by Lynne Graham
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
Lottie’s anguished voice cut through the silence and she gazed, petrified, across at him.
‘What is there to say?’
Rafael turned his head away. He couldn’t bear to look at her—knew that if he did he would weaken, that all the resolve he had built up over the last two years would be swept away in the tidal wave of emotion that the very sight of her beautiful tortured face threatened to unleash.
‘You obviously think you know it all already. You have brutally choreographed my life without ever actually asking me if that was what I wanted.’
His livid gaze swept across the overgrown graves.
‘Had you done so you would have known that you couldn’t have been more wrong. I never viewed our marriage purely in terms of having children. However...’ He allowed himself a quick glance in her direction, saw the tears that were silently rolling down her cheeks, dripping off her chin. He had to keep strong. ‘If it makes you feel better to think that, if it eases some of the guilt you presumably felt, then go ahead—be my guest. It’s not as if any of it matters any more. Just don’t expect me to believe you.’
‘Rafe!’ Lottie uttered his name with a strangled cry. ‘I am just trying to explain how I felt, that’s all—explain why I left you.’
‘Well, don’t bother.’ As he raised his hand to silence her his eyes were jet-black. ‘It’s way too late for that. I was taken in by you once, Charlotte. It’s not going to happen again.’
Twisting away from her, he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and kicked at the moss-covered path.
‘I’m going back to the palazzo now. I suggest you do the same. Freezing to death out here is not going to solve anything.’
Lottie watched as his tall figure turned and marched its way between the ancient gravestones. At the top of the steps he paused, turning back to look at her, his anger channelled into uncompromising authority.
‘And don’t even think about running away again, Lottie.’ His words cut through the cold air. ‘I will be watching you.’
Back at the palazzo Rafael crashed into his office, kicking the door shut behind him. Away from the pitiful sight of Lottie, he felt the anger kicking in, slowly building and building until it threatened to engulf him completely. He had never felt like this before, so consumed with frustrated bile.
Turning on the computer, he realised his hands were shaking as they hovered over the keyboard. How could she talk about running away? Again. How dared she do this to him? And this time she was carrying his child, for God’s sake. His chest heaved with the fury and injustice of it all.
He logged on to his email, desperately looking for a distraction to steady his heart-rate, regulate his breathing, stop him from marching out and doing something really stupid. Like finding Lottie again and demanding that she stayed here, with him. Not just for now, not until after the baby was born, not even for the next twenty years while they watched their child become an adult. He wanted to make her swear that she would stay with him for ever.
His mind flashed back to the dinner last night, the agony of sitting beside her all evening. She had looked so enchanting in that silk gown, the pale colour against her skin giving her an ethereal beauty, a tenderness that had made him want to both protect her and ravish her—not necessarily in that order. She had somehow twisted her hair into a plait over the top of her head, fastening it in a bun at the back. And with the violet earrings he had given her catching the light in her eyes he had never seen her look more beautiful.
He had known then, more forcefully than ever, that his decision to move her to the south wing was the right one. If he had any chance of holding on to his sanity he was going to have to keep away from her. Or keep her away from him.
He had woken this morning knowing that something was wrong, fear clutching at his heart, tightening its grip when, hours later, there had still been no sign of Lottie. Eventually he had given in to temptation and knocked on her door, but had expressly forbidden himself from looking in when there was no answer. Instead he had charged around the palazzo and its grounds looking for her, finally tracking her down at their daughter’s grave. Only to hear the devastating revelation that she was leaving.
Like hell she was.
Rafael took in a heavy breath and, leaning forward, made himself concentrate on the growing string of emails. There was one from Dr Oveisi’s office, asking for information regarding Contessa Revaldi’s embryo transplant. Had she done a pregnancy test yet? Rafael quickly composed a brief affirmative message, saying that the Contessa was indeed pregnant.
Pregnant. Somehow now the news was leaking out it seemed more real. Lottie was pregnant and he was going to be a father. He should have been ecstatic, euphoric. When he had been lying in that hospital bed, adjusting to the devastating news that he was sterile, it had been all he could think about. The fact that he did have one last chance to be a father. He had plotted and schemed to achieve his goal and now it had worked just the way he had been determined it would.
So how had he ended up feeling like this? Why did his body hurt more now than it had when he had woken up from that damned accident, battered, bruised and broken?
Because of Lottie—that was why.
* * *
Lottie stood perfectly still, the clouds scudding across the sky above her. She couldn’t move, frozen, numbed to the core, by her harrowing confrontation with Rafael.
She had known that telling him she was leaving would be the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her whole life. Last time she had taken the coward’s way—‘sneaking away in the night’, as Rafael’s words had so painfully reminded her. This time she had had to do it face to face. She had foolishly tried to tell herself that she would be able to convince him, make Rafael see sense, that it was the only practical solution. That they could never live together, even in a place as huge as the palazzo, even if she was exiled to the south wing...
But nothing had prepared her for the onslaught of misery that had just happened. Never, in her most deranged of moments, had she ever envisaged admitting to him that she still loved him. Whatever could possibly have possessed her to do that? Had something deep in her subconscious persuaded her that he might say the same, say that he loved her too, that they could be together for ever? If so her subconscious deserved to die a long and painful death. Because now she no longer even had the one thing left she could call her own. Her pride. That lay in tatters at her feet, along with her shredded declaration of love for him and the gruesome mess that was her bleeding heart.
Lottie bent down and picked up Rafael’s jacket, slipping her arms into the oversized sleeves, pulling it close around her, her body still shaking uncontrollably beneath it.
She had to leave. There was no doubt about that. Somehow she had to find the strength to explain to Rafael, coldly and clearly, why it was impossible for her to stay.
* * *
Pacing savagely round his office, Rafael stopped in front of the window. He had never felt like this before. So close to losing control. It was as if everything he thought he knew—everything about his character, his life—was being challenged. And found wanting.
He had been so protective of his own pride that he had refused to listen to Lottie, refused to let himself open up to her. Why had he not even considered that what she had just told him might be true? That maybe he had handled things badly after Seraphina died. That maybe he hadn’t taken time to grieve. That maybe, just maybe, she did still love him.
And what the hell did he think he was doing now? Shutting himself away in his office when she was out there somewhere, hurting? Lottie—the woman who was pregnant with his baby, the woman who meant more to him than anything in the world. One thing was for sure: if he let her slip through his fingers again he would never forgive himself. He had to do something about it now. Before it was
too late.
They collided in the hallway. Lottie, running in from outside, coming up against the steel wall of Rafael’s chest. As his arms went out to steady her she pushed herself away and they stood there, facing each other, for several long, silent seconds.
‘I was just coming to look for you.’ Lottie brushed back the wild mess of curls from her face, from cold cheeks that were streaked with tears. She forced herself to meet his eyes, to squeeze the words past her closing throat. ‘To tell you that I’m sorry, Rafael, so sorry...but I meant what I said about...’
‘About having always loved me?’
She stopped dead.
‘About...about...’ she stammered, eyes wide with confusion, her heart swerving in her chest. ‘About having to leave.’
His eyes were scanning her face with such intensity it felt as if he was searching her soul for the truth. But she mustn’t falter now—not when she had got this far. She sucked in a breath, feeling it shudder down the length of her body. Somehow she had to find the strength to carry on, force the jagged words out of her mouth. Then it would be done.
‘We both know I can’t stay here, Rafael. I will return to Monterrato in time to have the baby, of course, and then we can work out the best way to proceed after that.’
There—it was said. She allowed her gaze to slide to the floor.
‘Did you mean it, Lottie? When you said you had always loved me?’
The black and white squares of marble blurred beneath her feet. Why was he doing this to her? She was waiting for anger, denial, refusal, bracing herself for more of the blind rage that he had showed her earlier. She could cope with that. But this...? This was a far more excruciating form of torture.
‘Yes.’ Her voice was very small.
Tipping up her chin with his finger, Rafael locked his eyes on hers again. ‘So when you walked out...when you said those words to me...?’ He faltered, drinking in the violet-blue of her eyes, still searching for the answer, sure that it had to be held in there somewhere.
‘It was a lie, Rafe. The biggest lie of my life.’
‘And now? This is the truth?’
As he removed his finger from her chin Lottie realised that his hand was shaking.
‘Yes—yes, Rafael, it is. This is the truth.’
‘Then say it,’ he growled from somewhere deep in his throat. ‘Say the words, Lottie.’
Lottie gazed upwards, scanning his scarred, handsome face as if for the last time, before surrendering to the force in his eyes.
‘I love you, Rafael.’
Lowering his head, Rafael brushed his mouth against hers, capturing her words with his lips, holding them, tasting them, letting the truth in all its naked glory pass from her body to his.
With aching tenderness the pressure of his kiss increased, until it flooded through Lottie’s body like warm water, melting her against him, washing away everything else that had ever passed between them. Closing her eyes, she let herself float away. If this was their final parting kiss, then so be it—she would give herself up to it, surrender to the glorious feeling that obliterated every other thought. And remember it for ever.
Finally she felt Rafael’s lips leave hers, felt him loosen his hold on her, and knew she was going to have to open her eyes to the cold reality of the future. She waited, looking up into his dark returning stare. There was an agonising pause before he lifted his hands, cupped them around her face and looked deep, deep into her eyes.
‘Anch’io ti amo. I love you too, Lottie.’
* * *
Pulling apart at last, they moved into the salon. Rafael bent to put a match to the fire prepared in the hearth, then drew Lottie back beside him as they watched as the flames licked around the kindling, crackling it into life.
As he turned to look down at her his dark eyes were brimming with love in a way that Lottie had never, ever thought she would see again. Then he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into the tightest hug.
‘It will warm up in a minute.’
‘I’m not cold.’
How could she be, locked in his arms, with his astonishing words still resonating in her head?
‘Good.’ He paused, running a hand over her tangled curls, tracing the shape of her skull with the flat of his palm. ‘I’m so sorry, Lottie.’
‘No.’ Moving away just enough to look up at his face, Lottie stopped him. ‘I should be saying sorry, not you. I’m the one who ran away, who didn’t have the courage to tell you to your face how I felt.’
‘I didn’t give you the chance.’ Drawing her back against his chest, he spoke the words softly over her head. ‘I was so consumed with guilt...’
He resisted the pull of Lottie against him.
‘No, let me say this—I have to say this. I was so consumed with guilt over Seraphina’s death that it took over everything in my life. I refused to grieve, refused to even let myself witness your grief, because it twisted the knife in my heart still further. Every time I looked at you it was like a permanent reminder of what I had done—to our baby, to you. I thought I had taken away from you the only thing that mattered.’
‘No, of course you hadn’t, Rafe.’ Forcibly loosening herself from the grip of his arms, Lottie tipped back her head to look at him. ‘That wasn’t how it was at all. You have to stop tormenting yourself.’
‘So instead I made it my mission to try and change that terrible destiny. And when it didn’t happen, when the IVF didn’t work, instead of standing back and taking a long hard look at what I was doing, instead of devoting myself to trying to make you happy, I turned into some crazed adrenalin junkie, pushing myself further and further physically and further and further away from you.’ He stopped abruptly, the glitter of tears in his eyes. ‘Can you ever forgive me, Lottie?’
‘Rafael.’ Shrugging off his arms, she raised her hands to his face, brushing away the dark curls from his forehead, grazing her fingers against the ridge of the scar. ‘Listen to me.’
He had no option now but to meet her gaze, see that what she was saying was the truth. ‘You were not responsible for Seraphina’s death. Do you hear me?’
‘But if I had taken you to the hospital in Milan... They had better equipment there—they might have saved her...’
‘It was a much longer journey, Rafe. I might have given birth in the helicopter, and even if I hadn’t Seraphina would almost certainly have died. She was just too premature, Rafe. Too tiny...too frail. You have to accept that. You did everything you could. But ultimately what happened was beyond your control.’ She gazed at his beautiful agonised face, desperate to take away the pain, to make him see that he wasn’t to blame. She lowered her voice gently. ‘Even you can’t control everything, you know, Rafe.’
‘That I do know.’ Rafael’s huff of acceptance finally released some of the tension and a smile touched his lips. ‘I can’t control my feelings for you. I tried to stop loving you, Lottie—Dio, how I tried. But no matter what you did, no matter how much I reminded myself that you had walked out on me, that you had never loved me, I couldn’t stop the love I had for you. And I hated myself for it.’
‘I’m so sorry...’
Rafael brought his lips down on hers for another silencing kiss. ‘No more sorries. No more regrets. We have made a mess of the past but now we have the whole of our future to put things right. And it starts here.’
He took hold of her hand and Lottie watched as he placed it on her abdomen, resting his own over the top. Then their eyes met again with the miraculous realisation. They were a family already: Rafael, Lottie and the baby. Everything was going to be fine.
The fire crackled and popped in celebration.
EPILOGUE
Last night Contessa Charlotte Revaldi, wife of Conte Rafael Revaldi, gave birth to a son, Valentine Rafael John, at Ospedale D’A
osta.
As the Conte di Monterrato arrived to visit mother and baby this morning he announced that they were both doing extremely well and that he and his wife couldn’t be more proud of their longed-for second child—a brother for Seraphina.
The couple’s first child tragically died three years ago after a premature birth. A steady stream of friends and well-wishers have been visiting the hospital all day, with flowers and gifts for the happy family.
PUTTING THE NEWSPAPER down on the hospital bed, Lottie looked across at Rafael, who was cradling their baby in his arms, rocking slightly from side to side as he gazed into his son’s sleeping face. They looked so right together, a perfect fit, with that small bundle of life snuggled against the powerfully muscled arms of his father. The present and the future. Lottie could already see the trouble they were going to cause her. And she couldn’t wait.
‘I meant to say, my mother rang this morning to congratulate us.’
‘Greta? That was nice of her.’
‘Yes, I was quite surprised, actually. I’d never really thought of her as granny material, but she seemed genuinely excited. She’s even talking about paying us a visit.’
‘I’ll have to practise my best behaviour.’ Rafael gave her a schoolboy grin over the top of the baby’s head, leaving Lottie in no doubt that her mother would be totally charmed by him.
‘And Alex, of course—she’s been on the phone, demanding photos of Valentine and all the gruesome birth details. I think I’ve managed to put her off the idea of ever having a baby.’
‘Some friend you are.’ Rafael laughed. ‘But, seriously, you were magnificent, Lottie. I can’t tell you how proud I am of you.’
‘That’s because I had you there with me. And I would do it a thousand times over—because look what we got.’ She tipped her head on one side.
