from her, his plate balanced on his lap. He was wearing the dark trousers and crisp white shirt he’d worn earlier, the shirt now opened at the collar, revealing the strong column of his throat. Stubble glinted on his jaw and the whiteness of the shirt was a perfect foil for his burnished, olive skin. He looked, Allegra acknowledged with a pang, as devastatingly attractive as he had that night in Rome. As irresistibly desirable...except, of course, she would resist him. She had to, because the situation was fraught enough, dangerous enough. She couldn’t let herself depend on him any more than she already was. She certainly couldn’t start to care for him.
‘I’ve arranged for you to take the next two weeks off work,’ Rafael stated as he forked a mouthful of pasta.
‘What? How?’
‘I spoke to your employer and landlord, Anton. He understands.’
Allegra’s head was spinning. ‘But you... Two weeks?’ She blinked at him. ‘But—’
‘You have exhausted yourself, whether you realise it or not. You need a proper rest, both for your own health and our child’s.’
Allegra couldn’t deny that, but she still chafed against his commands. She was used to being independent. She needed to feel strong. ‘That was not your call to make. This is my life, Rafael.’
‘And as I said before, I know you want what is best for the baby.’
It was a trump card he could play every time, and there was nothing she could do about it, because he was right. She enjoyed her job, but it had been exhausting and she knew she couldn’t keep it up for ever. A rest, even one that was enforced, had some merit, as reluctant as she was to admit it to him.
But a rest here with Rafael? Allegra still couldn’t imagine spending the next two weeks with him. There was so much they hadn’t discussed...his heartless dismissal of her after their night together, her hiding her pregnancy, even the business his father had had with hers. Her father’s death. There was so much tension and latent anger and uncertainty—and now they were meant to get along?
And beyond that, she didn’t even know Rafael. She’d intentionally tried not to think of him since they’d parted, wanting to forget about him completely. She’s resisted doing Internet searches, even though she’d been tempted to know more about him.
And now here they were, sitting across from each other, their baby nestled inside her. Allegra didn’t know what to think of any of it, how to respond, how to feel. Part of her was clamouring for retreat, while another part recognised that that was no longer an option, not with a child to think of. A child to love.
In any case, now certainly wasn’t the time to tackle any of those difficult issues. They just needed to get through the next two weeks and see what the results of the amniocentesis were.
They spent the evening, incongruously, sitting next to each other on the sumptuous silk-covered sofa, watching TV on a huge flat screen that had been hidden behind an oil painting. After the first few tense minutes Allegra started to relax, enjoying being able to turn off her brain and watch reality TV fluff. And she enjoyed the feel of Rafael’s strong body next to her, his thigh touching hers, his arm stretched along the back of the sofa. She could almost imagine this was normal, that she was normal, with a baby and a husband and a life like so many women wanted and had.
Which was a very dangerous way to think.
The next morning Rafael suggested they go to her flat to pick up her things, and they rode in silence down Park Avenue to her little studio. It felt strange to have Rafael in her personal space, his inscrutable gaze flicking over her belongings—her framed concert posters, her few personal photos—even the shelf of well-thumbed cookbooks in the tiny alcove kitchen felt revealing of her somehow.
‘I didn’t realise you actually played.’ He nodded towards the cello on its stand in the corner.
‘I don’t, not really.’ She looked away, not wanting to talk about her cello playing, or lack of it. She hadn’t played since she was eighteen years old.
‘Do you wish to bring it to the hotel?’
‘No,’ she said after a moment, her tone reluctant but firm. ‘I won’t play it.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
He stared at her for a moment, his gaze narrowed, as if he was trying to figure out what was going on in her head. Allegra looked away. She couldn’t explain her complicated relationship to music, how much it meant to her, how it had provided something she knew instinctively people were meant to provide. She certainly didn’t want to go into the reason why she’d stopped playing the cello, the dismal failure she’d been. Thankfully Rafael let the subject drop.
After gathering her clothes, books, and a few personal items, they headed back to the hotel. Allegra knew she couldn’t put off something she’d been dreading—calling her mother.
Although they lived in the same city, she and Jennifer rarely saw each other. Her mother had her own life on the Upper East Side, tightly enfolded in a clique of aging socialites and impoverished divorcées, trying to live in the manner she preferred with the help of boyfriends and benefactors, and an endless diatribe of high-strung negativity.
Allegra understood the reason for it, knew her mother had never recovered from her father’s divorce and abandonment, his decision to end their marriage so abruptly and cut them off with barely a cent, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with her.
Jennifer hadn’t been much interested in Allegra’s pregnancy so far, except to remind her repeatedly that single motherhood was no picnic, thereby launching down an endless memory lane trip of her own struggles and regrets until Allegra had tuned her mother out. But the mention of a wealthy father to her grandchild was sure to prick Jennifer’s ears up and have her asking all sorts of questions. Questions Allegra didn’t feel much up to answering right now.
After she’d unpacked in her room, and with Rafael installed in the study on his laptop, Allegra made the call.
‘You’re what?’ Jennifer asked sharply when Allegra had explained she was staying at the hotel.
‘Just for a little while.’ Allegra took a deep breath. ‘Rafael Vitali is...he’s the father of my baby. We...we got together when I was in Italy.’
‘Rafael Vitali? This is the son of Marco Vitali?’
Startled, Allegra said, ‘I... I suppose so. I don’t know. Why? Do you know his father?’
‘Your father did business with him a long time ago,’ Jennifer said after a pause. ‘It didn’t work out.’
Unease prickled along Allegra’s spine. She thought of Rafael’s cold remark. ‘I am not the only one with blood on my hands.’
‘What do you mean, it didn’t work out?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jennifer dismissed. ‘It’s in the past. But be careful,’ she added in an unusual display of motherly concern. ‘Your father didn’t trust his, and I... I wouldn’t trust him either.’
She didn’t trust him. Didn’t want to trust him. And yet... ‘I trust Rafael to care for his child,’ Allegra said, because that, at least, was true.
Out
