The Last Heir of Monterrato

‘I’m still waiting, Lottie.’

‘And I am going to bed.’

She went to move, but Rafael leant forward to grasp her wrist.

‘Oh, no, you’re not. Not until we have had this out. I am waiting for you to explain to me what the hell went wrong with our marriage.’

‘Do I really need to explain?’ Shaking her wrist free, Lottie hid behind her defiant glare.

‘Yes, actually, you do. Because obviously I am lacking the power to be able to work it out for myself.’

‘Fine.’ If attack was the best form of defence she would face him, head-on. ‘You were working all the time, and when you weren’t you were off somewhere, doing some crazy activity by yourself, for yourself. After we lost Seraphina we never took the time to heal. Instead my life became a miserable round of IVF treatments and invasive procedures in your quest for a precious heir, and when they didn’t work you just became more distant and more cold. You never paid me any attention and you never wanted to talk to me. I was lost and lonely and miserable.’

Swallowing down the racking sob that was building up inside her, she covered her face with her hands and felt it shudder through her body.

There was silence.

Through her parting fingers she saw Rafael’s face, so twisted with disgust that she had to look away.

She sniff-sobbed loudly. ‘Well, you did ask.’

‘Indeed I did.’ His voice was laced with ice. ‘And you have certainly delivered. Have you finished now? Or is there more you would like to get off your chest?’

‘Yes. Actually, there is.’ His coldness and sarcasm only served to push the floodgates open further. She wanted to hurt him now, the way he was hurting her. ‘Our sex-life.’

Rafael’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Go on.’

‘Well...’ Lottie gulped down another sniff. ‘How can you pretend you thought everything was fine with our marriage when you hadn’t even been near me for months?’ She paused, aware that she was ripping open her chest to expose her heart, but unable to stop now. ‘When you realised the IVF wasn’t going to work, when you realised I would never give you your precious heir, we didn’t even share the same bed any more. You never wanted to make love to me—in fact you never wanted to touch me at all. How do you think that made me feel?’

Rafael looked as if he had been punched in the stomach, but Lottie felt no sense of triumph. The intense passion they had shared at the start of their relationship had been so completely overwhelming that Lottie could never have imagined Rafael turning away from her the way he had after Seraphina died. It had tortured her then and it still tortured her now. Especially as she knew, staring at him across the desk now, that those feelings for him were as strong as ever. That her body yearned for him to make love to her again.

Swearing under his breath in Italian, Rafael raked a hand through his hair, what little patience he’d had obviously exhausted. ‘You are unbelievable—you know that, Lottie? You have the audacity to come out with this nonsense, pretend that somehow I am at fault for the failure of our marriage, when we both know full well the real reason.’

They stared at one another. Lottie both waiting and dreading to hear what he was going to say next.

‘The real reason is because you just didn’t care enough. In fact, I don’t think you ever cared at all.’

* * *

Lottie shut the door of the villa and walked out on to the terrace. It was a beautiful night, still, star-lit and crisp, but she didn’t feel the chill against her skin. Her body was still burning from the heat of their clash, hurt and anguish pumping violently through her veins as she went over and over the things they had said. The ocean of misunderstanding and mistakes and mixed-up longing that lay between them.

Staring out unseeing at the lake, she could feel the anxiety churning around inside her. The consequences of what they had done, the way this could change their lives for ever, were still being ignored by both of them. They had done nothing to sort out their problems, try and find a way through the shared agony of their past, put it right for the future. Instead they avoided the subject or, worse, let it explode between them, just as it had back then, showering them with bitterness and confusion.

What sort of basis was that for bringing a child into the world?

* * *

‘There you are.’

Rafael was jangling his car keys in his hand when Lottie finally came downstairs. He wore casual jeans and a white tee shirt with a beautifully cut grey linen jacket over the top, a grey cashmere scarf draped around his neck. That unmistakable Italian style he epitomised so well.

‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’