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Lie! A voice inside her screamed. Lie!
But she could not. Even after everything she’d done, she could not look into his face and deny him the truth that was obvious. Everything about their son looked exactly like Rafael, from his black hair to his beautiful gray eyes.
“Is he my son?” Rafael said in a low voice.
Closing her eyes as if bracing for a blow, she took a deep breath.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The simple, clipped word from her lips—Yes—nearly caused Rafael to stagger back, as if struck by a mortal blow. Even though he’d known the truth from the instant he saw the baby on Louisa’s hip.
But hearing the word, beads of sweat broke out over his forehead. His entire body felt like ice.
She’d had his baby. And she hadn’t told him.
Louisa had caused him to unknowingly abandon his son.
His hands tightened as he stared at her across the warmth of the bakery. A large group of tourists entered the shop behind him with a happy chime of the bell.
With a snarl, Rafael opened his mouth to speak, to accuse. Grabbing his arm, still holding her baby against her hip, Louisa pulled Rafael up the flight of stairs behind the counter.
At the top of the stairs, he looked grimly at the second-floor apartment around him. It was a small, pretty, feminine home. Anxiously tugging on his arm, Louisa pulled him into a bedroom and closed the door behind him.
“Please understand,” she said desperately, turning to face him. “You left me no choice!”
He stared around the small room. It contained a single bed, a crib and a changing table. The bed was covered by a handmade quilt. On the wall over the crib, soft fabric letters spelled out N-O-A-H beside a framed picture of a giraffe that looked like it was from an old children’s book.
There was no lavish luxury here. This apartment wasn’t a palace, but it was homey and cozy. It was bright and warm. The bedroom was decorated with warmth and simplicity—and kept absolutely clean.
Warmth. Love. Care. Everything Louisa had denied Rafael for the last year and a half. Along with the truth. Along with his child.
The rage of betrayal ripped through him.
“Rafael, please. Won’t you talk to me?”
Slowly he turned back to stare at her. He’d thought Louisa Grey was different from any woman he’d known. He’d thought her an intelligent woman with a bright mind and a rare sense of dignity—of loyalty. In the years she’d worked for him, he’d looked forward to seeing her every night after he returned from a date. He’d become accustomed to seeing dark eyes gleam through her glasses as she made him a late-night turkey-and-baguette and listened with some amusement to his latest dating woes, which always involved some woman going to pieces after he dumped her.
“It’s your own fault, you know,” she’d chided him gently. “You treat them badly.”
“I make them no promises,” he’d protested. “I tell them our affair cannot last. I am not a man made for marriage.”
“You might tell them that, but your eyes say something else,” she’d said quietly. “I’ve seen you. You look at every woman as if she, and only she, might be the one to make you faithful.”
Rafael exhaled. She’d been right, of course. Louisa saw through all of his lies—even the ones he hadn’t realized he was telling. She’d made herself indispensable in his life. Unique.
And now this. Her vengeful cruelty took his breath away.
Had Louisa Grey always been a liar? Or had Rafael turned her into a liar—when he’d slept with her?
No! He wasn’t going to think that way—wasn’t going to give her any excuse to say he was the one at fault for her crime. He wasn’t the one who’d done this! All these months, he’d felt so guilty, thinking he’d treated her badly. And all along, she was the one who’d lied to him. She’d stolen his child.
If not for the anonymous letter, he might never have come here. His baby might always have grown up believing Rafael had abandoned him.
His hands clenched into fists. He’d once thought Louisa a gold digger. Now he wished she were. A gold digger would have at least contacted him for a payout. This was far worse. Louisa Grey was a vindictive, cold, ruthless woman.
Rafael looked at the child in her arms. What kind of woman could keep a baby a secret from his own father?
“What is his name?” he said harshly.
