‘Let’s hope so.’
The two women looked at each other.
‘This is Dr Oveisi we are talking about here,’ said Gina. ‘He takes hope and turns it into reality.’
Gina’s faith was touching, even if it did sound a little like a line from a fertility clinic brochure.
Gazing at the array of medication spread out on the table in front of her forcefully brought home to Lottie what she had to go through—what she had agreed to do. But there was no going back now.
* * *
‘Yes, I promise I will tell you all about it when I get back. Yes... No... I’m fine. Honestly, Alex, there’s nothing for you to worry about. Now, you get back to your Pinot Grigio and let me get some sleep. It’s gone midnight here, I’ll have you know.’
Lottie ended the call and twisted round to put her phone down on the bedside table. She loved Alex, she really did, but she was becoming increasingly difficult to fob off—especially after a glass or two of wine fuelled her slightly slurred determination to find out, ‘Just what is going on over there, Lots?’
Lottie had lived the past few days in a bubble of unreality—the situation being so crazy that she could hardly come to terms with it herself, let alone try to explain it to someone as excitable as Alex.
She had arrived at Monterrato convinced that she would be signing divorce papers, severing all ties with Rafael, and yet now here she was, trying to get pregnant with his baby and wanting it more desperately than she dared admit even to herself.
Turning out the light, she curled up under the duvet. Her life back in England seemed very far away right now, even though she knew she was going to have to face up to it again at some point—especially the small matter of her job at the Ibrahim Gallery. Ibrahim himself had made it quite clear that he would not authorise any extended leave and that if she wasn’t back at her desk within the week there would be no desk for her to come back to. Bearing in mind that threat, she was now left wondering whether she actually had a job at all.
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.