Rafael's Suitable Bride (20 page)

‘And suddenly you've had an epiphany?' Cristina laughed humourlessly. ‘You really expect me to believe that you've changed miraculously overnight?'

‘I…No…I don't expect anything.'

Cristina was momentarily disconcerted by his humility. Was it for real? Was he that good an actor? She felt battered by sudden, dreadful hope, and had to grit her teeth together because hope, as she had discovered, was the mortal enemy of reality.

‘I…I never thought that I could feel that urgency and passion again, that thing I once called
love
. I had had that with my ex-wife, and I had seen first-hand how easily it could dissolve. I had spent my years quite happy to go from one relationship to another. But here's the thing—what I felt for Helen was never love. And to answer your question, no, I didn't have a sudden epiphany. I just realised that what I felt for you had sneaked up on me, and without even knowing it I could no longer survive without you. I figured that it was a happy coincidence that we got along, a happy coincidence we were compatible, sheer good luck that aside from our similar backgrounds it was all so effortless being in your company…'

He raked his fingers through his hair and Cristina saw, to her amazement, that his hand was shaking. This was being wrenched out of him and that, more than anything else, gave her pause for thought.

‘I didn't understand what you meant to me until you had gone, and even then I couldn't admit that I had fallen in love with you. I just thought…I just thought that it was fine if you wanted to walk away because I was immune to being hurt. My head said so. I don't want to marry you because you fit the bill, Cristina. I want to marry you because I can't survive without you. I'm crazy with jealousy over every man you talk to. Watching you at my party, flirting with Goodman…it was torture. I could have hit him.'

Cristina felt the pain of sudden, fierce tenderness. She had seen many sides of Rafael, but this side, the vulnerable man tentatively working his way through his feelings, allowing her to see his fear and uncertainty, was the most powerful indication of his sincerity.

‘So will you marry me, Cristina?' He looked at her, feeling that there was a heck of a lot more to say, and knowing that gradually, over time, if she had him, he would tell her how he felt and would never stop telling her. Right now he had only just covered the tip of the iceberg. ‘I can't live without your laugh. You put perspective in my life, Cristina, and if you can't give me an answer now then I'll wait, even if it means waiting for the rest of my life.'

‘You won't have to wait, Rafael. I can give you my answer right now…'

O
NE YEAR LATER AND
this time round the occasion at his mother's house was of a different sort. Both families had met for the wedding in Italy, which had been a small affair, according to Cristina's wishes. This time, they were meeting for the christening of the first Rocchi grandchild, a beautiful little girl conceived shortly after their glorious honeymoon in the Seychelles. And, as Rafael had smugly pointed out to her, appropriately conceived in their new house, a charming Grade II listed cottage far enough out of London to feel rural, but not so far that he couldn't get to London if he had to.

It had all the features Cristina had yearned for in a house: the clambering roses, the white picket fence, the orchard at the back. There were fireplaces for open fires, beams galore, and a kitchen that could make a chef out of anyone because Rafael had seen to it that it had been kitted out to the highest possible standard.

And the trump card was the picturesque little village with its picture-postcard village green, cricket ground and corner pub. There, Cristina had set up her little flower shop and landscaping services, and Anthea had been all too happy to move to the area and become joint partner in the enterprise.

Life had never been better.

Rafael looked at his beloved wife cradling their baby
daughter, as friends and relatives ooh-ed and aah-ed, and he walked across to gently kiss the top of her head.

‘Stunning, isn't she?' He addressed the assembled audience of five with a satisfied smile, his arm loosely around Cristina's shoulders. ‘Everyone says,' he solemnly told them, ‘She is the spitting image of her father…' He felt his wife laugh and grinned down at her and the perfect rosy-cheeked face of his baby daughter with her miniature fist clenched by her mouth. ‘Which is why she wants to have at least four more…set the balance straight, so to speak…' He wanted at least four; she had laughed and told him that he might very well be singing a different tune if he had had to undergo the pregnancy and birth, but he knew that she had loved every minute of being pregnant, and that the idea of a house filled with children was as appealing for her as it was for him.

Cristina felt the weight of his arm around her and relaxed into the casual embrace. He had never stopped telling her how much he loved her, and Isabella Maria had proved that, not only could he be an amazing husband, he could also be an amazing and doting father.

‘And…' he bent so that he could whisper into her ear ‘…my darling, I can't wait for everyone to leave so that we can start trying…'