The Twelve-Month Mistress by Kate Walker

walk out of here, to go, beforeshe did something really stupid, like fling herself into his arms, telling him that she loved him and if he would only take her back…
    I’ve moved in with Ramón.
    The words flared behind Joaquin’s eyelids, searing themselves into his brain, blinding him, destroying all hope of thinking rationally.
    I’ve moved in with Ramón.
    Did she mean—she couldn’t mean what he thought! She didn’t…
    But then he remembered the time, just over a week ago. The time when he had arrived home unexpectedly.
    Cassandra had been in a strange mood that day. Jittery as a cat on hot bricks and obviously on edge.
    And then Ramón had turned up, using her key, obviously expected—and she had smiled, her whole face lighting up…
    Ramón, who had a habit of turning up out of the blue. He had done that years before and claimed to be—had been proved to be—his father’s son by another woman. The woman Juan Alcolar had said that he loved, while his legitimate son’s mother had been just a marriage of duty, of convenience. That revelation had destroyed Joaquin’s own belief in love and honesty and fidelity.
    In any sort of happy ever after.
    And now Cassandra. His Cassandra. His woman.
    I’ve moved in with Ramón.
    It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t ! But why else would she say it? Why else would she be here, in that flimsy slip of a robe, obviously waiting for, expecting Ramón?
    When she moved it was blatantly evident that underneath the robe she was wearing nothing at all. Her breasts swung softly, unfettered by any bra, and the smooth line of her hips…
    He clenched his teeth together savagely, biting back the vicious outburst he wanted to fling in her face. His breathhissed between them as he struggled to get the worst of his black rage under control enough to speak.
    ‘You are living here—with my brother? You have been here all this time? While I was looking for you?’
    She swallowed hard, seemed unable to speak, but there was no doubting the firmness of her nod of affirmation, the way those blue eyes clashed with his as she destroyed any remaining hope with a single gesture.
    ‘I see…’
    Oh, he saw all right. And what he saw burned in his soul like acid, eating away at him deep inside.
    ‘So tell me, when did this happen?’
    He was proud of that tone. It sounded almost cool, calm, in contrast to the lava-like fury that was boiling up inside him.
    ‘It’s obviously a very sudden thing.’
    ‘Not really—it’s been coming for a while.’
    ‘And you didn’t think to say anything?’
    How the hell had he not noticed?
    But of course he had. He had seen that something was wrong. It had been obvious that she’d been uneasy, edgy with him, never quite herself. But he had never imagined this.
    And what the hell was herself ? What was the real Cassandra? The true woman? The woman he’d known—thought he’d known…
    ‘I did try—but…’
    ‘You tried!’
    The disgust he felt rang in his voice.
    ‘Oh, yes, lady, you tried . You tried so hard. You complained that I was going to work. Said that you didn’t want to act as my interpreter on Friday—well, you sure as hell got out of that one! By Friday you had disappeared from my life and I had no idea where on earth you were! You’d gone and all you left was that bloody note!’
    He swung away from her, pacing the length of the roomand back again, his eyes glazed, blurring his vision as he relived the night, a week before, when he had returned home to the empty room. An empty room in a still, silent, empty house.
    He had called her name, thinking that she was perhaps by the pool or out in the garden. But there had been no answer. And so he had waited. He had set some wine to chill and he had sprawled on a lounger by the pool—the lounger on which they had made love the night before—and he had waited.
    And waited.
    And waited.
    He had spent a long time thinking over the events of the previous night. Reviewing the things they had