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‘We need to talk.’
She nodded numbly, not trusting herself to speak. They all went down to breakfast, yet Freya was barely conscious of Max’s happy chatter, and she ate next to nothing. All she could feel were the minutes and hours ticking away until Rafe told her to leave.
For surely that was what he intended to say. There could surely be no mistaking his moody silence, the occasional frowning glances he directed her way, or the unalterable and ominous fact that he’d arranged for Max to spend the day with Damita. He wanted her gone.
Bile rose in her throat and she pushed away from the table. ‘Excuse me.’ She barely made it to the bathroom before she retched helplessly, tears starting in her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely, longing for that distant composure she’d worn for so many years, now utterly beyond her. Too much had happened—too much had been lost—for her to attempt to hide behind a cool smile.
‘Freya?’ She heard Rafe from behind the bathroom door and quickly rinsed her mouth out, washed her face and hands.
‘Sorry,’ she murmured, pushing past him, but Rafe touched her shoulder, stilling her. The simple contact reverberated through her body with longing and loss.
‘I thought we’d go out,’ he said, and Freya nodded jerkily.
‘Fine.’
‘Freya—’ He stopped, and she just shook her head.
‘I’ll be ready in a few minutes.’
Fifteen minutes later they were driving along twisting roads towards Granada, the sun blazing down and touching the rocky hills in gold. Freya said nothing, her face turned towards the window, and Rafe seemed disinclined to talk as well.
He parked by the Plaza Nueva in Granada, turning to Freya for the first time since they’d got in the car. ‘We can walk to the Alhambra if you don’t mind a bit of an ascent.’
Freya shrugged. She hardly cared where they went; she wondered why Rafe was making such an effort. Perhaps he wanted to tell her in a public place, to make sure she wouldn’t make a scene? Didn’t he know her well enough by now? She never made scenes, even if her heart was breaking the way it had ten years ago. The way it was now.
They walked up a broad, ancient avenue, shaded from the sun by towering elms, with the gardens of the Alhambra spread out on terraced lawns before them. It was all stunningly beautiful, yet for Freya it might as well have been a prison cell. She felt as if the cell doors were slowly but surely closing with every step she took. It was simply a matter of how Rafe chose to imprison her: a loveless marriage, separation from Max or, worst of all, a fight for custody of her own child. Tears started again in her eyes and she turned her face away from Rafe.
‘These gardens are very peaceful,’ he murmured as they left the avenue to stroll along the terraces.
Freya let out a choked laugh. Nothing felt peaceful about this moment; he was about to take her life apart.
‘Freya?’ he said, and she turned to him.
‘Let’s not postpone this, Rafe,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Just say what you came to say.’ She kept her head down, afraid he’d see the tears glittering in her eyes.
Rafe didn’t speak for a long moment, and when Freya risked a glance upwards she saw him gazing at her in sorrowful bemusement. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘what I came to say is not what you are expecting me to say.’
‘What does it matter?’ she asked rawly. ‘It can’t be good.’
‘No?’ Rafe still sounded bemused, and although she wasn’t looking at him she felt his fingers, cool and strong, touch her chin and turn her face up to his. ‘I suppose I should let you be the judge of whether it is good,’ he said. ‘I came here to tell you I love you.’
Freya could only stare. His words reverberated through her, but they didn’t make sense. They couldn’t. Surely he didn’t mean…? Was this a joke? A trap? ‘No…’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Not the reaction I was hoping for, actually.’
‘But… Last night you left me so suddenly, and you looked so serious, and then you made Max go with Damita—’
‘So we could be alone today,’ Rafe said. ‘And last night I left because I had a lot to think about. A lot of things to accept.’
‘About me?’
‘About me,’ Rafe corrected gently. ‘And my actions.’ He touched her face, his palm cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. ‘Freya, you’ve been consumed by guilt for so long, and surely ten years’ penance is enough. Too much. You need to forgive yourself.’
Forgive. It was all so unexpected, so wonderful. She felt the first stirrings of absolution. ‘But—’
‘And I needed to accept guilt for my part in the failure of my marriage.’ Rafe let out a long, ragged breath. ‘I’ve been consumed by anger for so long, full of self-righteous fury.’ He shook his head. ‘When you told me your story, and I saw how guilty you felt still, it made me think about how I didn’t feel guilty when perhaps I should. I surely had a part in the sorry state of affairs. Rosalia was so young when she married me, and I didn’t love her the way I should have. The way I love you.’
Freya swiped at her cheeks, her disbelief turning to an incredulous dawning joy. ‘I thought you were going to tell me to go,’ she whispered.
