The doctor glanced at her in concern. ‘Are you all right, señora?’
Freya did not bother to correct her. Señorita. Still single. ‘I’m just a little dizzy, that’s all,’ she whispered. She knew she must look deathly pale.
Rafe’s brows snapped together in concern, and to her surprise he brought out a packet of semi-mashed crackers from his pocket. ‘Perhaps you should eat something,’ he said gruffly, then added with a note of apology, ‘That’s all I have.’
Freya murmured her thanks, holding the crackers in one slick fist. She realised he must have brought them for her, and even in the midst of her emotional agony the thought comforted her.
‘So.’ The doctor reached for a clipboard and uncapped her pen. ‘We should start with your history. Is this your first pregnancy?’
Freya stared at her sickly as the question reverberated through the little room. Her fist clenched, crushing the crackers to crumbs. Why had she not thought of this? Of course the doctor would want her history. Of course she needed to know everything.
Of course Rafe would find out.
Had she actually thought she could keep her secrets? Only yesterday she had told him that her secrets had nothing to do with him, yet here they were, filling the room with their malevolent memories, taking all the air. She struggled for a breath, knowing she would never escape her past, or the consequences of her own rash actions.
‘Señora?’ the doctor prompted gently. ‘Would you like a drink of water?’
She flicked a glance at Rafe, who was glowering as he stood by the door, sensing something was wrong. Freya could only imagine how angry he would be. He would feel deceived…again. The injustice of it brought tears stinging to her eyes—because she had not anticipated this, had not wanted it to happen like this. Yet still she accepted the futile inevitability of the moment, of the truth.
The doctor cleared her throat. ‘Would you like to conduct this examination alone?’
Freya shook her head, knowing there was no point. She couldn’t keep the truth from Rafe the way Rosalia had. She would have to reveal her secrets after all. ‘No. It’s fine.’ She cleared her throat. ‘This isn’t my first pregnancy.’
She felt Rafe’s shock as if she were electrically wired to him—felt its painful current pulse through her own body even though he hid his reaction. He didn’t even move. In fact he went very, very still.
The doctor smiled encouragingly, her gaze firmly focused on Freya. ‘When were your previous pregnancies?’
‘There was only one,’ Freya said. She felt numb now, and she faced the doctor directly, refusing to look at Rafe. ‘Ten years ago.’
‘And it went full-term?’
‘No.’ She swallowed, took a breath. ‘I had a termination at eleven weeks.’
Rafe must have made some sound, although Freya wasn’t sure what it was. She didn’t look at him as he murmured his excuses and quietly left the room. She stared down at her lap.
‘I’m sorry,’ the doctor murmured. ‘Was your husband not aware of this?’
Freya shook her head. She didn’t have the strength to say that Rafe wasn’t her husband even though he soon would be. Unless, of course, he’d changed his mind. Bleakly she wondered if she’d just lost her chance at the slender thread of happiness her pregnancy had offered.
Rafe strode through the office corridor and burst through the waiting room doors. The sun was shining, the sky a hard, brilliant blue. People strolled by, enjoying the spring afternoon. Rafe turned down the street, walking quickly, his head down, emotions rolling through him. Shock. Anger. Disappointment. Hurt.
Freya had lied. Lied just like his mother, telling him she didn’t know why his father hated him so much. Like Rosalia, insisting she didn’t know why she couldn’t get pregnant. He’d known Freya had been hiding something—but this?
Why? Her lie was as senseless as Rosalia’s. Why tell him she was infertile when she’d fallen pregnant before? Why had his wife told him she would fall pregnant when she’d been on birth control the entire time? Why was he deceived again and again? What was wrong with him?
A coldly logical part of his mind told him that Freya had not lied the way Rosalia had. In fact she’d told the truth as soon as she’d been asked; there really hadn’t been a moment to volunteer such painful, personal information before. He did not know when she’d been told she was infertile; most likely it had been after the last pregnancy. He knew that. And yet he could not keep himself from feeling tricked. Betrayed.
Hurt.
He walked all the way to the Alcazar Gardens, behind Seville’s ancient Moorish palace. He strode past pavi
lions and fountains, oblivious to their beauty and history. Finally he sat on a stone bench and stared blindly in front of him. He realised, distantly, that he must have been gone for half an hour or more. Freya might be waiting for him, wondering where he was. Stranded. Still he didn’t move.
His body and mind ached with this new knowledge. He understood, at least in part, that this wasn’t even about Freya—not completely. Her admission had brought all his own painful memories to the fore. His mother’s deceit. His father’s rejection. His wife’s betrayal.
‘You should have taken care of it rather than live with the shame.’
His father’s hissed voice, in an argument with his mother, burst into his brain. He hadn’t even realised he’d remembered it. Only later had he understood what his father meant—that he’d been talking about Rafe. The unwanted child.