The Secret Baby Scandal

Freya didn’t know how long she sat there, her knees curled up to her chest, her chin resting on top. She let the sounds of wind and water fill her mind, empty it out. Then she heard another sound—the crunch of feet on gravel—and turned to see Rafe standing in the entrance to the garden, no more than a shadow in the darkness.

Neither of them spoke. The silence felt heavy, weighted with expectation. Freya turned her head away from Rafe.

‘I wondered where you’d gone,’ he finally said.

‘I just wanted some air.’ Her whole body tensed for the hammer blow.

I’ve decided not to marry you after all. I’ll take custody of our child. You’ll never see Max again.

Rafe didn’t speak, and Freya was wondering if he’d actually turned around and left when she felt him sit next to her on the bench. Awareness and shock rippled through her; he was close enough that his hip nudged her own. She kept her face averted, afraid of what he might see there.

The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and in its silver wash Freya knew her face was illuminated.

Her breath came out in a rush of surprise when Rafe’s thumb touched her cheek.

‘You’re crying.’

‘Am I?’ Humiliation flowed through her. She hadn’t even known she had tears streaking down her face. She dashed at her cheeks with her palms, still trying to keep her face turned away from Rafe.

‘Freya…’ He spoke softly, his tone quiet, serious, perhaps even sad.

Freya tensed. She didn’t think she wanted to hear what he had to say.

In the end he didn’t say anything at all. His hands stole around her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms. It took Freya a stunned moment to realise what was happening: he was hugging her.

Her body resisted, tensing, trying to pull away, but her mind and heart needed this contact, this comfort, too much. She could hardly believe it was coming from Rafe.

After a second when neither of them moved Freya relaxed into Rafe’s embrace, her head against his shoulder, her cheek on his chest, and as Rafe stroked her hair the tears she’d been trying to suppress for ten endless years finally came in a hot, healing rush.

CHAPTER TEN

ONCE the tears came, it felt impossible to stop them. Freya’s shoulders shook and her breath came in hiccuppy gasps as Rafe stroked her hair. Distantly she realised he was murmuring endearments: cariña, querida, mi corazón. My heart.

She’d expected condemnation, not comfort. Rejection instead of acceptance. And yet he still didn’t know the whole truth.

And when he did…

She pulled away, wiping her cheeks, trying desperately to pass off this moment as a temporary weakness rather than a life-shattering event. ‘I’m sorry,’ she finally managed in a wobbly voice. ‘You probably weren’t expecting that.’

‘I’ve come to realise I don’t know what to expect,’ Rafe said.

He didn’t sound condemning, yet she still heard a thread of steel in his voice. He wanted answers.

‘Freya?’ he said, and waited.

She looked away, knowing she had to tell him. She wanted to tell him. She was so tired of secrets; she’d kept them for so long, and they were such a heavy burden to bear alone. Yet her throat was so tight and aching she could barely force the words out.

‘I went to Spain for my gap year,’ she began hesitantly. She kept her face averted. ‘I was so excited. I’d done an A-Level in Spanish and I really wanted to become fluent. And see Spain, of course. I thought it was going to be such a grand adventure.’

She paused, biting her lip, and Rafe waited. ‘I lived with a young couple—Anita and Timeo.’ It hurt to say their names even now. ‘They were so glamorous and fun. It was a whole new world for me. My parents had me later in life, and they’ve always been very formal. Traditional. Wonderful, but not fun like that.’ She stopped, not wanting to go on.

‘And?’ Rafe prompted quietly, when the silence had stretched to several minutes.

‘I was stupid,’ Freya said in a low voice. ‘Really, really stupid—and selfish and naive, too, I suppose.’ She shook her head. ‘Anita was a doctor, and she worked all sorts of late hours. Timeo was a freelance photographer, and he was often home during the day. He was—he seemed very kind.’ She felt Rafe tense, knew he’d started to suspect where this was going. ‘I let my head be turned,’ Freya said, her voice thick with bitterness and self-loathing. ‘And—and more than that. The worst.’

Rafe remained very still, yet Freya felt as if he’d moved away from her. Withdrawn now that he was learning the truth. And why shouldn’t he?

‘I was old enough to know better. I know I was. But I listened to all the things Timeo said—that I was beautiful, that he wasn’t happy with Anita…’ She shook her head, felt the hot sting of tears under her lids once again. ‘I bought into it all.’ She stopped, not wanting to go on.