it was more a general queasiness this time that had assailed her, a queasiness that paled in comparison to the illness of those first days here. How much had stress and high emotions played a part in that—the fear of meeting Rafe again, her fury at being held against her will and the accusation that she’d kept her pregnancy secret from him—had this all combined to magnify the worst of her pregnancy symptoms tenfold?
‘Sienna?’ He put out a hand to her, obviously impatient to see the proof of the child they had conceived together. ‘Come.’
She regarded it suspiciously. He hadn’t made a move to touch her yesterday, not after he’d discovered she was pregnant and they’d shared that one brief kiss. Out of consideration for her condition? She wondered. It wouldn’t surprise her if he figured he didn’t need to touch her now, his work already done.
Nevertheless she slipped her fingers into his and let him lead her inside, amazed at how comfortable his grip felt, and how much warmth could be conveyed in the touch of just one hand. It was almost enough to make her forget the litre of water she’d been asked to drink and the knowledge of where that litre of fluid now resided. Almost.
‘Are you all right?’ Rafe asked as they ascended the stairs slower than he obviously would have liked.
‘I’m fine,’ she retorted, knowing his concern had less to do with her and more to do with the welfare of his unborn child. ‘Just don’t stick a pin in me or I might explode.’ And while his low laugh irritated her, she was still grateful for his support as she made her way up the long sweeping stairway to the first floor.
The radiographers had set up their equipment in one of the unused rooms not far from her own, turning a bedchamber fit for a queen into a suite filled with the latest in medical technology. She blinked as she took it all in. Never before had she been in the position of having a doctor, let alone specialists, come to her—to ensure privacy, Rafe had told her, and she could understand that, although part of her wondered whether he thought there was a risk she might bolt if she had the chance to visit Velatte City.
Would she bolt, she wondered as she dutifully changed out of the clothes Rafe’s minions had chosen for her into the robe they’d provided? Nothing of Rafe’s plans to wed her had yet been announced, nobody knew who she was, and in the cover of the harbour city, unknown and unannounced, there was always the chance she’d be able to slip the palace guard and make her way to the port and secure a ticket to somewhere.
Away from Montvelatte and Rafe, at least she would have a fighting chance of thinking straight. Already her resolve was wavering, her determination not to be steamrolled into a wedding she didn’t want dangerously slipping.
Which made no sense at all. She knew marriage could falter without love to bind the couple together; her own parents’ marriage had taught her that.
Although at least her mother had wanted to marry.
Sienna hadn’t even been asked the question.
‘Are you ready?’
Rafe’s voice broke her from her reverie and she allowed herself a wistful smile. ‘Are you ready?’ was about the most romantic this wedding proposal was going to get.
Moments later she was on the stretcher draped in towels with her gown raised and her naked abdomen exposed. Soothing voices explained the procedure and assured her everything would be all right before cool jelly tickled as it was spread over her belly. She felt the pressure of the sensor sliding over her skin and for the very first time considered what might happen if something was wrong.
Sienna hadn’t asked for this baby, hadn’t wanted it or the marriage that Rafe assumed must go hand in hand with its existence. But if something was wrong with the baby, if he wasn’t getting the package deal he was expecting, there was every likelihood he wouldn’t want her any more.
Just for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, she almost let herself wish for the worst.
It hit her unexpectedly then, a hitherto unknown maternal guilt that she could be so cruel to her unborn child, tumbling and crashing over her in a wave that had her clamping her eyes tightly shut as she tried to blot out the possibility that something could be wrong. Because none of this was the baby’s fault. She had no right to wish away this brand new speck of life just to solve her own problems. No right at all.
And suddenly, as the scanner slid across her skin, all that mattered was that her baby was healthy. Whatever else happened to her, it didn’t matter, she would somehow cope.
But please, God, let her baby be healthy!
The radiographer seemed to be taking forever, biting her lip as she stared at the screen. She said something in her native Velattian-Italian language mix that had the obstetrician nodding as he studied the emerging pictures. She turned her head to see, but the screen was angled away from her, studied intently by the radiographer by her side and by both the specialist and Rafe at the foot of the bed. She strained to get higher. ‘If you could lie still,’ the radiographer encouraged, putting a hand to her shoulder.
‘What’s wrong,’ Rafe asked her, his attention distracted from the screen.
‘It’s taking so long.’
The woman smiled and squeezed her arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, her accented words strangely soothing. ‘Sometimes it takes a little time. As soon as we have a clear picture, I’ll show you your bambino.’
Rafe joined her at the head of the bed, pulled up a chair and took her hand between his. ‘You can’t see there,’ she warned, knowing how much he wanted to see the evidence of this child with his own eyes.
‘So we’ll see our baby together.’ And the way he smiled at her raised goosebumps on her skin and hope in her heart. It seemed so real, like the smile a man would give a woman when she was carrying a child conceived in love. A smile so seemingly real it made her ache for all those real things she would never have—a real marriage, 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
