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Frankie’s stomach swooped and for a moment the wounds of her childhood were flayed open. ‘I only meant there must be another way to legally empower him as your heir,’ she said, so softly the words were almost swallowed on the breeze.
‘If there was, do you think I would have been so insistent on marrying you?’
* * *
He’d gone too far. He could see it in the way all the colour had drained from her face. No, from her whole body! She was as white as the sand of Makalini Beach, her eyes green and awash with hurt.
Damn it!
But he was in shock, still trying to make sense of this, trying to see the best way forward for both of them. The last thing he wanted was to argue with Frankie. None of this was her fault, and he admired her courage and strength in taking her place beside him.
He exhaled softly, turning the words over in his heart before speaking them to her. ‘I hate knowing that he was out there for two and a half years and I knew nothing of him.’
She made a strangled noise; he took it to be one of understanding.
‘The laws of succession are archaic and unchangeable. Even the fact he is born out of wedlock will require a DNA test to satisfy my country’s parliament. They must ratify his legitimacy and—’
‘Wait—just a second,’ she interrupted urgently. ‘You’re actually going to get our child paternity tested?’
He turned to her, confused now by the anger that had surged into her face. Relieved too, as it made her cheeks glow pink once more. ‘It is necessary,’ he said.
‘No way.’
Her refusal intrigued him and alarmed him in equal measure. ‘Why not?’ He bit the words out from teeth that were suddenly clenched tight. Was it possible she’d lied about Leo’s paternity?
But why would she?
‘Because he’s your son! He can’t be anyone else’s, unless it was an immaculate conception,’ she said with quiet insistence. ‘And because I don’t want him to think he had to have a blood test to prove to his own father what’s blatantly obvious when you look at the two of you together.’
He relaxed once more—because, of course, she was right. Leo was a carbon copy of not only himself, but of Spiro too. As quickly as his brain absorbed that fact, it moved onto another she’d revealed. ‘You’re saying you haven’t slept with anyone since me?’
‘I...’ She swept her eyes shut and shook her head. When she looked at him again a moment later she was calm—cool and somehow dismissive. She was excellent at doing that—at submerging whatever she was feeling beneath a mask of unconcern. He’d seen her do it numerous times and on each occasion he felt overwhelmed by a desire to work out exactly how he could shake that mask loose. He knew one way, of course. One very tempting, very distracting way...
‘I’m saying you’re the only person who could be his father.’
‘Is that not the same thing?’
‘No.’
His gut clenched and a dark sensation speared through him. It wasn’t jealousy exactly—it was...possession. Primal, ancient, animalistic possession. He didn’t want to think of her sleeping with any other man—ever.
‘Have there been other men?’ he asked, the question direct, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her mask slip for a second.
‘Why do you care?’
‘Because I like thinking I’m the only man who’s known the pleasure of your body,’ he said simply, unapologetically.
Heat stained her cheeks and he could resist no longer. He moved to where she stood on the balcony, bracing a hand on either side of her. ‘That’s kind of chauvinistic.’
His lips twisted in a smile. ‘Yes.’
And then, to his surprise, she smiled, a genuine smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle and it felt as if the sun was forcing its way into his chest. He stared at her, his own face unknowingly tense, rigid, frozen by the radiance of her expression. ‘At least you admit it.’
He continued to stare, drinking in her beauty, but the smile dropped almost immediately and an air of seriousness surrounded them.
‘You told him about me?’
She swallowed, her eyes half-closed, shielding herself from him. ‘Yes.’
