by Lynne Graham
But with each advancing mile Lottie felt her nerves increasing. The radio was no distraction either. The jangly love songs seemed deliberately to highlight the absurdity of her situation. Slowing down a little, she felt for a bottle of water and gulped down several mouthfuls.
What she was about to do still seemed crazy—unbelievable. Even though she had thought of little else these past few weeks.
It was difficult not to when faced with a daily cocktail of drugs and injections, but she had never allowed herself to get past this stage—past the actual implantation of the embryo. She couldn’t put it off much longer. At some point she was going to have to confront the reality of what she was doing. Whether she was pregnant or not pregnant there were going to be life-changing consequences. And at the moment all of them seemed equally scary.
Rafael was waiting for Lottie on the steps of the clinic and kissed her formally on the cheek. They walked in through the sliding glass doors together.
He looked tall and handsome, wearing a dark grey suit and white shirt, open at the collar, a grey silk tie pulled loose. Lottie was struck afresh by the sheer force of his beauty, his charismatic presence and style. Even in the few days since she had seen him his injuries had healed more rapidly—the bruises faded to a pale yellow beneath his olive skin, the whiplash scar a pale pink line.
They exchanged a silent glance as they stood in the reception area, Rafael’s armour plating of control firmly in place, Lottie’s mouth too dry to say anything even if she had wanted to.
Dr Oveisi arrived, and as the three of them got into a lift to go up to the third floor he wasted no time in informing them that the assisted hatching of the frozen embryo had been successfully completed and everything was good to go. The expression of relief on Rafael’s face was reflected in the mirrored walls around them.
And so it was that, less than half an hour later, the whole procedure had been completed.
Lottie hadn’t wanted Rafael to be there—had tried to persuade him that he might prefer to stay in the waiting room, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy in front of him. But, fastening the green scrubs behind his back, he had merely given her a contemptuous look that had needed no words to clarify it. And she had to admit his presence had helped; like a towering wall of determination, it had felt as if his will alone was enough to make this work.
And when he had reached for her hand she had found herself gripping it as if her life depended on it. Or at least their baby’s life.
Now he stood behind her as they stared at a computer screen and the doctor ran the scanner over Lottie’s stomach, pointing out the tiny bubble of air showing where the embryo had been placed. Lottie stared at it, sending out all the positive vibes she could, willing it to do what it had to do.
‘Now...’ Dr Oveisi turned to look at the prospective parents. ‘There are a few rules you will need to abide by for the next couple of weeks.’
From her prone position, Lottie nodded.
Rafael waited, sharp and alert.
‘I am a firm believer that stress is the body’s worst enemy when it comes to successful embryo implantation, and as such it should be avoided at all costs. Research is only just beginning to discover how important the right mental state of the recipient is. By that I don’t mean that the Contessa should take to her bed and do nothing—far from it.’ He looked directly at Lottie. ‘I want you to use the next couple of weeks to do the things that give you pleasure—activities that will take your mind off the outcome of the procedure. So moderate exercise, mental stimulation and full marital relations are all advisable.’
Marital relations? The very air in the room seemed to gasp at the thought of it. That was the one thing Lottie could guarantee wasn’t going to happen.
The sad absurdity of the situation forcefully struck her once again.
Finally Rafael and Dr Oveisi left the room, leaving Lottie to stay in bed for the requisite fifteen minutes. Gazing into space, she felt a myriad of conflicting and confusing thoughts crowd her mind. Had that really just happened? Was she really lying here with their embryo implanted inside her?
Up and dressed, and feeling a bit more in control, she went down to the reception area. The twin stares of the two receptionists alerted her to where Rafael stood, leaning against the wall, one long leg crossed over the other, talking into his mobile phone.
Seeing Lottie he gestured her towards him.
‘Oui, oui, d’accord, deux semaines.’ He raised his eyebrows at her before returning to his call, speaking in rapid French.
Lottie had always been confounded by the way he could do that—switch from one language to another with seamless ease. Fluent in English, French and German, as well as his native Italian, it seemed to be as natural to him as breathing.
As she waited for him to finish she suddenly had a vivid flashback. The two of them snuggled up together in the ridiculously narrow bed of the tiny student flat she had been renting when they’d first met, with the diffused afternoon sun filtering through the cheap cotton curtains. Rafael had been teasing her about her schoolgirl French, making her repeat words after him as he trailed his fingers down her naked skin, following them with a line of feather-light kisses. As each word had become more erotic than the last he’d finally claimed her pouting lips with his own, and the lesson had ended with something that was certainly never taught in school.
‘Bene—everything is sorted.’ Slipping the phone into his trouser pocket he turned, frowning slightly as he noticed the flush on Lottie’s cheeks. ‘I’ve arranged a little trip away for us.’
Lottie readjusted her face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We are going to Villa Varenna. I thought you might like that.’
‘Well, yes...maybe.’
Now it was Lottie’s turn to frown. The Revaldis had property all over the place, but this was her favourite—a beautiful villa, perched on the side of a stunning Italian lake.
‘When were you thinking of going?’ It seemed a strange time to be considering a holiday, when their lives were on hold until they knew if she was pregnant.
‘Now.’ Rafael’s beautiful dark eyes regarded her calmly.
‘Now?’ Lottie repeated incredulously. ‘How could we possibly go now?’
‘Easy. I’ve already got the helicopter here. We can be there in a couple of hours.’
‘But we can’t. I mean—not now. I don’t have any things...clothes, toiletries.’
‘You’re not seriously telling me you can’t go because you don’t have a toothbrush?’
Lottie gave him her best imperious stare. Just because he had come over all Mr Spontaneous, it didn’t give him the right to mock her.
‘I am just trying to be practical. What about the car—the one I drove here in?’
‘All sorted.’ He dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand. ‘There is really nothing to get worked up about.’
‘I am not worked up.’ She modulated her voice accordingly. ‘How long would we go for?’
‘Until we know for sure that you are pregnant.’
‘Two weeks!’ The voice soared again. ‘Surely you can’t just drop everything and go away for two weeks?’
‘There are such things as computers, Lottie, and phones and modern technology. I’m not suggesting we paddle up the Amazon and live in a mud hut. I can work quite well from the villa. Neither am I suggesting that we drop everything, come to that. Let me put your mind at rest on that score.’
Well. That was her firmly put in her place.
‘There is one thing, though. The villa is unstaffed, with this being a spur-of-the-moment decision. There is no one around. I could arrange it, of course, but I’ve decided not to bother. I thought we might enjoy having the place all to ourselves.’
CHAPTER FOUR
SITTING ON THE terrace of Villa Varenna was li
ke having been transported to a different world. Only a few hours ago she had been lying on a hospital bed, staring at the central heating ducts. Now dusk was turning into night over Lake Varenna and the colourful lights of the properties scattered along the shoreline were glittering like a necklace of jewels. As the sky turned a milky blue against the jagged black shapes of the mountains the water was transformed to a luminous purple.
Lottie had never been able to get used to this—the sheer wealth and privilege of the Revaldi family. It was so far removed from her own upbringing she had never felt comfortable with it; growing up in a suburban semi had hardly prepared her for this. Her life had been all Neighbourhood Watch and twitching curtains—her own mother having given them plenty to twitch about when she had arrived back from yet another little holiday with a suntanned gentleman and a giftwrapped memento of some exotic place she had no doubt viewed from the deck of a cruise ship.
It was different for Rafael, of course; he had been born into this lifestyle—it was a part of him, who he was. And along with the wealth and privilege came an enormous amount of commitment and hard work. Lottie had seen for herself the weight of responsibility that came with the title of Conte di Monterrato—a title that had passed to Rafael on the death of his father.
Lottie had never met her father-in-law, Georgio Revaldi. He had died suddenly when she and Rafael were still living in Oxford, effectively ending their fairytale life there and then. Because that was what it had been, Lottie now realised. A Rafe and Lottie fairytale—a glorious, passionate, heady love affair that had been far too perfect to make it in the real world. It had been inevitable that the story would come to an end, that the book would eventually slam shut.
They had met one drizzly afternoon in Oxford when Rafael had appeared through the steam of the espresso machine in the coffee bar where Lottie had worked. Two hours, several cups of coffee and an impatient queue of customers had seen them briefly sketch in their lives to each other. Rafael had been finishing his business doctorate at the university; Lottie had ben in her third year at art school. It had seemed the most natural thing in the world that he would wait for her to finish her shift, that they would then run together through the full-on rain to Rafael’s favourite English pub and arrive, laughing and dripping over the towelling bar mats, already totally and recklessly in love.
Because it had been reckless—especially Lottie getting pregnant so quickly. Even though they had been thrilled—speechless with joy, in fact—it had meant a hastily arranged wedding in an Oxford register office, and in retrospect Lottie could see that was hardly what Rafael’s father would have wanted for his only son and heir. That in all probability she was not what he would have wanted for his only son and heir.
But she’d never had the chance to find out because Georgio had died shortly after their wedding and that was when everything had changed. Rafael had hastened back to Monterrato, taking with him his pregnant bride, throwing Lottie into the totally unfamiliar role of wife of the Conte. And with the principality seeming to take up all of Rafael’s time cracks had started to appear in their relationship even before the tragedy of Seraphina’s death.
Lottie had been lonely, resentful of this wretched place Monterrato which had stolen the husband she had fallen in love with in England and replaced him with a workaholic businessman.
And nothing had changed now. The principality of Monterrato still came first. The only reason she was here was to protect its future, provide an heir. But even with that realisation gnawing away at her she couldn’t hold back her excitement as she spread her hands across her stomach. That heir might...just might...be starting life inside her now.
Hearing a sound behind her, she turned to see Rafael coming towards her, carrying a blanket over his arm.
‘I thought you might need this.’ Shaking it out, he went to spread it over her knees, but Lottie edged further along the bench to stop him.
‘I’m not an invalid, you know.’
‘I know. I just thought you might be cold.’
‘Well, I’m not.’
‘Okay. Just bad-tempered then.’ Whipping back the blanket, he threw it over one shoulder and looked down at her. ‘What would you like to do tonight?’
Lottie darted a look at him, his shadowed figure tall and imposing as he stood there, matador-like, waiting for her answer. Surely he wasn’t expecting them to do anything else today, was he? Wasn’t an embryo transplantation followed by a helicopter ride to this place enough for one day?
‘Do?’
‘I mean about food.’ His eyes glowed in the dark. ‘Do you want to go out for a meal?’
‘No, thank you. I’m actually quite tired. Not invalid tired—just...well, tired.’
‘Yes, of course. I should have thought. In that case I will cook something for us.’
‘You really are determined to make me an invalid, aren’t you?’
The barb hit its target and Rafael pursed his lips against a spreading smile. ‘That was uncalled for, young lady.’ He regarded Lottie in the dying light. ‘And, besides, I hardly think you are in a position to make accusations. Unless you have recently acquired some skills that were hitherto sadly lacking?’
‘I may have done.’ Lottie raised her chin in challenge. She hadn’t, in fact—she was still as useless as ever in the kitchen. But he didn’t have to know that.
‘Well, in that case I will look forward to some gourmet meals during our fortnight here.’
Lottie’s heart lurched inside her. However was she going to survive two weeks here, alone with Rafael? Looking at him standing there, feeling the watchful gleam of his dark eyes, food was the least of her worries.
‘Shall we go in now?’
‘In a minute. I just want to sit here a little longer.’
Indicating that she should budge up, Rafael sat down beside her.
Actually she had meant sit here alone. Suddenly the bench seemed ridiculously small for two people—especially when one of them was six feet four, with the musculature of someone who was no stranger to the gym.
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’
Edging a little further away from him, Lottie pointedly commented on the view, watching the way the colours of the water had changed to an inky blue. The sky was still several shades lighter, the first stars starting to pierce its skin. The fact that she was sharing it with someone who was making every nerve-ending in her body stand to attention was neither here nor there.
‘Si, molto bella.’
Lottie held her breath as his arm slid along the back of the bench behind her.
‘I thought perhaps you could do some painting while you are here.’
‘Maybe.’ Her breath came out with a huff. The arm behind her suddenly felt controlling, domineering, even if the idea of painting again did excite her. It had been so long since she had done any of her own work. And this would be the perfect place to paint.
‘You mustn’t give up, you know.’ Misinterpreting her coolness Rafael held the back of the bench and swivelled round to face her, his knee touching her thigh. ‘You have a considerable talent. It would be such a waste not to use it.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Her acerbic reply was in no small part a response to the intimacy of his closeness in the dark, to the way she could feel the heat coming off his body, hear his breath as it met the cold air.
‘Come on.’ Standing upright, he gestured to her to do the same. ‘We need to go inside and get you some food. Perhaps that will improve your temper.’
The kitchen was sleek and modern, all polished concrete and brushed steel. At first sight it appeared devoid of anything edible, but opening the fridge revealed that it was fully stocked with eggs, milk, cold meats and cheese, and the larder contained an impressive array of packets and tins, all neatly lined up for their inspection.
‘I arranged to have a
few supplies brought in.’ Rafael’s voice came from inside the fridge. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘I don’t know.’ Momentarily sidetracked by his rear view, Lottie looked away. ‘Omelettes?’
‘Good idea.’ Coming out with the eggs, he proceeded to open every drawer and cupboard in the room before coming up with a bowl, a frying pan and a whisk.
Lottie perched herself on a stool at the island unit as Rafael moved around the kitchen gathering his ingredients. She was secretly enjoying this—not just the novelty of having him cook for her but being able to watch him do it, to let her eyes follow him around when he was too distracted to return her stare, match it with his own.
‘Anything I can do to help?’
He was chopping peppers now, the knife coming down hard and fast on the wooden board. This was the point when Lottie had to look away—she’d never liked the sight of blood.
‘You can open the wine if you like.’
‘I think I might stick to water.’
Suddenly the knife paused, the blade glinting in mid-air. As Rafael pushed the hair back from his marked forehead Lottie could see the enormity of the day’s events reflected in his eyes.
She gulped back a sudden lump in her throat. ‘But I will pour a glass for you.’
One smoke alarm, a medley of half-cooked vegetables and a burnt omelette later, their meal was finally finished.
Laying down her knife and fork, Lottie looked across at the man on the stool beside her, trying to figure out what was going on in his head. Dark, complicated, charming, ruthless, passionate, controlling—he was all of those things and more. He hadn’t changed, and no matter how much she tried to ignore it, Lottie knew that neither had her desire for him. He looked so handsome when he was relaxed like this, one leg bent, a scruffy leather boot resting on the bar of the stool, his faded jeans pulled taut against his powerful thigh. He was like a deadly potion, begging to be drunk.