The Secret Baby Scandal(62)

‘Good morning, Max.’

‘Rafe!’ Max exclaimed, clearly happy to see him. ‘Where’s Freya?’

‘Still sleeping, I imagine. But you’re going to stay with Damita today. She wants your help making mallorquinas. How would you like that?’

Freya barely heard Max’s excited reply; the dark chocolate cookies were his new favourite. All she could register was the fact that Rafe was already cutting her out of Max’s life, no doubt making arrangements for her departure. She closed her eyes, nausea that had nothing to do with her pregnancy rising in her throat. So quick. So terrible. Yet what else could she expect from El Tiburón?

She waited a moment to get her emotions and expression under control, and then opened the door, even managing a cool smile directed at Rafe. ‘Good morning.’

‘Freya!’ Max tackled her around the knees. ‘I’m making mallor—mallor—’

‘Mallorquinas,’ Rafe prompted with a chuckle.

He raised his head to look at Freya and she felt her face drain of colour at the grim determination in his hooded gaze.

‘We need to talk.’

She nodded numbly, not trusting herself to speak. They all went down to breakfast, yet Freya was barely conscious of Max’s happy chatter, and she ate next to nothing. All she could feel were the minutes and hours ticking away until Rafe told her to leave.

For surely that was what he intended to say. There could surely be no mistaking his moody silence, the occasional frowning glances he directed her way, or the unalterable and ominous fact that he’d arranged for Max to spend the day with Damita. He wanted her gone.

Bile rose in her throat and she pushed away from the table. ‘Excuse me.’ She barely made it to the bathroom before she retched helplessly, tears starting in her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely, longing for that distant composure she’d worn for so many years, now utterly beyond her. Too much had happened—too much had been lost—for her to attempt to hide behind a cool smile.

‘Freya?’ She heard Rafe from behind the bathroom door and quickly rinsed her mouth out, washed her face and hands.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured, pushing past him, but Rafe touched her shoulder, stilling her. The simple contact reverberated through her body with longing and loss.

‘I thought we’d go out,’ he said, and Freya nodded jerkily.#p#分页标题#e#

‘Fine.’

‘Freya—’ He stopped, and she just shook her head.

‘I’ll be ready in a few minutes.’

Fifteen minutes later they were driving along twisting roads towards Granada, the sun blazing down and touching the rocky hills in gold. Freya said nothing, her face turned towards the window, and Rafe seemed disinclined to talk as well.

He parked by the Plaza Nueva in Granada, turning to Freya for the first time since they’d got in the car. ‘We can walk to the Alhambra if you don’t mind a bit of an ascent.’

Freya shrugged. She hardly cared where they went; she wondered why Rafe was making such an effort. Perhaps he wanted to tell her in a public place, to make sure she wouldn’t make a scene? Didn’t he know her well enough by now? She never made scenes, even if her heart was breaking the way it had ten years ago. The way it was now.

They walked up a broad, ancient avenue, shaded from the sun by towering elms, with the gardens of the Alhambra spread out on terraced lawns before them. It was all stunningly beautiful, yet for Freya it might as well have been a prison cell. She felt as if the cell doors were slowly but surely closing with every step she took. It was simply a matter of how Rafe chose to imprison her: a loveless marriage, separation from Max or, worst of all, a fight for custody of her own child. Tears started again in her eyes and she turned her face away from Rafe.

‘These gardens are very peaceful,’ he murmured as they left the avenue to stroll along the terraces.

Freya let out a choked laugh. Nothing felt peaceful about this moment; he was about to take her life apart.

‘Freya?’ he said, and she turned to him.

‘Let’s not postpone this, Rafe,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Just say what you came to say.’ She kept her head down, afraid he’d see the tears glittering in her eyes.

Rafe didn’t speak for a long moment, and when Freya risked a glance upwards she saw him gazing at her in sorrowful bemusement. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘what I came to say is not what you are expecting me to say.’

‘What does it matter?’ she asked rawly. ‘It can’t be good.’

‘No?’ Rafe still sounded bemused, and although she wasn’t looking at him she felt his fingers, cool and strong, touch her chin and turn her face up to his. ‘I suppose I should let you be the judge of whether it is good,’ he said. ‘I came here to tell you I love you.’