But, scraping back his chair, Rafael was up on his feet before she had reached him, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dark, forbidding. Everything about the granite set of his jaw, the tight line of his mouth, was telling her to back away, now.
‘You need to go now. I have calls to make.’
‘Why do you do this, Rafe?’ Her voice was choked but she wasn’t going to give up. She stood her ground, barring his way, her blue gaze fixed firmly on his face. ‘Why do you push me away, lock me out, every time Seraphina is mentioned?’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘Yes, you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You are doing it right now—look at yourself!’ She stood back, theatrically gesturing to him. ‘You are virtually ordering me out of the room.’
‘I really don’t have time for this, Lottie.’
‘That’s just it, isn’t it? You never have time when it comes to talking about Seraphina, about how her death affected us. How are we ever supposed to move on when you flatly refuse to discuss it?’
‘There is nothing to discuss. It happened. That is a fact. And no amount of talking is going to change that.’
‘And not talking about it doesn’t make it go away.’ She watched as his eyes darkened to black. ‘Why don’t you try, Rafe? Try to open up? It’s got to be better than this...’ she stumbled over the words ‘...this frozen chasm of silence.’ Lowering her voice, she fought to control the burn of tears in her throat. ‘Why can’t you share your feelings with me?’
Taking several paces towards the window, Rafael stopped and turned on his heel to stare at her again, his face a mask of agony. ‘Trust me—you wouldn’t want to share my feelings.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I mean that you really wouldn’t want to be in my head where Seraphina is concerned.’
‘How can you say that?’ Lottie was aghast. ‘Please Rafe, I’m begging you, just speak honestly with me. Stop shutting me out.’
‘Right.’ Marching back to the desk, he slammed down the palm of his hand, flashing Lottie a murderous look. ‘You have asked, Lottie. You say you want to know my feelings—so here they are.’ Sucking in a heavy breath, he jerked back his head, his fists balled by his sides. ‘I feel her loss every single day of my life. I feel anger and sadness and bitterness and frustration. But most of all I feel guilt. A deep, abiding guilt that will be with me till the day I die.’
They faced one another in terrible silence.
‘There—is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?’
Lottie felt for the edge of the desk to steady herself against a wave of dizziness. ‘But it was a tragic accident—you must accept that.’ Her voice shook. ‘No one was to blame.’
Raising his hand, Rafael silenced her. ‘How could I possibly accept that when I was the one who brought the wretched horse to the palazzo in the first place? Who was supposed to be responsible for controlling him? I am the one who took you to the wrong damned hospital—who wasn’t able to get Seraphina transferred quickly enough.’ The pain of his words contorted his beautiful face. ‘Need I go on?’
‘Stop it, Rafe, you are being ridiculous. It wasn’t your fault. It was nobody’s fault. No one could have foreseen what would happen.’ She reached out to touch him, desperately wanting to be able to ease his misery, but Rafael turned away and her arm was left lowering in mid-air.
‘I am to blame, Lottie. I am responsible for Seraphina’s death. And nothing you can say will change that.’
* * *
The grand ballroom glittered for the occasion, its enormous chandeliers twinkling above the heads of the noisily chattering guests seated around the dozens of tables. Waiters moved expertly between them, pouring the finest Monterrato wines into crystal glasses, serving course after course of delicious food. In the background huge floral arrangements lined the walls and a pianist played soft classical music. And seated side by side at the top table were the host and hostess.
Lottie thought the evening was never going to end. She was struggling, really struggling to keep up the façade, when the whole time all she could think about was her earlier conversation with Rafael. His words were going round her head in a continuous loop, muffling the polite questions of the guests on their table, tripping up her hurried answers.
She had been totally amazed by Rafael’s bitter confession that he felt responsible for Seraphina’s death, was consumed with guilt for what had happened. Why had she never realised this before? But then why would she have done? He had always flatly refused to discuss anything to do with Seraphina. And, judging by the way he had sharply dismissed her from his office, he deeply regretted having discussed it now.