him.
“Have you tried to lose weight quickly?”
Leila swung around to face Rafael. “No! I’m not a victim of bulimia or anorexia anymore. I simply have a stomach bug. But if you think I’m lying, Rafael, you are more than welcome to ask my agent or my doctor about my health!”
Inferno! He had not expected her to react with such anger, but then he supposed he deserved it for doubting her.
“Forgive me for insinuating you had suffered a relapse,” he said, reaching for her, but she turned from him and left the bathroom. Left him standing there feeling like a fool for thinking the worst of her. “I worry, Leila.”
She stopped short, shoulders slumping. “I know you do.” She brushed a hand through her hair in a show of impatience. “I worry about you as well, but this year—”
Her hand fluttered in the air, and he reached out and snagged it this time. Pulled her close to his heart where she belonged and was glad she didn’t resist.
“Things will change now,” he said, and gained a shaky nod from her in answer.
This past year had been difficult. Their brief weekend in Aruba sandwiched between her last shoot and his trip to L.A. to consult on the film. This time when they had parted, he’d resented her career more than ever, for it had pulled her from him. Her stellar status had taken precedence over their marriage. Over their plans to start a family.
He’d come close to demanding she take a hiatus from her work. That she embrace her role as his wife again with the same passion as she did her career.
But just realizing that was exactly how his tyrannical father would have acted stopped him.
His marriage to Leila was secure. She loved him and he loved her. They’d just let the outside world infringe too much on their dream.
No more.
Soon he’d plant his seed in her. They’d have their marriage back on track. They’d have a child born of love.
“Dare I ask what brought on your arrogant smile,” she said.
His gaze made a slow glide over her face, her breasts, her hips, before returning to her expressive eyes. “I was thinking of how beautiful you’d look pregnant.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE thought of being with child pelted Leila like a cold icy rain. She couldn’t go through that again, shouldn’t attempt it blithely.
Yet like Rafael she longed for a child. A baby to love, to cradle to her bosom. Her and Rafael’s child, born of love.
But she’d tried and failed.
Last year Leila had discovered she had been pregnant. But in September, when she had been just twelve weeks along, nature had taken a horribly wrong turn.
Leila had lost her baby. She’d lost a lot of blood. Lost weight. Lost heart over the tragedy.
Her mind ached from the doctor’s warning following her miscarriage. Though she was well now, there would always be that chance that due to her anorexia, and the damage it may have wreaked on her body, she could fail to carry a child to term again.
The very last thing Leila wanted was to go through the pain of losing a baby again. She was afraid to try and fail, even though she still wanted to give Rafael the family he craved. Her own arms and heart ached to hold the child she’d lost. Rafael’s baby.
But despite her deep yearning for a family, her fear of suffering another miscarriage had grown into paralyzing terror. More so her fear had been given strength when a fellow model, who’d also struggled with anorexia early in her career, had died in childbirth. A woman Leila had admired.
Yet as her friend’s body had changed during her pregnancy, the young woman had relapsed into her old destructive habits. Leila had watched as her friend had struggled to regain control of her anorexia, but in the end the disease won, taking her friend’s and the baby’s lives.
That’s when Leila’s nightmares had really begun. Now, she wasn’t able to think beyond the tragedy her friend had suffered. She had lost confidence that she’d be stronger than the disease.
Her inner turmoil turned into a living breathing hell, for though she still longed to have Rafael’s child grow inside her, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—commit to having a child only to lose it. She suffered this devastation already and it had changed her. But how would Rafael, who wanted a family so desperately, bear it?
Guilt over keeping her terror and her past pregnancy from Rafael roiled in her until her fear became a dragon she didn’t know how to slay.
How would he react when he learned she’d kept so much from him?
Not well, she feared.
At the time of her miscarriage he’d been away on some excursion in Brazil, and she knew she couldn’t tell him such news over the phone. She could have told him when he returned, in between a break in her hectic schedule, but she’d been so devastated still, so terribly shocked, that she’d been unable to find the words. All too soon too much time had passed. Now?
Leila had no idea how to even begin to tell her husband what had happened! And the timing was once again all wrong.
Leila pushed past his finely honed form and hurried into her bedroom. She simply couldn’t deal with it right now, not when her emotions were strained from the flight. Not when she wanted time alone with Rafael first before she voiced the truth that she knew could drive him from her.
She hated that. Hated the distancing between them this past year. But she feared getting close to him again as well. Feared losing control of her body.
And yet that’s what her fear was doing now—taking control over her life, her plans, and destroying her dreams.
But how could she risk a repeat of the hell she’d gone through last year? She didn’t know, and the uncertainty and fear were eating her alive.
She looked around the room wildly, desperate to regain control of her rioting emotions. Her gaze latched on to the rolling wardrobe clothes rack.
“Is something wrong, querida?” Rafael asked, his deep voice freezing her in place for a heartbeat.
Tell him. Blurt it all out!
She ached to turn around and run her hands over his strong muscular chest. Wrap her arms around him and hold him tight. Beg him to forgive her for holding the truth from him.
Leila desperately wanted to hold on to the only man she’d ever loved and savor the moment, for that’s all they’d had in a year. Moments.
She’d wanted so much more. She wanted the early days of her marriage back. Wanted the tragedy of her miscarriage forgotten. Wanted to believe that she could bear his child without the mind-numbing fear, that she could be stronger than the disease that had nearly killed her as a teenager. That had killed her friend.
But she couldn’t. Not now. Not before the premiere of the film he’d devoted so much to. Not when the truth could drive
