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She looked at him and her heart jumped into her throat. His eyes were intense on hers.
With imperfect timing the waiter appeared again with their food, and Sam looked at the fish she’d evidently ordered but couldn’t remember selecting now. You’re worth more than any other woman who was there.
She looked at Rafaele and whispered, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Eat...then we’ll talk.’
Sam felt as if she could no more eat than walk over hot coals, but she forced some of the succulent food down her throat and wished she could enjoy it more. She was sure it was delicious.
When the dishes were cleared away Sam felt very on edge. Rafaele regarded her steadily and her nerves felt as if they were being stretched taut.
Finally he clarified, ‘I should have thought more about it before taking you with me last night.’
He obviously saw something Sam was unaware of on her expressive face because he put up a hand and went on, ‘Not because I don’t want to be seen with you in public but because you were right. We need to know what...we are.’
Sam frowned. ‘What we are?’
Rafaele reached out and took her hand. Sam looked at her much smaller pale hand in his dark one and her insides liquefied.
‘Sam...I think we should get married.’
Sam raised her eyes to his. Shocked. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I said, I think we should get married.’
Sam was barely aware of Rafaele letting her hand go so that the waiter could put down coffee and dessert in front of them. She was stunned. Blindsided.
She shook her head, as if that might rearrange her brain cells into some order so that she could understand what Rafaele had just said. She had to be sure. ‘Did you just say that you think we should get married?’
He nodded, looking at her carefully, as if she was made of something explosive and volatile.
‘I... Why on earth would you say that?’
Now that the words were sinking in, a reaction was moving up through Sam’s body, making her skin prickle. Four years ago, in the time between finding out she was pregnant and seeing Rafaele again, she’d daydreamed of such a moment—except in her dream Rafaele had been on one knee before her, not sitting across a table looking as if he’d just commented on the weather.
The most galling thing of all was that she had grown up vowing never to marry, terrified of the way her father had effectively gone to pieces after losing her mother. But she’d forgotten all about that when she’d met Rafaele, weaving dreams and fantasies around him that had had no place in reality.
‘Why?’ she repeated again, stronger now. Almost angry. Definitely angry, in fact. ‘Do you think that I’m some kind of charity case and I’ll be only too delighted to say yes because you can take care of me and Milo?’
She couldn’t stop now.
‘Decorating a few bedrooms doesn’t a father and husband make, Rafaele. So I don’t know where you’re getting this notion from. It’s just another way to control us, isn’t it?’
His eyes flashed at her outburst. ‘No, Sam. Think about it. Why shouldn’t we get married? I’ve been thinking about buying a home in London. We could live there. Bridie could come too... We could look for a good school for Milo. A lot of my work for the foreseeable future will be in England, and my commutes to Europe shouldn’t take me away too much...’
He had it all figured out. Square Sam and Milo away in a convenient box and tick them off the list. On the one hand the image he presented tugged at a very deep and secret part of her—a fantasy she’d once had. She only had to think of last night and how close she’d come to baring herself utterly. She didn’t doubt that he hadn’t factored in the reality that she would want to be a wife for real.
Terrified at the strength of emotion she was feeling, Sam stood up and walked quickly out of the restaurant.
Rafaele watched Sam leave. Not the first time he’d provoked her into walking away from him. She’d looked horrified. Not the reaction a man wanted when he proposed. He grimaced and acknowledged that he hadn’t exactly proposed. But since when had Sam wanted hearts and flowers? Did she want that? What he was suggesting was eminently practical. Logical. Unfortunately Sam plus any attempt on his part to apply logic always ended up in disaster.
Rafaele stood up. His friend Francisco was waving him out of the restaurant to go after his lover. The old romantic. Rafaele just smiled tightly.
When he emerged into the street it was quiet. This time of year it was mainly locals. But in a few months the place would be warm and sultry and heaving. Sam was stalking away, and when he called her she only seemed to speed up.
Cursing softly, Rafaele followed her and caught up. ‘Your coat and bag, Sam.’
She stopped and turned around, arms crossed mutinously across her breasts. She reached out and grabbed for them, pulling the coat on, hitching her bag over her shoulder.
