he did not like her brittle either. He watched her walk towards the door, knowing that he must make compromises if this was to work, and yet compromise did not come easily to him. ‘Millie?’
Composing her face, she turned back to him. ‘Yes, Gianferro?’
‘I meant what I said—about time for the two of us. Let’s put dinner in the diary and let’s make it a regular date. I’ll speak to my secretary and he will speak to yours.’
To anyone else it would have sounded mad, but to Millie it was a small victory won. Time with her husband. Just him. And her. ‘How crazy that sounds.’ She giggled.
He nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Have…have a good day, darling.’
But Gianferro barely heard her. He had made his small concession and now his dark head was bent. Already he was preoccupied. He didn’t even look up as she opened the door—but then she doubted that he had even heard her leave.
THE small change to their schedule seemed to have a knock-on effect within the relationship itself—though at first Millie was still insecure enough to put that down to wishful thinking.
But time changed her mind for her. Their allotted time together was precious—she’d spend the whole day looking forward to it, and she suspected that Gianferro did, too. There seemed something decadent about dismissing all the servants, and the sight of the King strolling into their apartment and unbuttoning his shirt with a wicked smile seemed like the fulfilment of her wildest fantasy!
For other couples it would doubtless be a huge treat to dine off golden plates and drink rare vintage wine.
For her and Gianferro the opposite was true—it was simple food eaten with their fingers, while lolling around on the silken cushions which they dragged out onto the starlit terrace.
‘Oh, I just love this,’ said Millie dreamily one night. Her head was on her husband’s bare chest and they were lying naked on the floor, washed in the moonlight which flooded into the room. In the distance she could see the dark glitter of the sea. ‘Just love it!’ she emphasised as his hand moved to her breast.
Gianferro traced over her puckered nipple with the tip of his finger. ‘I know you do. You make that abundantly clear, cara.’
‘You’re supposed to say, So do I!’
‘Ah, but you know that to be true.’
‘Then say it!’
He gave a mock frown. ‘But if I say things you already know, then surely that would waste time. And since you tell me that we never have enough of it—then why would I want to do that?’
‘Because…oh, Gianferro!’ she gasped. ‘Wh-what are you doing now?’
‘What do you think I’m doing?’ he purred, as he touched the tip of his tongue against her skin. Her head fell back.
The moon was very bright by the time he had rolled off her, and the stars were looped in the sky like Christmas tree lights. If only you could capture a moment and put it in a bottle—then this was the one she would choose. When they were alone and at peace.
When for a few brief hours their world and all its privilege retreated. It was as close to normality as they were ever likely to come.
Millie had come to realise something else…That maybe she had been wrong about not wanting a baby.
Maybe that was what happened automatically with women—the stronger your feelings for your partner grew, so too did the urge to have his child. She no longer saw it as a trap—in fact, if she was hands-on with their baby, as she intended to be, then wouldn’t that be an even more normalising experience for the two of them to share?
She knew that Gianferro had told her Royal children should be brought up in a certain way, but his mind might now be open to change—just as it was over these evenings together. His life was rigidly defined, and Millie had come to recognise that change could only be achieved gradually and subtly—ultimately this stalling device on her part would benefit them both as a couple.
She touched her fingertips to his olive cheek, suddenly seeing all kinds of possibilities being opened up by her having a baby. Perhaps the fleetingly soft side she occasionally saw of her husband might be liberated by the birth of his own flesh and blood. She could but hope…
He whispered his lips across her hair, lazily touching her breast. ‘I wonder if you’re pregnant now,’ he mused, and his voice deepened with longing. ‘I wonder if what we have just done is the beginning of it all?’
In a way, this was nothing more than a variation on what he had said to her on their honeymoon, but the words no longer scared her. The way he said them had profoundly changed. It no longer sounded like an arrogant exercise in acquisition, but a heartfelt longing to have a child together. And his attitude had changed her attitude—of course it had.
But how did she go about telling him that she had come round to his way of thinking? That she had just needed time and space to come to terms with her new life?
‘Hmm?’ he whispered sleepily. Was it wrong to let a woman closer than he had ever done in the past? When his defences were down—did that make a man weak? ‘What do you think, cara mia?’
‘I wish I was pregnant,’ she whispered back, and that was the truth. But the pain of what she had done—or failed to do—tore at her—tore at her like a ragged knife.
He no longer mentioned consulting a doctor, and she sensed that the urgency had left him. Maybe that was a direct result of their growing closeness. But what was she going to do about it?
Leaving Gianferro dozing, Millie rose to her feet and walked through the sumptuous rooms to the bathroom, but she didn’t bother putting the main light on.
There were mirrors everywhere, and the light was surreal and silvered. Her dim reflection looked troubled. And she was troubled.
If she told him that she wanted to get pregnant now, that would mean telling him about the Pill…
The Millie of now was a different person from the innocent bride who had been daunted by her new position. It was so easy to recognise that she should have discussed contraception with her husband—but back then they had not been in a place to discuss anything. Gianferro had been so dogmatic and dominant and all-powerful, and she had had to fight for her part in his world.
Now she had made her own space there—true, it wasn’t a very big one, but at least she had a foothold, and surely it could only get better.
She unzipped her make-up bag and looked down at the foil strip with some of the little circles punched out, which lay underneath a clutch of lipsticks. She knew that she ought to tell him. But something stopped her—and it was not just the fact that she now felt ashamed of what she had done. Wouldn’t Gianferro feel a tremendous sense of hurt that she had excluded him from such a big decision—and wouldn’t that have a detrimental effect on their growing relationship?
If only she had had the courage
