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‘I’m not going from room to room when they wake when all I have to do is lean over when they’re right next to me.’
‘I don’t expect you to. Their nannies will go to them.’
Her furious shock was so powerful he felt it like a slap to his skin.
‘Theirnannies?’ she yelled. ‘You’ve gone behind my back and employednannies?’
On cue, the girls woke up. In unison, their faces screwed up and they began crying.
‘See what you’ve done?’ she said, her voice only a few decibels lower. ‘You’ve upset them.’
No, you have with your shouting, he wisely decided not to say. He’d prepared himself for upset.
When they’d taken a girl each and were pacing the room, gently bouncing them to soothe them, he said, ‘I didn’t want to go behind your back but I didn’t see an alternative.’
‘What, other than the alternative of letting me be a mother to my own children!’
‘Nothing and no one can take that from you, Rose, but you’re exhausted. You’ve been raising twins without any family to ease the pressure when I’m away—’
‘That’s because I don’thaveany family, unless you want to count my father, who lives on the other side of the ruddy world!’
‘I know that, and I also know how badly you missed being able to hold them those first few days and how badly you feel about being unable to feed them yourself.’
Her face crumpled.
He moved closer to her. He’d had a feeling it was those issues that had been driving her to exhaustion. ‘None of that was your fault, Rose. You have nothing to make up for. You have done your best and you are a fantastic mother for it. All that matters is the love and care you’ve given to them, and you’ve given it in abundance and as a result we have two healthy, happy little girls.’
As if to prove his point, both girls had stopped crying. Josie’s mouth was aiming for Rose’s nose and Amelia was trying to insert a finger into Diaz’s ear.
‘It’s time you gave yourself a break,’ he continued. ‘Surviving on such little sleep isn’t good for anyone—much more of it and you’ll be a walking zombie.’ If he’d had doubts about employing nannies behind her back, Rose crying in her sleep on the plane had fortified his resolve. Even in the days when he’d despised the air she breathed, he would not have been able to endure that whimpering sound. ‘Just give the nannies a chance. You don’t have to use them every night if you don’t want, and if after, say, two weeks, you’re still not happy with the arrangement then we’ll rethink it.’
He could see her finally taking his point in. It was there in the dejection of her shoulders and the wobbling of her chin.
‘What if the girls don’t like them?’
Knowing he’d won, he relaxed. ‘Let’s introduce them and see how they take to them.’
* * *
Growing up, Rose had never thought of herself as poor. Her mother had been a whizz at making a little money go a long way and Rose had never gone without. They’d lived in a rented house in a Somerset town where everyone had to stretch their money and the local primary school’s used uniform sale had a queue before it opened. Rose and her mother had often been the first in it.
Moving to Devon and into the little cottage that came with her mother’s new job had been like entering a whole new world. The riches in Mrs Martinez’s manor house had been mind-blowing, a wealth Rose had never imagined. The sumptuousness of Diaz’s parents’ Madrid home, though less surprising by that point, had nonetheless been impressive.
None of what she’d experienced had prepared her for Diaz’s home. She’d known he’d created his own vast fortune in the nine years since his university graduation but, restlessly exploring in the early hours while the house slept, the baby monitor clutched in her hand, she realised his wealth was something else. In the underground garage, a fleet of supercars she couldn’t name but instinctively knew cost the price of a decent house each. That was on top of the cars he drove and was driven in when in England. Where his grandmother had been content to employ a housekeeper and his parents a handful of domestic employees, Diaz had a fleet of staff that rivalled his fleet of cars in numbers.
The villa itself was deceptive. Anyone looking at it from the outside would assume someone incredibly rich owned it, but it was only when you were inside and able to focus on all the detailing and the abundance of seamlessly blended ancient and modern artwork, and the labyrinth of airy, white-walled rooms the external dimensions only hinted at, that you realised this was the home of someone with unimaginable wealth.
Rose supposed her inheritance from Mrs Martinez meant she would be considered unimaginably rich by most people’s standards. Even after throwing away half her inheritance to access the poker game and force Diaz’s attention, she had enough left in the bank to see her comfortably through for the rest of her life. But nothing like this. Not even close. In comparison, she was like her mother making a little go a long way.
It was unnerving for reasons she couldn’t comprehend. As were the little touches she’d noticed to make the place more toddler friendly. Their daughters were a long way from being toddlers. Months and months. So why the safety locks on the kitchen cupboard doors and the clear plastic corner protectors on all the tables?
And why a freshly painted playroom filled with more unopened boxes of toys than would be found in a toddler toy store and the clearly new fencing around the kidney-shaped swimming pool area?
Overactive imagination, she told herself when she reached the top of the staircase that led to the sleeping quarters. Overactive imagination and sleep deprivation…
The door opposite her appointed room opened.
Her heart had already jumped into her throat before Diaz emerged, tousle-haired, wearing only a pair of navy swim shorts. He had a towel slung over his shoulder.