked uncertainly.
Callie turned back, smiling through her tears. “Marisol Samantha Cruz.”
“You named her after me?” Sami blurted out, her face screwed up with tears. “How could you forgive me? I was so selfish. I told myself calling your old boss was the right thing to do, but the truth is I didn’t want you to marry Brandon.” She sniffled. “How can you stand to look at me?”
“It was the right thing,” Callie said through her tears. “Eduardo and I were meant to be together, and thanks to you we are. We’re happy. Really happy …”
Callie looked back at Eduardo. He was still standing by the door, his arms folded as he watched the family reunion. Why didn’t he come over to join them? It was strange. Any normal person would have come over to be part of the group. But Eduardo chose to be standoffish, to watch from a distance.
Her mother, standing beside her, followed her gaze.
“He loves you,” Jane said softly.
Callie looked at her wistfully. “How can you tell?”
Jane smiled. “I see it in the way he looks at you. Like his heart’s nigh about to break.”