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‘Lottie.’ Giving her hands a shake, Rafael halted her panic attack enough to make her suck in a breath and look at him. ‘I want to say thank you for doing this.’
‘There’s no need...’
‘Yes—yes, there is. Whatever the outcome, I truly appreciate that you were prepared to at least try to give me my last chance of being a father.’
Why was he talking like this? As if he already knew the result was going to be negative? He who had always been so convinced that this time it would work. Did he know something she didn’t?
Lottie looked at him with fear in her eyes.
‘I know this is the last thing you expected when I asked you to come to Palazzo Monterrato. That you actually thought you had come to sign divorce papers.’ A tightness pulled at the corners of his mouth as he spoke. ‘And if there is no baby you will, of course, have your wish. I will put divorce proceedings into place straight away and you will have your freedom. But either way I want you to know you have my heartfelt thanks.’
Well, thanks to that little speech Lottie now felt a whole lot worse. As she looked into the shadowed depths of his eyes she wondered yet again how everything between them had managed to go so horribly wrong. How something that had started with such love and passion and hope and excitement had ended up with her sitting here, on the edge of a bed, waiting to find out if she was pregnant by a man who didn’t love her, in the hope of having a child that they would never be able to parent together. Not in the true sense of the word, anyway.
The last thing she wanted was his heartfelt thanks or, worse still, her freedom. Suddenly she knew what she wanted him to say more than anything in the world. She wanted him to say that everything would be all right—that no matter whether she was pregnant or not he loved her and that was enough. That they could build a future together, be a couple, have a happy life, grow old together.
She forced out a slow, deliberate breath. The thought that that thing, just inches away from her, held not only her fate but also her heart in its little plastic window was almost more than she could bear.
Speech done, Rafael released her hands and stood up. Then, looking at his watch, he raised his eyebrows at her.
‘No.’ Lottie’s hands were trembling so badly she couldn’t have picked it up if she’d tried. Her stomach was heaving as if she was going to be sick. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘You want me to?’
Lottie nodded, watching in horrified slow motion as his arm stretched across to pick up the tester stick, registering the rolled-up sleeve, the tanned forearm, the strong, purposeful hand raising it, turning it over. Then she screwed her eyes shut.
For a second there was nothing but blind silence.
‘Well?’ She heard her unrecognisable voice squeak the question.
Still nothing.
She opened her eyes. There was Rafael, still in front of her, still holding the tester stick in his hand. His expression was—what? Blank? Stunned? With a sickening plummet of dread, Lottie suddenly realised that his eyes were shining with the gleam of tears.
Oh, God. Oh, no.
‘It’s positive, Lottie.’ His gaze swept from the stick in his hand to her incredulous face, his own face a picture of wonder and awe. ‘We are going to have a baby.’
* * *
The restaurant was full, couples at every table, with candles and roses and love in the air. As they were shown to their table by a deferential waiter Lottie realised what day it was: San Valentino—Valentine’s Day. And just for tonight Lottie was going to let herself join in, soak up the atmosphere, be part of it. She was with the most handsome man in the restaurant, probably on the planet, as several female glances following their entrance confirmed, she was in the most euphoric bubble of happiness, and she was pregnant.
Yes, sirree, definitely pregnant. Both the tester kits she had bought had proved positive, and one of them was still nestling unhygienically in her handbag—as if throwing it away might suddenly make her unpregnant again.
