The General refilled both glasses. “Your dad was my best friend.” He lifted his in toast. “He would be proud of you.”
“Thank you. That means a lot to me.” But not enough to clear away the frustration over failing when it counted most.
With Eloisa.
Why had she kept the news from him then? And now? He needed to understand that if they stood a chance at stopping this cycle of turning each other inside out, then running for opposite corners.
He didn’t expect the General was going to be able to offer some magic bullet to fix everything any more than his brothers had. But still he appreciated the support. The General had been there for them after their dad died. He’d always vowed he was just helping out their mom the way she’d helped him after his wife died. But they’d all wondered how long it would take….
“It takes as long as it takes. But you don’t quit.”
How had the General known what he was thinking? “Have you added a mind reader medal to your already impressive collection?”
“Quit beating yourself up about the past and move forward,” the General said with clipped, military efficiency. “Don’t just curl up and admit defeat. You’ve got an opportunity now. Run with it.”
“She’s gone.” Jonah reached into his pocket and pulled out the white card he’d found by her telephone, the same card he remembered Duarte Medina giving her. He flipped the number between his fingers. “She doesn’t want to speak to me or see me again.”
“And you’re going to just quit? Give up on your marriage? Give up on her?”
His fingers slowed, the numbers on the vellum square coming into focus. His whole life coming into focus as well, because this time he wasn’t letting Eloisa just walk away. There was a way to break this cycle after all. Show her how a real family came through for each other, everyone offering support rather than the one-sided deal she’d lived, always being the one giving. No wonder she hadn’t reached out to him when she was hurting.
No one had ever given her reason to think her call for help would be answered.
This time he intended to show her that somebody loved her—he loved her—enough to follow and stay. “You have a point, General.” He tapped the simple white card. “Lucky for me, I think I know exactly how to find her.”
Fourteen
Eloisa sat on her father’s garden patio overlooking the Atlantic, waiting. In minutes she would see Enrique Medina again. How surreal and confusing, and so not the joyful reunion she’d dreamed of as a child.
She turned to Duarte standing beside her somberly. “Thank you for arranging this meeting so quickly.”
“Don’t thank me,” he answered with no warmth. “If it were up to me, we would all go about our lives separately. But this is how he wants it and, bottom line, it’s his call to make.”
His brusqueness made her edgier, as if she wasn’t already about to jump out of her skin. She searched for something benign to diffuse the tension. “The rocky shoreline looks exactly like the one I remember from that single visit—magnificent. I often wondered if my memory was faulty.”
“Apparently not.”
And apparently Duarte would need more prodding to speak. “How strange to think our father has been so close all this time? In the same state even?”
Her biological father had taken up residence on a small private island off the coast of St. Augustine, Florida. One call to Duarte had set everything in motion. Her heart bruised beyond bearing, she’d been on a private jet, flying away from Jonah and the catastrophic mess she’d made of their second chance. Her throat clogged with more tears. She swallowed them and narrowed her attention to satisfying her curiosity about this place she’d thought of so often.
The towering white stucco house, rustling palm trees, massive archways and crashing waves… She could have been seven again, with her mother beside her, waiting for him to greet them.
Duarte touched her arm lightly, bringing her back to the moment. “Eloisa? He’s here.”
The lanai doors creaked opened. But no imposing king stepped out this time. An electric wheelchair hummed the only warning before Enrique came outside. Two large, lopey dogs followed in perfect sync. Confined to the chair, he was thin, gray and weary.
Duarte hadn’t lied. Their father appeared near death. She stood but didn’t reach out. A hug would have seemed strange, affected. The emotion forced. She didn’t know what she felt for him. He’d needed her and beckoned. It was difficult not to resent all the times she’d needed him. Yes, he’d made contact through his lawyer over the years, but so infrequently and impersonally it seemed she was merely an afterthought. Her mind jetted back to that strange, but endearing, Landis family gathering at Jonah’s elegant Texas resort. This family reunion bore no resemblance to that one.
“Hello, sir. You’ll have to pardon me if I’m not quite sure what to call you.”
He waved dismissively, perspiration dotting his forehead. “Call me Enrique.” His body might be weak, but his voice still commanded attention. The Spanish accent was almost as thick as she remembered. “I do not want formality or deserve any titles, king or father. Now sit down, please. I feel like a rude old man for not standing with a lovely lady present.”
She took her seat again and he whirred the chair into position in front of her. The two brown dogs—Ridgebacks, perhaps?—settled on either side. He studied her silently, his hands folded in his lap, veins bruised from what appeared to be frequent IV needles.
Still, no matter the sallow pallor and thinner frame, Enrique Medina’s face was that of royalty. His aristocratic nose and chiseled jaw spoke of his age-old warrior heritage. There was strength in that face, despite everything. And while his heavy blue robe with emerald-green silk lapels was not the garb of a king in his prime, the rich fabrics and sleek leather slippers reflected his wealth.
The old king gestured toward the doors. “Duarte, you can leave us now. I have some things to say to Eloisa alone.”
Duarte nodded, turning away without a word, walking off with steps quieter than those of anyone she’d known. But he wasn’t her reason for being here today. She’d come to see her father, to hopefully find some peace and resolution inside herself.
“I’m sorry you’re ill.”
“So am I.”
He didn’t speak further, and she wondered if perhaps he’d started to lose his mental faculties. She glanced up at the male nurse waiting patiently at the doorway. No answers there.
She looked back at Enrique. “You asked to see me? You sent Duarte.”
“Of course I did. I’m not losing my mind yet anyway.” He straightened his lapels. “Please forgive me for being rude. I was merely struck by how much you resemble my mother. She was quite lovely, too.”
“Thank you.” It would have been nice to have met her grandmother or even see pictures like other kids growing up. Maybe it wasn’t too late. “Do you have photos of her?”
“They were all lost when my home was burned to the ground.”
She blinked fast. Not the answer she’d expected. She’d read what little was reported on the coup in San Rinaldo twenty-seven years ago. She knew her father had barely escaped with his life—his wife had not. He and his sons had gone into hiding. And while she understood the danger, she’d never truly thought of all he’d lost.
Certainly losing a picture wasn’t the same as losing a person, but to have lost even those bits of comfort and reminders… “Then we’ll have to make sure you have a picture of me to remember her by.”
“Thank you, but I imagine I will be seeing her soon enough.” He spoke of his death so matter-of-factly it stunned her. “Which brings me to why I called for you, pequeña princesa.”
Little princess? Small princess? Either way, she’d never dared think of herself with that title. More than anything, her heart stumbled on the endearment that Harry had always applied to his biological daughter and never to her. Not that she would let mere words sway her after all this time.
Enrique steadied his breathing. “There are some things you need to know and time is short. Whether I die or someone finally finds me, our secret will come out someday. Even I can only hold back that tide for just so long.”
The thought of that kind of exposure sent her reaching for the lemonade beside her. What if the king’s enemies sought him out again? Sought her out? “Where will you hide then?”
If he was still alive.
“I am a king.” His chin tipped. “I do not hide. I stay here for the people I love.”
“I’m not sure I follow what you mean.”
“By staying here, it keeps up the illusion that I—and my children—are in Argentina. No one bothers to look for them. No one can hurt them the way they went after my Beatriz.”
Beatriz, his wife who’d been gunned down during the escape. “That must have been awful for you.”
And her brothers.
His chin tipped higher as he looked away for a moment unblinking. Seeing the Herculean strength of will in a man so weak…
He focused his intense dark eyes on her again. “It was difficult meeting your mother so soon after my Beatriz was murdered. I did love your mother, as much as I could at that time. She told me if she could not have my full heart, she wanted nothing.”
She’d always thought her mother stayed away because of safety reasons. She’d never considered her mom acted out of emotion. Harry Taylor may not be anyone’s idea of Prince Charming, but he had adored her mother. Eloisa sat back in her chair and let Enrique talk. He seemed to need to unload burdens. For the first time, she realized how much she needed to listen.
“I am sorry I did not get to watch you grow up. Nothing I can do now will make up for the fact I was not the father you deserved.”
The humble honesty of that simple statement meant more to her than any amount of money. She’d been waiting a lifetime to hear him admit he should have been a father to her.
And while that didn’t erase the past, it was a first step toward a healing. She brushed her fingers over his bruised hand, words escaping her.
“I did decide to ask your mother to marry me.”
“What happened?”
“I finally looked past my grief to see a new chance at love waiting.”
“She didn’t want to live here?”
“Oh no, she wouldn’t have minded staying here. She told me so. I just waited too long to ask.”
Oh my God. “She’d already married Harry.”
“I fought for her six months too late,” he said simply. “Don’t wait too long to fight, pequeña princesa.”
But her chance was gone now.
This time, Jonah had left her. She wanted to shout her hurt and pain over the way he’d left, even knowing she’d brought it on herself. He was the one who’d walked out, not her. Enrique didn’t understand. How could he? He didn’t know her. He couldn’t, not from detective reports or however he’d kept watch over her life.