Cinderella's Scandalous Secret

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  His eyebrows were so tightly knitted there was no space between them. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times as if searching for the right words. ‘You’re really serious about this.’ It wasn’t a question; it sounded more like a statement of resignation. Maybe he knew deep down how hopeless it was. How he might never be able to get rid of those wretched photos.

  Isla tried to read his expression, looking for a clue, a hope to hold onto, to convince her he cared enough for her—loved her enough—to ride out any scandal, but his features were cast in marble. Impenetrable, unreadable, cold marble. ‘I am serious. I’m flying home in a couple of hours. I’ll keep you informed on the baby’s progress and send you a copy of the next scan.’

  ‘I want to be there when he or she is born.’ There was a strange quality to his voice she hadn’t heard before but his expression remained masklike.

  She nodded and grasped the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Of course.’

  He stepped forward to pick up her bag. ‘I’ll take you to the airport.’

  Isla put a hand on his arm to stop him. ‘No. I’d rather you didn’t. I’m not a fan of lengthy goodbyes.’

  The muscles in his arm bunched under the touch of her hand and he pulled it away as if she had wounded him. ‘Yes, well, I should know that by now. I should be feeling grateful I caught you before you left. Or did you leave me a note like last time?’

  Isla pressed her lips together, colour warming her cheeks. ‘I was going to text you once I was on board.’

  ‘Magnanimous of you.’

  Isla let out a heavy breath and closed her eyes in a slow blink. ‘Don’t do this, Rafe.’

  He gave another scornful laugh. ‘Don’t do what? My fiancée decides she’s calling off our relationship within days of our wedding and I’m not supposed to be angry or upset?’

  ‘I never wanted to be your fiancée in the first place,’ Isla said, summoning up some anger of her own. It was either anger or reveal her love and that she was not going to do. Not to be rejected like every other time she had opened her heart to someone who didn’t love her back. ‘You were the one who insisted on marriage. You can still be a father without being a husband. And, I can assure you, you’ll be a damn better father without me as your wife.’

  ‘Is this your final decision?’ The calm chill was back in his voice and his expression was as blank and cold as the marble pillar behind him.

  ‘There’s nothing you could say to change my mind, Rafe.’

  One dark eyebrow went up in an arc over his eye. ‘Nothing?’

  Isla held his cynical look. How could she trust it were true if he said those three little words now? ‘Nothing I would believe.’

  He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets, rocking back on his heels as if he was waiting for a particularly annoying houseguest to get their act together and leave. ‘I’ll make sure there is plenty of money in your account to help with expenses.’

  ‘You don’t have to do—’

  ‘Don’t tell me what I have to do, Isla.’ The chord of bitterness in his tone stung like a slap. ‘I will provide for my own flesh and blood.’ He removed his hands from his pockets and picked up her overnight bag. ‘You’d better get going. You don’t want to miss your flight.’

  Isla walked out to the cab with her heart feeling as heavy as a tombstone. It was as if every sadness she had ever experienced, every disappointment, every rejection had gathered in her chest. Weighing her down with the reminder of how dangerous it was to love someone and then lose them.

  She got in the cab and Rafe closed the door and stepped back, his hands going back into his trouser pockets, his spy face back on. ‘Safe travels.’

  Isla forced a polite on-off smile to her lips. ‘Thank you.’

  He turned and walked back into the villa and shut the door before the cab driver had even put the car in gear.

  * * *

  Rafe held his breath until he heard the cab drive off and then he swore. Loud and filthy and in three languages. There weren’t enough words in all the languages in the world for him to express how angry he was feeling. Every muscle in his body was coiling with it, his guts burning and churning. He was angry that Isla had once again caught him off-guard and dropped a bomb on him. The I’m leaving you bomb. The bomb that exploded in his chest and made it impossible for him to breathe. An invisible steel band was around his heart, tightening, tightening, tightening until he was starved of oxygen. He had never had a panic attack in his life but this sure felt like it. What was wrong with him? He’d experienced Isla leaving before and got through it. He would get through it again.

  He had to.

  Rafe shoved a hand through his hair so hard he was surprised his fingers didn’t come away dripping blood and hair roots. He wanted to punch the wall in frustration but he didn’t think his hand would appreciate the contact with solid Italian marble. He pulled in a ragged breath and fought to calm himself. Okay, so the wedding would have to be cancelled. No problem. He had enough staff to take care of that. There were some tasks best left to others and that was one of them. He wanted no reminders of his failure to keep Isla by his side. He had offered her the world and she had rejected him.

  Concetta appeared like a ghost, her face equally pale. ‘She’s gone?’

  Rafe planted his hands on his hips and glared at her. ‘I suppose you’re happy now. You never liked her, did you?’

  His housekeeper had the grace to look ashamed. ‘It’s true at first I didn’t, but I came to realise she loves you and that’s all that matters.’

  Rafe stared at her as if she had suddenly started speaking in tongues. ‘What?’

  ‘She loves you, signor. You would have to be blind not to see it.’

  ‘You’re mistaken,’ Rafe said. ‘If she loves me then why the hell did she just leave in a cab for the airport? Huh? Tell me that. Why?’

  ‘Did you tell her you love her?’

  Rafe let out a frustrated breath. ‘What is this female obsession with that word? I’m prepared to marry her, provide for her, and protect her and our baby. Why isn’t that enough?’

  Concetta folded her arms and shook her head, clearly disappointed in him. ‘Loving someone isn’t just about words, it’s about actions. Your actions speak louder than any words but she still needs to hear you say it.’

  His actions? What did his actions say other than he was prepared to take responsibility for the child he had helped conceive? He cared for Isla, wanted her, needed her like he needed his next breath...but love? That was a word he shied away from. It was a word that was used far too freely and easily. He had heard it throughout his childhood from his father, too many times to count. And yet, when forced to make a choice between his two families, his father’s ‘love’ for Rafe had not lasted the distance. It had vaporised like a ghost in a cheap horror movie.

  ‘You’ve still got time to catch her if you hurry.’ Concetta’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Rafe shut the idea down quick-smart. Gone were the days when he would beg someone to stay with him. ‘She’s made her choice. For once, I’m going to respect it.’

  * * *

  Isla landed in London and found a cheap hotel to stay in but her heart was still back in Sicily. There was an emptiness in her chest that nothing could fill. Even her baby seemed overly restless, as if wondering where its father had gone. The one good thing about her trip back was there didn’t seem to be any sign of her scandal following her. No paparazzi to hound her. No billboards or newsflash sheets outside shops documenting her shame. The newspapers here had other scandals to report but it was of small comfort.

  She sat on the bed in her small hotel room and checked her phone. No missed calls and no messages from Rafe. She sighed and tossed the phone to one side and lay down, too weary to take off her travel-worn clothes and get into bed. She was just drifting off to sleep when she he
ard her phone buzzing and she snatched it up. ‘Oh, hi, Layla...’

  ‘Gosh, that was enthusiastic. Has someone died?’ Layla said.

  ‘Almost.’ Isla sighed. ‘And it was my fault.’

  ‘Eek! What happened?’

  Isla filled her friend in on Rafe’s grandmother’s health scare. ‘So, you see, I had to leave because it will only happen again. I can’t make my past go away.’

  ‘No, but Rafe might be able to,’ Layla said. ‘It will cost him but if he loves you then what’s a few million pounds here or there?’

  ‘He doesn’t love me.’ Isla gave another sigh. ‘He feels responsible for me. He cares about me and the baby, but love... I don’t think so. If he did, why didn’t he ever tell me?’

  ‘You know what your problem is? I have the same problem so I should know,’ Layla said. ‘You haven’t experienced a loving and secure childhood so you don’t recognise love when it’s right smack bang in front of you. You don’t trust it even when you can see it. I reckon a man who spends squillions of pounds to protect you from humiliation is either completely nuts or madly in love.’

  Could it be true? Did Rafe love her? ‘But he never said he loved me,’ Isla said.

  ‘Did you tell him you loved him?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Hah! There’s your problem right there.’ She imagined Layla snapping her fingers for effect. ‘You’re both too proud to fess up to how you feel. Someone has to make the first move to be vulnerable.’

  ‘You sound like such an expert on relationships all of a sudden.’

  ‘Och aye, I’m an expert all right.’ Layla gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Not that I’ve had any romantic relationships or ever likely to.’

  Isla ended the call a short time later and got off the bed with her phone held against her chest. Should she call Rafe? She bit her lip and looked at the phone—she was a call away from adding even more pain to her life. Wasn’t it better to leave things as they were? She had said all she needed to say. They would never have resumed their relationship if it hadn’t been for the baby. She would just be another ex-lover he forgot about in time.

  But she would need all the time in the world to forget about him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  RAFE DIDN’T EVEN bother going to bed to try and sleep. For the first three nights he avoided the bedroom he had shared with Isla and sat brooding in an armchair, occasionally drifting off out of sheer exhaustion, only to wake up and find himself back where he’d started three months ago.

  But feeling worse.

  Much worse.

  It was like he had some sort of sickness. His muscles ached, his chest burned, his mouth was dry, his eyes bloodshot and sore. He’d stopped shaving two days ago because he couldn’t stand the sight of himself when he looked in the mirror. He looked like a dog that had been kicked to the kerb one too many times.

  He sat at his desk and put his head in his hands. As relationship hangovers went, this one was off the scale. Every bone in his skull was tightening against his brain like a clamp on a peach. He literally didn’t know how he was going to function without Isla. She added colour to the bland palette of his life. His villa felt like a prison, his housekeeper a mean prison guard who kept shaking her head and tut-tutting not quite under her breath.

  Rafe’s phone buzzed with an incoming call and he snatched it up off the desk with his heart racing. But his stomach fell in disappointment when he saw his father’s number come up on the screen. The last thing he needed right now was a call from his father. He turned the phone to silent and sought a perverse enjoyment watching it ring out. It was payback for all the times he’d wanted to speak to his father but his father had been ‘too busy’ to speak to him.

  Childish of him, perhaps, but like father, like son as the saying went.

  He pushed back his chair and walked over to the window, not one bit surprised to see it was raining. The gloomy weather suited his mood. It would be an insult to what he was suffering if the sun came out any time soon.

  The phone rang again and he swore and turned around and picked it up. His father again. He sighed and answered. ‘Father.’ He never called him Dad or Papà. Not since he was thirteen.

  ‘I heard about your broken engagement and I wanted to send my deepest sympathy,’ his father said. ‘You must be really hurting.’

  ‘Deepest sympathy’ was rather apt. It certainly felt like someone had died. ‘Thank you but I’m fine. Not hurting at all.’

  His father sighed. ‘I know I made you this way and I’m sorry.’

  Rafe frowned. ‘Made me what way? What are you talking about? Look, I don’t have time for this right now so—’

  ‘I deserve that and more from you, Rafe. But please hear me out. I have always regretted needing your stepmother’s money more than I needed your mother’s love. It ruined everyone’s life in the end. Yours, your mother’s, your stepmother’s and half-brothers’. And mine. I don’t want you to end up like me. Surrounded by money and possessions but with no one who truly loves you. They only love the lifestyle I provide. Your mother loved me for me, with all my faults. It was a gift I threw away and I’ve regretted it ever since.’

  ‘You’ve left it a bit late to air your regrets. Mamma has been dead for twenty years.’ Rafe didn’t strip back the bitterness in his tone; instead he laid it on thick.

  ‘I know and that is an even bigger regret.’ His father gave a ragged sigh. ‘I thought I was making the right decision at the time. I could only provide for you and your mother and my other family if I stayed in the marriage. If I got a divorce it would have ruined us all. You wouldn’t have had that private education in England for one. I would have had to sell your mother’s apartment. Your half-brothers wouldn’t have been able to achieve the things they’ve done without my financial backing. I weighed up the options and did what I thought was best under the circumstances. I never stopped loving you, Rafe. I felt ashamed of what I’d done to you and to your mother and it made me avoid you because I was too cowardly to face you. To see the derision and disgust you felt for me.’

  Rafe leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out like a bored teenager. ‘It’s a good speech since you’ve had twenty years to prepare it.’ He knew he was being ungracious but the hurt was so much a part of him now he didn’t know who he was without it.

  ‘Don’t make the same mistake by being too proud to accept when you’ve got it wrong,’ his father said. ‘Fight for love. Put everything on the line for it. Don’t let it slip out of your hands because of stubborn pride.’

  Rafe kicked a stack of paperwork beside his desk with his foot, watching it tumble to the floor. ‘Look, I appreciate you taking the time to call but—’

  ‘But you don’t love her? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Rafe rubbed at the back of his neck where his muscles were clenched like a boxing champion’s fists. What did he feel for Isla other than an ache deep in his chest because she wasn’t here? An emptiness inside that prevented him from walking into the bedroom, where he could still smell her perfume. Where he could still see her jewellery and clothes in the wardrobe next to his. He would either have to move house or face up to what he was feeling. What he had been doing his best to ignore from the moment he’d met her.

  He loved her.

  He loved her so much it had terrified him into denying it. She had challenged him from day one to move out of emotional lockdown into emotional freedom but he had fought it every step of the way. But he could no longer hide his feelings. He had to tell her and hope she felt the same way about him. If she didn’t, then he would have to deal with it, allow her the freedom to be the mother of his child without the pressure of being his wife. But he longed for her to be his wife. He longed for her to be by his side for the rest of his life.

  ‘I do love her, Papà,’ Rafe said. How strange that the first person he told w
as the last person he’d thought he would ever want to tell. ‘I love her and I have to go and find her before it’s too late. I’ll call you, okay? Maybe we could meet up some time?’

  ‘I would like that, Rafe.’ There was a catch in his father’s voice. ‘I would like that very much.’

  * * *

  Isla was packed and ready to catch the train to Edinburgh once she checked out of her hotel. She was tired of the bustling energy of London when all she wanted to do was hide under a duvet and cry. There were too many reminders of happy couples walking hand in hand down the street or sitting in crowded cafés holding hands across the table. Even the weather she took as a personal insult. How dare the sun shine when she was feeling so wretched and lonely? It might as well be grey and dismal and rainy for the rest of her life.

  Isla sighed and went to pick up her bag to make her way to the train station, but just then there was a knock on the door. She only had one overnight bag and her tote so hadn’t called for a porter. She stepped past her bag on the floor and opened the door and her heart leapt into her throat. ‘Rafe?’

  ‘May I come in?’

  She stepped aside and waved him in, not sure what to make of his expression. He looked like he hadn’t slept since she left. The area underneath his eyes was as dark as a bruise and there were lines bracketing his mouth as if he had lost weight. She closed the door and faced him. ‘How did you find me?’

  He glanced at the bag on the floor. ‘You’re leaving?’ His voice sounded hollow and his throat moved up and down as if something was caught in his gullet.

  ‘I’m going back to Edinburgh on the overnight train.’

  ‘Isla, don’t go back to Scotland. Come home with me. Please. I shouldn’t have let you leave without—’

  ‘Rafe, we’ve already had this conversation,’ Isla said, turning away with a sigh. ‘I’ve made up my mind and you have to accept it. I’m not the right wife for you. I will only bring misery and suffering into your life.’