Picking up the note for one last look, Lottie screwed it into a ball and dropped it into the bin before heading upstairs with her tea.
* * *
The next day arrived, clear and blue. Day fourteen. The day that would alter the whole course of her life. Without Rafael around Lottie had slept surprisingly well and now, up and dressed, she was already on her third cup of decaffeinated coffee.
She had had a good look at her body in the shower that morning, sure that if she really was pregnant it would have to show somewhere. She knew that sore boobs were one of the first signs, so she had paid particular attention to soaping them under the pummelling of the water, desperately trying to convince herself that they were more tender than usual. By the time she had finished they had felt a little different—but then so would any part of her body that had been mercilessly scrubbed for five minutes. The fact was there were no signs; she had absolutely no idea if she was pregnant or not.
Now she fiddled with the mobile phone in her hand. There had been no messages from Rafael. But why would there be—even if she had been obsessively checking for the past hour? No doubt he had enjoyed his night of freedom as much as her. Why would he spoil the relief of not being around her by bothering to text her?
Not for the first time she found herself imagining what he had done last night, her tortured mind immediately flinging him into the arms of some exotically beautiful woman who would be only too happy to soothe his scarred brow, give him a night of pleasure to take his mind off his troubles. She forced herself to stop right there. This day was going to be momentous enough without chucking in any unnecessary masochism.
She realised that she had no idea what time Rafael would be back, and she certainly wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of asking. Absently feeling the weight of her phone, she considered what to do. He might well be on his way now, but she was damned if she was going to be sitting here waiting for him. No. Her decision was made— she was going to go out and buy a pregnancy testing kit.
The very thought of it made her shiver, every nerve-ending zinging with excitement and anticipation and fear. With a shaky hand she started to look up the number of a local taxi firm to take her into the nearest town. But then she stopped. She had a better idea.
* * *
The villa was deserted when Rafael arrived back later that day. He could sense the silence as soon as he strode in, even before he had checked the downstairs rooms and started pounding up the stairs, two at a time. Pushing open the first door, he could smell the oil paint and turpentine as he gazed about him, taking in the large canvas that was on an easel in the middle of the room, the vibrant colours of an evening sunset vividly portrayed by Lottie’s unmistakable sweeping brushstrokes.
But no Lottie.
Turning, he felt his heart-rate increase as a terrible thought took hold. He marched across the landing to her bedroom, his eyes raking over the untidy room, searching for clues. Going over to her wardrobe, he flung open the doors; there were her clothes, swinging gently on their hangers, a small pile of shoes scattered beneath.
Breathing heavily, he went and sat down on the edge of her bed, relief pulsing through his veins. Grazie a Dio. She was still here, then. He glanced down at her bedside table. There was the book she was reading, opened face-down, its spine cracking, along with a jumble of bracelets, some make-up, a lipstick. Picking up the latter, Rafael felt it between his fingers, removing the top and twisting it to reveal the raspberry-red colour. She had been wearing this the night they had gone out for that meal. The same night they had ended up having passionate sex on a wet gym mat.
He ran his hand over his eyes at the memory of the appalling way he had behaved. But as he looked around at the unmade bed, the rumpled sheets, the indentation on the pillow where her head had been, he knew that Lottie was like a forbidden substance to him. She got to him in a way that no other woman ever could. He didn’t know why, and much as he had tried to figure it out, tried to deny it to himself, he now realised it was just an irrefutable, indisputable fact.