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SUNDAY DAWNED BRIGHT and glorious.
Having taken advantage of the king-size bed on Joao’s private jet, Saffie found the effects of jet lag were minimal, which helped a little with her frame of mind as she took a long, luxurious shower and dressed for breakfast.
The flared white halter-neck dress swung soothingly around her knees as she left her suite.
Carlotta, Joao’s deputy housekeeper, met her at the bottom of the stairs and smilingly led her through another series of hallways to a vast courtyard overlooking the second largest swimming pool on the estate.
Joao was already seated, lazily flicking through a Portuguese newspaper. He lowered it as she approached, his gaze hooded as it rested on her face.
‘Bom dia. Did you sleep well?’
‘Sim, obrigado.’
One corner of his mouth lifted, unmistakeable satisfaction framing his smile. ‘You’re making good strides with your Portuguese. Soon you’ll be more fluent than I am.’
‘You’re much too competitive to hand me that advantage.’
A shadow passed over his face but he didn’t comment, instead offering her the fruit platter, and nodding at the butler, who stepped forward to fill her cup with aromatic tea.
Calmly, he went back to his paper, leaving her to wonder what she’d said to garner that reaction.
She was almost done with breakfast when Carlotta stepped onto the terrace. ‘Senhor, the doctor is here. We have set him up in the Redondo Suite, as instructed,’ she said in slightly accented English.
He thanked her and rose. ‘Shall we?’
She remained seated. ‘Has something happened? You seem to be...in a mood.’
His lips twisted. ‘Do I?’
She pressed her lips together, then decided to forge ahead with the elephant in the room. ‘If it’s about what happened by the pool yesterday—’
‘That was a mistake,’ he interrupted with calm precision. ‘But perhaps it’s precipitated the need for a few changes.’
Her heart plummeted. ‘What kind of changes?’ she asked with a voice that tasted ashen.
Joao hesitated. ‘Necessary changes we’ll discuss after the Archer deal is put to bed. One that might mean I remain here in Brazil.’
He was planning to stay in Brazil without her?
She felt the colour drain from her face, her windpipe squeezing alarmingly. ‘What...exactly are you saying?’
‘The doctor’s waiting, Saffie. Let’s not get drawn into protracted conversations.’
She wanted to remind him that he was Joao Oliviera. That he called shots in his sleep and grown men jumped. But he was already stepping behind her chair, pointedly urging her into movement.
The Redondo Suite was exactly as described, a circular guest suite with spectacular views and breathtaking murals etched into its domelike ceiling. The Brazilian doctor who’d travelled with them from London greeted them and efficiently set up the machine.
Within minutes, the sound of twin heartbeats filled the room.
Between Shanghai and London, Joao had ordered the most sophisticated ultrasound machine and Saffie’s breath caught as the 3D image of her still-forming babies loomed large.
‘Their growth chart is excellent. Well within the expected parameters,’ the doctor said. ‘Your babies are doing fine.’
She chanced a glance at where Joao sat at the end of her bed, his thigh brushing her knee. He was staring transfixed at the screen, his throat working. A moment later, his gaze shifted to her stomach, and when it flicked up to meet hers, his expression was awed.
He isn’t unaffected, her brain screeched loudly. This isn’t just a blind asset-claiming for him.
Her heart started to hammer for a completely different, breathtaking reason. Did she dare hope for more? Should she risk telling him she was considering staying beyond three months?
