Slightly Imperfect Read Online Free

waiting. What same thing? Without understanding her fears, he was unwilling to tell her they were groundless. He didn't know that, or her, as she'd said. Not knowing what led to the rancid turn her life had taken the day Tomas Cordera died, gave him no knowledge with which to encourage her. But he wanted to know. He wanted to keep her talking.
    "Why did your cousin kill Tomas?"
    "Coby hated him. I had left Christian for Tommy. We were taking Marcus to Mexico to live, so Coby stopped us." She looked away, out the open window. "I loved Tommy," she declared for the second time in their brief acquaintance. Her throat moved again, her hand stealing there, stroking. She looked back. "I loved Coby, too."
    She loved him still. That went without saying.
    "I haven't seen him since the day he killed Tommy."
    Zac supposed propriety kept her from crying. She was drowning on the inside, and it wouldn't get better until she sobbed long and loud, grieved hot, wet tears. He understood that, for sure. "Why did Coby try to kill your husband?"
    "God." She actually shuddered. "That's another story."
    "We have time. The sun doesn't come up for hours." She shook her head. He took a long, pacing drink, and tried again. "How were you able to adopt Marcus?"
    "No one cared. His mother was dead. Do you remember?"
    He nodded, stayed noncommittal, waiting for her to go on.
    "Tommy had no family." She had been staring across the room, or into infinity. "He died because of my heritage, Zac. Because I couldn't give up Chandler House and my image in Puerto San Miguel, not soon enough, anyway." She looked straight into his eyes. "I know this is hard for you to understand. It would take so long...and we're strangers."
    "I want to hear." Then they wouldn't be strangers.
    He thought she was finished, but then she sighed and took a long acquiescent breath.

    "Tommy loved Marcus so much. That structured his life. Our lives really. I hold on to Tommy through Marcus. And I want to give him a heritage. In Puerto San Miguel." Her lips tightened. "That town killed his father—because of me—because I couldn't turn loose of superficial trappings. I'm taking Marcus back there. I'm going to change that."
    He wanted to ask when, but he only commented, "That's a big undertaking." His thoughts skidded backward, memory of trying to pump life into a dying woman and failing. He hoped Victoria's restorative efforts would prove more fruitful than his had. "Maybe you could just love Marcus, raise him with decent principles—"
    "No." The fervor of her refusal surprised him. She hadn't shown much mettle up to now. "I want him raised Mexican." No trendy, ethnic labels for Tomas Cordera's surviving lover.
    Zac couldn't help smiling. "How's a gringa princessa going to accomplish that?" he asked tenderly, studying her, waiting for her smile. Instead, her eyes moistened.
    "I'm not sure. Not in India or London. Not on Andrea's yacht, sailing the world in luxurious disregard."
    Her picturesque language snagged him into thinking he could listen indefinitely.
    "Tommy had friends in Houston. The Valasquez family. There are children. Older than Marcus, but children. Marcus was born in their neighborhood." Her teeth caught her lip, painted it white.
    "And you're going to move there? You won't fit in, Victoria. That would be a problem, once Marcus is old enough to sense it. And what about the twins? Their heritage?"
    "I don't know." She shook her head. "Sometimes I forget about the twins."
    Her most disturbing divulgence, thus far. He wasn't fast enough to hide a grimace.
    "Not really," she rushed. "Try to forget I said that. It isn't true."
    "I know." He didn't. "Crossing cultures is hell." He thought of Luke, Jan and Tita, again. "Especially with children. You've taken on a lot with Marcus. An admirable enterprise." Guilt was a hellaceous motivator, all right. "Do the twins have a father? Or did they result from Immaculate Conception?" He had figured it out, but he wanted to hear it from her,