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Louisa shook her head. “You were right all along. I never loved Matthias,” she said in a low voice. Lifting her head, she gave a shuddering breath. “But Rafael…”
“You have to tell him,” her sister said. “He has to know.”
Louisa looked at Katie. “It’s too late.”
“It can’t be,” she whispered. “It can’t be too late. I need to do something, something to make you forgive me…”
Six-year-old Madison, her blond hair in pigtails, reached her arms up anxiously around her weeping mother. “What’s wrong, Mommy? Why are you crying?”
It had been almost two years since her father’s death, and the little girl already had forgotten almost everything about her father.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetie,” Katie said, wiping her eyes and trying to smile.
But so much was wrong, Louisa thought. She and Katie had had such a happy childhood in northern Florida, beloved and protected by both their parents. Then, all too young, their mother had died of a long, lingering illness, followed by their father six months later when he simply seemed to lose the will to live. They’d lost their parents. Her niece had lost her father. But that had been beyond their control.
Louisa was deliberately choosing to deprive her baby of his father, and though she tried to remind herself why she’d had no choice, suddenly pain ripped through her. She looked down at her baby. What if she’d made the wrong choice?
“Can you ever forgive me?” her sister whispered.
Reaching over, Louisa hugged Katie fiercely with one arm. She realized she was crying, too. “There is nothing to forgive.”
“I love you,” Katie whispered. “And I want you to be happy. Do the right thing while you have the chance. Give your child a father.”
“I can’t tell him,” Louisa said over the lump in her throat as she pulled away. “Rafael would be furious. He might try to take Noah away from me…”
“He wouldn’t!”
“You didn’t hear him last year when he said he would force me into marriage and make my life hell as his wife. If he ever knew I’d had his baby…”
She looked down at Noah. At almost eight months, he was a happy, chubby baby with fat legs and a smiley disposition. Other than his dark hair and the slate-gray color of his eyes, he was nothing like the man who’d fathered him.
“Whatever he said to you, he said in anger,” Katie argued. “He wouldn’t take Noah away from you. You’re a good mother!”
“You don’t understand,” Louisa cried, wiping her tears away fiercely. “If Rafael knew I’d had his baby…he would destroy me.”
The words were still coming out of her mouth when Louisa heard the chiming bell of the door. She froze. Then, with her baby still against her hip, she turned.
Rafael stood in the doorway. He’d been reaching for the bag of caramel brownies that he’d left on the counter. But by the wide look in his eyes as he saw Louisa with the baby in her arms, she knew her worst fears had been realized. He knew everything.
“Rafael,” she breathed. “I can explain.”
He looked at the baby.
“Who is that?” he asked in a low voice.
“Rafael…he is…I wanted to…”
His eyes narrowed. His shoulders straightened, and his body seemed so tall and strong and powerful. His face was dark as he took a step toward her, and it took all of her courage to remain rooted in one spot.
“Is that baby mine?” His voice was cold. Dangerous.
The panicked thought raced through her brain that she should lie, say the baby was her sister’s, or that she was babysitting for a neighbor—but as she looked up into his hard, gray eyes, her heart pounded in her throat. And she found she could not lie.
“Tell me.” His voice was deceptively soft as he took another step toward her. “Who. Is. That. Baby.”
Her teeth chattered. “He is…my son.”
Coming very close to her, looking down at her without touching either her or Noah, he said in a voice low as a whisper and dark as night, “And who is the father?”
