The Last Heir of Monterrato

Meanwhile her time at the palazzo had settled into a bizarre pattern. Business took Rafael away a lot, and even when he was there Lottie saw very little of him. If he wasn’t buried in his office he was chairing meetings in the boardroom, or out and about somewhere in the principality, dealing with the many and complex issues that being the Conte di Monterrato involved.

When their paths did cross he would politely enquire after her well-being. It felt genuine enough, even if he was just checking up on her—checking that she was following Dr Oveisi’s instructions to the letter. But something about the way he’d glance at his wristwatch or feel in his pocket for his phone made it quite clear that he had no intention of prolonging their conversations.

It felt almost as if Lottie was just another of the many projects he was dealing with, but even though it still hurt his cool disregard didn’t fool her for one moment. She knew this was typical Rafael Revaldi behaviour. That the more something meant to him the less he would let it show.

It was the nights that were the worst—especially when she knew Rafael was around. The thought of him so close, asleep in his bed just the other side of those dividing doors but so far removed from her emotionally, filled her with a yearning sadness. She realised that she had never felt more alone.

Now, as she lay very still, she could hear sounds from next door. Straining her ears, she listened to the creak of Rafael’s footsteps on the wooden flooring, the faint hum of the shower. With her imagination intent on torturing her she pictured the low-slung towel around his hips, the damp-slicked hair on his chest and forearms, his biceps bunching as he roughly dried his hair...

Hearing the creak of the bed, she knew that the towel had now been dropped to the floor and he was sliding, muscular and naked, between the cool linen sheets...

* * *

Finally the day of the embryo transfer arrived. It had been arranged that Lottie would drive herself to the clinic and Rafael, who had been in Paris for the past few days, would meet her there.

It was about a two-hour journey, but Lottie knew the way well enough. It was the same clinic where she had undergone the treatments before—where their last remaining precious embryo was stored. But somehow this time, with Dr Oveisi in charge, everything felt different.

As the countryside flew by Lottie settled into the journey. She loved driving this car—one of the fleet of vehicles that Rafael owned. It was a sleek black beast that ate up the miles with silent ease. And it was a relief to finally get away from the palazzo—away from the inquisitive eyes of the staff.

She knew they had to be curious about what was going on between the Conte and his bolter of a wife. She would have been, in their shoes. If it was a reconciliation it was a most peculiar one. Half the time Rafael wasn’t around, and the other half he kept her at a distance so respectful it bordered on frigid. Hardly the behaviour of a reunited pair of lovebirds.

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.