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She nodded. And he was gone. Striding out through the door and closing it behind him without a sound.
Flora kicked off her pumps, pulled her legs up beneath her and crossed them. She placed the pregnancy test beside her, in Raffaele’s vacated seat. Then swiped up on his phone and punched in the numbers for home.
Flora talked to her mum. She asked her not to speak. She told her she loved her. Loved both her parents. And she told her she was about to become a mother herself. And that she hoped she’d be able to love her baby just as much as they loved her.
She told her that she was safe, but she wouldn’t be home for a while, because she had to get ready for parenthood with the father of her child.
She was going to marry Raffaele Russo.
Flora Bick would be his wife.
Because shewasFlora Bick—daughter of dairy farmers.
She always had been.
Her mother sobbed. Said words of love mixed with a little fear and a lot of joy. And Flora ended the call with her mother’s excited voice still in her ear.
It was time to stop ignoring her needs, wasn’t it? Because they were natural, weren’t they? Natural to her, anyway. Instinctive.
She pulled her jumper over her head and threw it onto the sofa, along with Raffaele’s phone.
Flora was going to listen to her instincts. She was going to twist those fancy taps and fill that claw-footed bath with bubbles and climb inside it.
Because, right now, she wanted a bubble bath.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RAFFAELEOUTSTRETCHEDHISarms and placed them flat on the veneered surface of the long, rectangular table. Two place settings and enough food to feed fourteen people, hidden beneath silver cloches, waited for them on a table that had never seen so much food.
Sitting in his glass cage of opulence, he’d never felt more exposed. Every wall looked out to the sea apart from the one leading from the bedroom. Where she was.
He scrubbed a hand over his chest. His chest was on fire. The idea of eating—
He swallowed down the thought.
She would eat and he’d watch.
He pinched his lips together. He hadn’t needed the pregnancy test to confirm he’d been right to chase her.
His baby was growing inside her right now.
Picking up a glass, he swallowed down ice-cold water. Felt it travel down his throat. Into his gut. But it didn’t ease the burn. The rawness of the last few hours was making his stomach twist and tug.
He’d exposed more of himself to Flora than he ever had to anyone. He’d dug deep into memories he’d buried beneath his billions and spoken of them as if they didn’t matter and had little consequence to his life. He’d exposed his weakest self.
And instead of demanding she go with him—instead of picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder to his bedroom to take the test, to get proof that their one night had had consequences—he’d told her his story. And she’d been seduced by the truth. Had given him her truth in exchange.
Why had he done it? Talked? Why had he given his story to her? The facts. Unvarnished.
Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself.
But he hadn’t expected to see himself mirrored in her words.
In her honest vulnerability.
The confession of her fears had given voice to words he’d never had before. He’d never spoken aloud of the things that lived inside him. He’d pushed them down deep. Ignored the possibility of them and their destruction. His mother’s mental illness... His father’s ability to destroy...reject...abandon. He was made from weakness too, and they’d formed a connection.
Connection? His face twisted in displeasure. It was chemistry, not aconnection. And that part didn’t matter. Only the baby. Only keeping Flora healthy.
