Royal Baby: Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child / Cavelli's Lost Heir / Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress. Sabrina PhilipsЧитать онлайн книгу.
a man who wanted to marry her because he loved her and not for the baby she carried, a husband of her own choosing …
Sienna turned her head away and concentrated instead on the click and whirr of the machinery and the feel of the press of the device as it traced a path across her belly, the near-excruciating pressure against her over-full bladder all but banished by the feel of Rafe’s hand around hers and the lazy stroke of his thumb.
She was asked to move a little to one side, then to the other, until after some time the radiographer appeared to find what she was looking for.
‘Dottore Caporetto?’ She looked over her shoulder then to the specialist, who was suddenly studying the screen intently, a frown gathering his already bushy brows, and a chill zipped down Sienna’s spine.
Something was wrong.
Rafe’s hand tightened around hers, as if he’d picked up on the vibe in the room as well. ‘What is it?’ he demanded in English. Then, ‘C’e’ qualcosa che non va, Dottore?’
‘Something you need to see,’ he said, and the consultant angled the screen so that both of them had a clear view at last, into a murky sea of light and shadow where nothing made sense.
‘I don’t understand,’ Sienna said. She’d known her baby would be tiny at this stage but she’d expected to see something recognizable, not this unreadable blur. ‘What is it?’
The specialist said something to Rafe she didn’t understand but she heard Rafe’s sharp intake of breath, felt his withdrawal as he pushed himself back in his chair, and she feared the worst.
The specialist’s face turned into a broad smile at Rafe’s reaction, before he turned his attentions to her, patting her on the ankle. ‘Va tutto benissimo. Auguri signorina, lei aspetta gemelli.’
She shook her head and looked at Rafe who suddenly looked as shell-shocked as she felt. ‘I don’t understand. What’s wrong? What’s happening?’
‘Ah, excuse me, please,’ the dottore said, looking truly contrite as he pointed to twin smudges on the screen. ‘In my excitement I forgot my manners. But you have my heartiest congratulations, signorina. It appears you are expecting twins.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
RAFE peered at the screen and at the two dark smudges in a sea of light, smudges that proved beyond doubt he would become a father not just once but twice over in a few short months from now, a feeling of pride so huge in his chest that he wanted to howl like the Beast of Iseo itself. What fortune had brought Sienna to the island? Providence couldn’t have dealt him a better hand.
‘Twins?’ he heard her say, her voice shaky as if she couldn’t believe the news herself. ‘It can’t be …’
He lifted her hand then and pressed his lips against it. ‘We will marry as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘There can be no delay.’
Rafe took her to dinner that night, insisting they celebrate the news, in a harbour-front restaurant where a private room furnished with gilt mirrors and lush curtains had been set up for them on an upstairs terrace that overlooked the lights of the harbour front and the marina. It was the first time she’d been to Velatte City, and she loved its vibrancy and colour and the handsome people, their features a blend of the best the Mediterranean could offer.
Carmelina had proven her worth as Sienna’s wardrobe manager, selecting without hesitation a gown shaded from lilac through to a rich jewel-shade of amethyst that sat snug over Sienna’s bustline before falling in soft, almost toga-like folds to the floor. With her hair coiled in wide ringlets and gathered up behind her head loosely for the ends to trail down, she almost felt like a Greek goddess. The way Rafe looked at her almost made her believe it.
Even so, the way he’d dressed made her wish she’d taken even more care. In a dark tuxedo and crisp white shirt he was magnificent, the Lombardi-crested cufflinks at his wrists, a burgundy tie at his throat. He looked like a man who had everything he wanted in the world, and if there was one tiny pang of regret about this whole celebration, it was that she knew that the babies she was carrying were a large part of it.
But she’d done a lot of thinking about those babies herself today, and a lot of it centered around her fears for what might happen if she did marry Rafe, and the quality of life she could offer them if she didn’t.
One baby she believed she could cope with. She’d have to get a nanny, but she made decent money when she could fly. It would be hard to be a single mother, but at a stretch she would cope. Women did, all around the world, every day. Why couldn’t she?
But knowing she was carrying twins had changed things, had tipped the balance. What kind of life could she offer them? What hope had she of being able to afford their care while she worked and what hope of giving them the family life they deserved? Would they grow up resenting her because she could not give them the lifestyle they would have had with their father?
But marriage without love? The one thing she feared more than anything.
How could he ask it of her?
They sat enjoying their entrées; a rare kind of peace descended on them as if Rafe too was deep in thought, while the vibrant waterfront buzzed below and the warm breeze tugged at her hair. Violin music drifted up from the main restaurant downstairs, gypsy music that was filled with life and hope and passion.
The first hint of the helicopter making its way across the harbour snared Sienna’s attention like a magnet, even before the whump of the rotors became noticeable, and a familiar yearning surged anew. She followed its spotlight-lit path across the harbour, to where it landed atop one of the palace-like casinos lining the foreshore. She sighed as it landed. God, she missed flying, missed the feeling of soaring through the air like a bird, or skimming across the water like an insect. Missed the endless sky.
‘What made you become a pilot?’
Sienna turned back to him, thinking it was odd that she was having his babies, that he fully intended to marry her, and yet they knew so very little about each other. ‘The only thing I inherited from my father,’ she started, ‘was a love for travel. We lived on his boat my first few years, travelling the world, stopping in ports anywhere and everywhere. Until it was time for me to go to school and we dropped anchor in Gibraltar.’
‘Sounds like a wonderful childhood.’
She gave a brief, harsh laugh, the sound of her father’s constant taunts loud in her ears. ‘I suppose it could have been.’
‘It wasn’t?’
‘My father never wanted me. Always blamed me for ruining his life, for giving him responsibilities and putting an end to his wanderlust days. Ironic that I should inherit his love of travel, in that case, don’t you think?’
Across the table, Rafe frowned, looking thoughtful. ‘But boats never appealed?’
‘God, no! Not after … Well, not after that. I used to lie on the deck and watch the birds wheeling above. I used to imagine myself up there with them, it was the only way I could see to escape …’ Her words trailed off. She’d said too much, revealed far too much of herself. She picked up her glass, swirling the sparkling water. ‘Anyway, that’s the dreary story of why I became a pilot.’
‘No,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Not dreary. Interesting. They must be proud of you.’
She looked out over the harbour and breathed in the smell of the sea and salt, finding a memory that brought a smile to her face. ‘Mum was. She was ever so proud when I got my licence.’ She turned and saw the question in his eyes. ‘She died a few years back.’
‘And your father?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him for years. He stayed in Gibraltar. We left.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘It’s okay. Really.