I close the door behind me and stand in the warm, humid room. It’s pretty with plants hanging from the glass walls and the small squares of turquoise tiles making the water a gorgeous, vibrant blue. I strip off my robe and dip my toe in before walking into the warm water, extending my arms and going under. Holding my breath to swim the length of it, I love the sensation of water running through my hair, through my fingers as I glide. I swim a few slow laps before turning over onto my back, arms and legs stretched out like a star, the sound of the rain distant with my ears beneath the surface. I close my eyes and lay there, letting the water carry me, floating as I empty my mind and try to forget that morning. Forget my embarrassment at having said those words out loud. My embarrassment at his rejection.

Because that’s what all this comes down to.

He rejected me.

I take a deep breath in and finally open my eyes and startle the instant I do because there, watching me, is a dark figure sitting in the shadow of a pillar at the opposite end of the pool, legs wide, elbows on knees, face dark. Not angry. Something else.

I gasp, my heart thudding.

“I don’t want you swimming alone,” Santiago says, his voice sounding strange.

“You haven’t been here,” I remind him.

“I’m here now,” he says somberly. And I know something’s wrong.

I swim to the edge, and he stands up, gathers my robe, and wraps it around me as I step out, eyes lingering momentarily on my rounded stomach. When he lifts his gaze up to mine, I think I know what it is I see on his face, and it twists my own heart.

It's pain. He’s suffering.

“What’s happened?” I ask, feeling my eyes fill up.

He tugs the robe closed, fingers warm when they touch my skin, and I miss him. I miss his touch. I miss him so much. I want him to hold me. I want to lean into him.

He cups my cheek, runs his thumb over the dot of ink, the start of something that could have gone so wrong.

“Santiago? What is it?”

“I have men picking Eva up. You’ll both stay in the house for the foreseeable future.”

“What?”

“No more hospital visits.”

“Is it my father? What’s happened?” I pull out of his grasp. “What did you do?”

“It’s—”

“If you hurt him…if you…I’ll never forgive you. I swear it. I will never forgive you!” I spin to get away, but he catches me.

“Ivy.” His voice is hoarse, and when I look at him, my own lip trembles with the pain I see on his face. “Your father is fine. I’ve increased his security, too.”

“Security? What is it?”