Carrying His Scandalous Heir

As if he would not let her go.

As if he would never let her go...

As if she were his and he was hers for ever now...

For ever...

Eyelids fluttering, she felt the great lassitude of her body sweep over her, and sleep took her.

* * *

She awoke alone. In the bathroom she could hear the shower running. For a few moments she lay, languorous, her mind in a dream state. Wonder still suffused her—like an underground spring filling the receptive earth. Happiness—rich, and full and glorious—ran in her veins like cream. She had never been happier in her life.

Because of Cesare—oh, Cesare, Cesare, Cesare! The world was new-made, new-found. Illumined by love, by joy, by glory.

The shower was cut off. A moment later Cesare was walking into the bedroom, a towel snaked around his hips. He walked quietly, as if not wanting to disturb her. She went on lying there, immobile, watching him through shuttered eyes only just affording vision.

She watched him dress swiftly, surely, fastening his cuffs, knotting his tie—all the tiny, familiar minutiae of the morning. She felt a vague disappointment, for clearly he had an appointment to get to. But then, she had to attend an editorial meeting that morning anyway, and a lunch afterwards, so she did not mind him leaving her like this. There would be tonight—and the night after, and all the nights thereafter. The future was stretching ahead of them. She was sure of it, certain of it.

How could it be otherwise now?

Now that I know I love him.

For now, with love pouring through her, she knew, above all, that she could dare to hope.

Whatever it is he feels for me he does feel for me! I am more to him than I was! I know it—oh, I know it, I know it!

Give him time—just give him time. Make no demands, be as cautious and as careful as ever. But with time—oh, with time he will come to feel more for me. Whatever might happen...

There were no certainties about him, but there were possibilities. Oh, that much she must have faith in. She must and she could—and she did.

Her mother’s warnings seemed a thousand miles away—as did her own warnings, issued to herself all her life, all these months with Cesare.

I can believe in my happy ending—I dare to believe in it! I dare to hope! To have faith in my heart...in his...

Her love could make it happen—she needed only hope and faith. And both were streaming through her as her eyes drank him in, her heart overflowing with wonder and gratitude. With joy.

He crossed to the bed, sat down on it, his hand reaching for her shoulder as if to wake her. She opened her eyes—opened them and smiled, lifting her hand to catch his. For a second he let her, then her lowered her hand to the sheet, taking his own away. His face was expressionless.

Out of nowhere, like a knife sliding into her guts, fear gouged inside her.

‘Carla, there is no easy way to say this...’

His voice was deep, with a tension in it that cut like a wire through flesh. His mouth was compressed, and she could only stare at him, motionless and frozen, while inside the fear widened into a chasm, swallowing her.

He took a breath, got to his feet. Stood tall and powerful, looking down at her. Remote and distant.

‘This is the last time I can see you,’ he said. ‘In a few days I shall be announcing my engagement.’

He looked down at her. His eyes had no expression in them at all.

‘I didn’t want you hearing it from anyone else. Roman gossip is vicious.’ He paused again, his mouth tightening yet more. ‘I want you to know...’

And now, for the first time, there was something in his eyes—something that only plunged that knife into her yet deeper, with a serrated, twisting blade, eviscerating her.

‘I want you to know how good these last six months have been. How...very good.’

He turned away. Reached her bedroom door.