The Future King's Bride (The Royal House of Cacciatore 3)

He whispered his lips across her hair, lazily touching her breast. ‘I wonder if you’re pregnant now,’ he mused, and his voice deepened with longing. ‘I wonder if what we have just done is the beginning of it all?’

In a way, this was nothing more than a variation on what he had said to her on their honeymoon, but the words no longer scared her. The way he said them had profoundly changed. It no longer sounded like an arrogant exercise in acquisition, but a heartfelt longing to have a child together. And his attitude had changed her attitude—of course it had.

But how did she go about telling him that she had come round to his way of thinking? That she had just needed time and space to come to terms with her new life?

‘Hmm?’ he whispered sleepily. Was it wrong to let a woman closer than he had ever done in the past? When his defences were down—did that make a man weak? ‘What do you think, cara mia?’

‘I wish I was pregnant,’ she whispered back, and that was the truth. But the pain of what she had done—or failed to do—tore at her—tore at her like a ragged knife.

He no longer mentioned consulting a doctor, and she sensed that the urgency had left him. Maybe that was a direct result of their growing closeness. But what was she going to do about it?

Leaving Gianferro dozing, Millie rose to her feet and walked through the sumptuous rooms to the bathroom, but she didn’t bother putting the main light on.

There were mirrors everywhere, and the light was surreal and silvered. Her dim reflection looked troubled. And she was troubled.

If she told him that she wanted to get pregna

nt now, that would mean telling him about the Pill…

The Millie of now was a different person from the innocent bride who had been daunted by her new position. It was so easy to recognise that she should have discussed contraception with her husband—but back then they had not been in a place to discuss anything. Gianferro had been so dogmatic and dominant and all-powerful, and she had had to fight for her part in his world.

Now she had made her own space there—true, it wasn’t a very big one, but at least she had a foothold, and surely it could only get better.

She unzipped her make-up bag and looked down at the foil strip with some of the little circles punched out, which lay underneath a clutch of lipsticks. She knew that she ought to tell him. But something stopped her—and it was not just the fact that she now felt ashamed of what she had done. Wouldn’t Gianferro feel a tremendous sense of hurt that she had excluded him from such a big decision—and wouldn’t that have a detrimental effect on their growing relationship?

If only she had had the courage at the time—to stand up for what she believed in. But she had been barely twenty—thrown into a strange new world and struggling to find her own feet.

She stared at herself in the mirror, aware that her face looked older and more serious. As far as she could see she had two choices. Either she went in there and told him everything, or she simply stopped taking it. Gianferro would never know and would never need to feel hurt that she hadn’t told him—and she might become pregnant straight away.

But something about doing that troubled her. Her deepening relationship with her husband would be much healthier if she was upfront and honest. If she told him and he was furious with her—well, he would be furious, and she would deserve it, but he would get over it.

The sense of knowing that this was somehow the right thing was enough to make her act decisively, and her fingers curled round the packet of Pills.

A movement distracted her, and she glanced up into the mirror, her heart leaping with something very close to fear when she saw Gianferro reflected there. He was standing in the doorway, as still and as watchful as a dark and brooding statue.

Now her heart began to race. ‘Gianferro!’ she cried. ‘You startled me!’

‘So I see.’ He reached up and snapped on the light-switch. The room was flooded with bright fluorescent light, like a stage-set. ‘What are you doing, Millie?’

But his voice didn’t sound like his voice, and his question was spoken like an actor saying a line. Asking it because he knew it must be said, but knowing the answer because he had already read the script.

‘I was just…just getting something out of my make-up bag.’

‘And what something is that?’

With a cold feeling of dread Millie realised that he knew. Her mouth felt so dry that it felt as if it was cracking inside. ‘My P-pills,’ she stumbled. She looked into his eyes and almost recoiled from the stony look she saw there. ‘You saw?’

‘Of course I saw,’ he said icily.

‘I know what it must look like,’ she said quickly, ‘but I was going to stop taking them. Tonight. I was just going to bring them into the sitting room to show you before I threw them away!’

‘What an extraordinary coincidence!’ he drawled sarcastically.

‘I know what it must sound like, but it’s true.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said coldly.

She saw the light go out in his eyes, and something inside her began to scream with pain. And panic. ‘It is. Honestly—’