by Maisey Yates
But she was not a woman in possession of all three. And so there would be cake.
She sighed, and lifted one of the treats to her lips, then froze when the buzzer for her door sounded. She stood up, sighing, and then getting spots of powdered sugar all over her black dress. She frowned, brushing at it uselessly, and then the buzzer sounded again.
She jumped and got even more powdered sugar on her. Giving up any semblance that she might remain somewhat unmussed, she popped the rest of the cake into her mouth, creating a small cloud of white that settled down onto the nice fabric.
She made her way over to the door and pressed the intercom. “Yes?”
“Charlotte,” a very familiar, rich voice said. “It’s me.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
She had expected that he would come at some point. It wasn’t as if she had thought she would never see him again. They were going to share custody of their babies; he would no doubt come to some of the doctor appointments. At least the ones with ultrasounds. So really, his presence was an inevitability that she was going to have to deal with. But she really didn’t want to deal with it while she was covered in powdered sugar and exhausted from a work shift.
It did not appear that she had a choice.
“Why don’t you come up?” She hit the button allowing him entry, then scurried into the bathroom to quickly brush her teeth.
It would not do for her to have bad breath when she saw him for the first time since he had cruelly stomped on her heart.
She scurried back out into the living area, then looked down and saw the white splashed across her black dress. She started to wipe the powdered sugar, then remembered he wouldn’t be able to see her state, so she stopped messing with it.
There was a light knock at the door. “Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and for the space of a breath, they just stood there with an expanse of floor between them, staring at each other.
“Rafe,” she said finally, wishing that she hadn’t breathed his name out like she was a teenager meeting a rock star.
“Charlotte,” he said. There was something different about his expression, something haunted, ravaged. He was staring at her, she realized. Really staring at her. As if...as if he could see her.
“Rafe?”
“Charlotte,” he said her name again. “Charlotte.” And then he was moving across the floor toward her, that expression going sharp and intense. He hauled her into his arms and he was kissing her before she could protest. Before she could do anything, say anything.
“Rafe,” she said, repeating his name stupidly, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Charlotte. You...you’re beautiful.”
He looked haunted. And he looked nearly destroyed. Most important...he was looking.
“You can see?”
“I can. I...when you left me...I fell and I hit my head. The doctor thinks I reinjured myself in such a way that it has reversed some of the damage of my previous injury.”
“That... Rafe...”
He took a deep breath, pushed his hand through his dark hair. “It happened a week ago. And it’s why I have been avoiding you. Because I knew that if I saw you... Charlotte, now that I have seen you.” He gripped her chin, holding her face steady. “Those blue eyes, just as I remember them. Hair...even more beautiful. The pink in your cheeks, the same as that color in your lips. Charlotte...I love you.”
“What?”
“I love you. And I never stopped. Not in all these years. I could give any number of reasons for why I did not pursue a physical relationship with another woman. Not wanting to be with someone when I couldn’t see. But most people make love in the dark, Charlotte, and frankly being with a woman as a blind man wouldn’t have been such a terribly vulnerable thing. But I had excuses. And it was all because I couldn’t imagine touching anyone that wasn’t you. I couldn’t imagine giving myself to somebody who wasn’t you. I had found the one that my soul loved, and anything else would have been a farce. Would have been dishonoring what we had.”
Her heart was hammering so hard she couldn’t breathe. Her entire body was trembling, tears spilling from her eyes. It was a miracle that Rafe was here. A miracle that he was standing there with her. And that he could see. That he could see her. That was an even bigger miracle still.
“I never wanted anyone but you,” she said. “I could never even consider it.”
“I was so afraid to admit that I loved you. And I was...humbled by your bravery. Part of me felt like I didn’t deserve it. Because you’re right. In the face of all that you’ve been through your ability to love is nothing short of a miracle. But...we have miracles, Charlotte. I have a miracle. I can see you. God willing I’ll be able to see our children. If this lasts. I have no guarantee that it will. It is somewhat unexplainable, and therefore there is no guarantee. Much like love. In life, we are given fragile, wonderful things. And...we may not get to keep them. But I would rather take a risk. I would rather have the happiest of days, however many there may be, than insulate myself and stay in darkness and isolation. I want to stand in the light. I want to stand in it with you.”
“I want that too,” she said. “I want to be with you. And I don’t know what else I want to do. With all of this newfound freedom that I have. But I know I want to love you. It is the one thing I have always known. Since I was eighteen years old and I was risking my life to do it. You were my first dream. And you’re still my dream. Always.”
“I had forgotten about dreams. As a little boy I was shown that nothing in life was certain. And as a young man, I lost the only person that I cared for. You. I’ve lived in darkness ever since, and that has nothing to do with my vision. But you have taught me how to dream again, Charlotte. You have taught me how to love again. And this is not the first time you’ve taught me that. You taught me when I was twenty-five. You’re teaching me again at thirty. I daresay you’ll teach me again at forty. Sixty. Ninety. But it is my great joy to learn from you. For all the rest of my life.”
“And it is my joy to teach you.”
He pulled her into his arms, and he kissed her. And when he lifted his head, he looked deep into her eyes and he said, “Let down your hair.”
EPILOGUE
CHARLOTTE WAS EXHAUSTED. The birth had not been an easy one. Hours of labor that had resulted in a C-section anyway, which Rafe had found to be a deep injustice and a test of his ability to remain calm.
Loving something put you at terrible risk. And watching his wife struggle as she had to bring their children into the world had certainly tested his sanity.
But now Charlotte was resting, and the babies were here.
A boy and a girl. The most perfect things Rafe had ever seen.
And he could see them.
He looked down at their pink, wrinkled faces, both babies cradled against his chest, one in each arm, and he felt his heart swell with pride and love. When he looked down at Charlotte, who was starting to drift to sleep, her pale golden lashes over her cheeks, her long golden hair loose around her shoulders, he thought his heart might burst altogether.
This was love. This was his family.
This was the truest and most real power in the world. It was not money. It was not status.
Rafe Costa had learned that the long and hard way. But thank God he had finally learned it.
“I have a present for you,” Charlotte said, her tone sleepy.
“For me?” he asked. “That doesn’t seem fair—you did all the work.”
“Well, it’s for you. And for the babies, as well. They’re in my bag over there. If you open it up, you’ll see them.”
Frowning, he turned toward the far wall and went to retrieve her tote bag. In it were two small parcels, wrapped in plain paper.
“Unwrap them,” she said.
He complied, slowly opening the paper, a flash of blue appearing as he tore the wrapping. It was a fish made of carnival glass. And in the other package was o
ne identical to the first. Nearly identical to the one that had been destroyed by his father.
His chest constricted. It was almost impossible to breathe. “Charlotte...”
“We can’t change the past, Rafe,” she said softly. “But we can make our own future. No one can take this from us.”
“I think these will be perfect in the nursery,” he said, looking at the shimmering fish for a moment before placing them gently on the shelf nearest to him, already adorned with flowers sent by their friends.
“That’s what I thought too.” She looked down at the babies. “And hopefully they’ll like them.”
“If not, they can go in my office.”
“Sounds good.”
“Have you thought of what you want to name them?” he asked.
“The fish or the babies?” she asked.
“The babies,” he responded, holding back a laugh.
Charlotte smiled, her full pink lips curving upward. “I did,” she said sleepily.
“All right, what are your ideas?”
“Well, I was thinking that we ought to name them Adam and Philippa. You know, after your very good friends who suggested you either return to me or poke your own eyes out.”
“Well, that is a suggestion,” Rafe said, laughing.
But it was more than just a suggestion. His bride was quite adamant. So Adam and Philippa they were.
Which always created humor around the various gatherings over the years, as Adam and Belle and Felipe and Briar remained the best of friends with Rafe and Charlotte.
And whenever they were mentioned, it could truly be said that all of them lived happily ever after.
* * * * *
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT
When chauffeur Keira Ryan drives into a snowdrift, she and her devastatingly attractive passenger must find a hotel…but there’s only one bed! Luckily Matteo Valenti knows how to make the best of a bad situation—with the most sizzling experience of her life. It’s nearly Christmas again before Matteo uncovers Keira’s secret. He’s avoided commitment his whole life, but now it’s time to claim his heir…
Read on for a sneak preview of Sharon Kendrick’s book
THE ITALIAN’S CHRISTMAS SECRET
One Night With Consequences
‘Santino?’ Matteo repeated, wondering if he’d misheard her. He stared at her, his brow creased in a frown.
‘You gave him an Italian name?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when I looked at him…’ Keira’s voice faltered as she scraped her fingers back through her hair and turned those big sapphire eyes on him ‘…I knew I could call him nothing else but an Italian name.’
‘Even though you sought to deny him his heritage and kept his birth hidden from me?’
She swallowed. ‘You made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again, Matteo.’
His voice grew hard. ‘I haven’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of your secrecy. I’ve come to see my son.’
It was a demand Keira couldn’t ignore. She’d seen the brief tightening of his face when she’d mentioned his child and another wave of guilt had washed over her.
‘Come with me,’ she said huskily.
He followed her up the narrow staircase and Keira was acutely aware of his presence behind her. She could detect the heat from his body and the subtle sandalwood which was all his and, stupidly, she remembered the way that scent had clung to her skin the morning after he’d made love to her. Her heart was thundering by the time they reached the box-room she shared with Santino and she held her breath as Matteo stood frozen for a moment before moving soundlessly towards the crib.
‘Matteo?’ she said.
Matteo didn’t answer. Not then. He wasn’t sure he trusted himself to speak because his thoughts were in such disarray. He stared down at the dark fringe of eyelashes which curved on the infant’s olive-hued cheeks and the shock of black hair. Tiny hands were curled into two tiny fists and he found himself leaning forward to count all the fingers, nodding his head with satisfaction as he registered each one.
He swallowed.
His son.
He opened his mouth to speak but Santino chose that moment to start to whimper and Keira bent over the crib to scoop him up. ‘Would you…would you like to hold him?’
‘Not now,’ he said abruptly. ‘There isn’t time. You need to pack your things while I call ahead and prepare for your arrival in Italy.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. You can’t put out a call for help and then ignore help when it comes. You telephoned me and now you must accept the consequences,’ he added grimly.
Don’t miss
THE ITALIAN’S CHRISTMAS SECRET
By Sharon Kendrick
Available November 2017
PRE-ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Copyright ©2017 Sharon Kendrick
ISBN: 978-1-474-05294-8
The Italian's Pregnant Prisoner
© 2017 Maisey Yates
Published in Great Britain 2017
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
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