She would never stop loving him, Carrie accepted as the library doors closed behind them, because she loved Nico for what he could be, and not for what he was.
Their order for coffee was taken immediately. That was how Nico’s life was run, Carrie reflected. His every whim was accommodated, even anticipated, and as far as he was concerned she was just another member of his staff to provide services as and when required.
While they waited he stood with his back to her, showing his disapproval of her change in manner from eagerly compliant to unpredictable. She remained perched on the edge of a leather chesterfield and didn’t move until the maid returned with a tray. At that point Nico turned to say he didn’t wish for them to be disturbed, and that he would ring for the tray to be removed when he was ready.
Carrie didn’t wait to be asked, she poured coffee, and then offered one to Nico, which he refused.
‘I think we both know we’re not here for coffee.’ He was prepared to be reasonable, if only to inhale the special scent she wore. He liked it. It soothed him. It was light and delicate like the wildflower he often thought her…the wildflower that could turn into a thistle, he reminded himself impatiently.
He gave her more than enough time to say what she had to say, and he made sure to listen intently to every word. He even maintained his impassive expression when she repeated the lie, uttering the words he had been longing to hear all his adult life. She was pregnant, and, she wanted him to believe, by him.
He closed his heart to her, comforted by the knowledge that the test he was about to take would prove her a liar. Knowing it to be pointless, he had never taken a fertility test before, but he had booked one now. As a member of the ruling family he was assured absolute discretion and priority treatment.
What was wrong with Nico? Carrie wondered as his stare hardened even more. His manner had encouraged her to choose this moment to speak to him, but now she felt she had misjudged it. It was almost as if he knew something she didn’t, and that it was something to her disadvantage. “The truth that makes men free is for the most part the truth which men prefer not to hear…” The quotation sang in her head, prompting her to say again, ‘Whatever you choose to believe, I am pregnant, and you are the father of my child.’
The doctors had been quite specific when they had told him he had been lucky to survive the childhood illness that had struck him down as a youth. The fact that he would never have children was a small price to pay for his life, they had assured him. He expected nothing from the fertility test, but as Carrie held his gaze a kernel of uncertainty crept into his thinking. To even accept the possibility he could father a child would require one of two things: a sizeable change of mind-set, or a scientific test. He’d go with science.
The knowledge that he couldn’t father children had for ever been a deep-seated grief that had always prompted Nico to risk more, to fly higher, race harder, jump farther. And when his father had been killed he had seen how life could end in a moment, which had been all he had needed to keep on challenging fate in the belief that he had nothing to lose.
Until now…
If there was the smallest chance Carrie was carrying his child she must stay with him. Medical reversals were not unknown, and this was one risk he was not prepared to take.
‘I’ll leave you to think it over,’ she said, reclaiming his attention.
He bridled as she opened the door. Was the conversation over? He didn’t recall drawing it to a conclusion. She was defying him again, perhaps to see how far she could go, but she had picked the wrong man to try these tactics on. ‘Sleep well,’ he said, knowing she would toss and turn without the comfort they always brought each other.
He fully expected her to turn, to stop at the door, to relent and run back into his arms as she always did.
‘You, too, Nico…’ Opening it quietly, she slipped through it like a mouse.
He didn’t read the report they handed him in the hospital. Instead, he tucked it inside the pocket of his trousers, and didn’t look at it again until he was miles out of town.
He had a stallion to prepare for the annual Palio race, and the horse had been only too pleased to allow him to work off his frustration. Reining in at last, he dismounted and slipped the reins over its head, allowing it to graze on the thin brown grass, which was the only nourishment to be found on the lower slopes of the mountain.
‘You’ll drink later, when you’ve cooled down,’ he promised as the stallion whinnied and nudged his arm.
The horse had scented the icy water that ran in torrents from the peaks, but he couldn’t allow it to drink yet, not while it was still sweating. Bringing his face close to the velvet muzzle, he shared a breath with the beast he was sure would win the Palio. ‘Not yet, Fuoco, I’ll tell you when it’s safe to drink, just as I’ll keep you safe in the race.’