‘And Rafe? Will he come too?’
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. ‘I think Rafe might be busy this afternoon, cariño.’
Max’s face fell for a moment, but then he shrugged and tugged on her hand. ‘Oh, well. He’ll come later. He always does.’
They spent most of the afternoon outside, and just as always Rafe appeared towards the end of the day. He wore swimming trunks, and Freya’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of his bare chest, at the broad golden expanse of his back tapering down to trim hips. He didn’t even look her way as he swam towards Max and began to play with him, tossing him up in the air much to the little boy’s delight.
Freya sat on the edge of the pool, her arms crossed in front of her breasts, trying to look relaxed and unconcerned, as if Rafe’s nearness didn’t cause an ache of longing to go through her. As if she wasn’t waiting for her world to implode when Rafe turned to her and said there would be no marriage. No family. He would retain custody of their child.
She feared the worst; of course she did. The worst had happened before.
She closed her eyes, swamped with sorrow. She’d kept herself apart for so long, buried herself in mathematics and the cool logic of numbers as a way to distance herself from any kind of relationship at all…until she’d seen that advert for a nanny for Max and hadn’t been able to resist the thought of finally caring for someone. For a child. Yet look where it had got her. Once again she’d succumbed to temptation. Once again she’d fallen into that old trap.
She would never find happiness or love—not with guilt eating away her insides, sorrow heavy inside her like a stone. ‘Freya?’
Her eyes flew open. Rafe stood in front of her, Max clinging to him like a monkey.
‘You look pale. Perhaps you should get out of the pool. I’ll get Max ready for dinner.’
He kept his voice neutral, but his eyes were dark…with coldness or with concern Freya couldn’t tell. She did not want to know.
She nodded, too weakened by her own misery even to attempt to pretend to pull herself together.
Back in her room she fell into a restless doze, waking to find the hour late. Dinner had passed and Max was most likely asleep. Freya slipped out to the garden, wandering the stone paths that wound through orange and olive trees, clumps of broom and prickly pear, softened by the climbing honeysuckle, its sweet scent drifting on the night breeze.#p#分页标题#e#
She ended up in an enclosed garden, with a magnificent mosaic-tiled fountain its centerpiece. The burbling sound of the water was soothing in the silence of the night.
Freya didn’t know how long she sat there, her knees curled up to her chest, her chin resting on top. She let the sounds of wind and water fill her mind, empty it out. Then she heard another sound—the crunch of feet on gravel—and turned to see Rafe standing in the entrance to the garden, no more than a shadow in the darkness.
Neither of them spoke. The silence felt heavy, weighted with expectation. Freya turned her head away from Rafe.
‘I wondered where you’d gone,’ he finally said.
‘I just wanted some air.’ Her whole body tensed for the hammer blow.
I’ve decided not to marry you after all. I’ll take custody of our child. You’ll never see Max again.
Rafe didn’t speak, and Freya was wondering if he’d actually turned around and left when she felt him sit next to her on the bench. Awareness and shock rippled through her; he was close enough that his hip nudged her own. She kept her face averted, afraid of what he might see there.
The moon emerged from behind a cloud, and in its silver wash Freya knew her face was illuminated. Her breath came out in a rush of surprise when Rafe’s thumb touched her cheek.
‘You’re crying.’
‘Am I?’ Humiliation flowed through her. She hadn’t even known she had tears streaking down her face. She dashed at her cheeks with her palms, still trying to keep her face turned away from Rafe.
‘Freya…’ He spoke softly, his tone quiet, serious, perhaps even sad.
Freya tensed. She didn’t think she wanted to hear what he had to say.
In the end he didn’t say anything at all. His hands stole around her shoulders and he pulled her into his arms. It took Freya a stunned moment to realise what was happening: he was hugging her.
Her body resisted, tensing, trying to pull away, but her mind and heart needed this contact, this comfort, too much. She could hardly believe it was coming from Rafe.
After a second when neither of them moved Freya relaxed into Rafe’s embrace, her head against his shoulder, her cheek on his chest, and as Rafe stroked her hair the tears she’d been trying to suppress for ten endless years finally came in a hot, healing rush.