The Italian's Pregnant Prisoner by Maisey Yates

Author:Maisey Yates [Yates, Maisey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Man-Woman Relationships, Contemporary, Love Stories, Fiction
ISBN: 9781474052948
Publisher: HarperCollins UK
Published: 2017-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

RAFE SUCCESSFULLY AVOIDED her for the next week. Or maybe he wasn’t avoiding her; that was always a possibility.

But she doubted it.

He was far too much in control for anything to be accidental. If Rafe had wanted to see her, then she would have seen him. For the man left absolutely nothing to chance, and there was nothing that he did not manipulate in his domain.

She sighed heavily, pacing back and forth in the solarium, which she had come to think of as her room. She did still go out to the gardens, in spite of the discussion that he’d had with her last week. He might have taken her hostage, but he was not going to dictate what she did with her time in her gilded little cage.

There was nowhere for her to run, after all, and she was not going to forgo fresh air.

Today, though, it was raining, and she was taking advantage of what weak, pale sunlight was coming through the windows.

She grabbed hold of one of the settees and pushed it across the highly polished marble floor, positioning it in front of the window. Then she got the side table and did the same with that. It was much nicer with everything right by the window. For a while, she just wanted to sit and gaze out at the view; she wasn’t in the mood to go and brave Rafe.

After a while she decided that it would be better if she had a cup of tea. She could ask one of Rafe’s staff members to get it for her. They were very attentive, and she often got the feeling that Della—his head of staff—disapproved of his keeping her here.

It made her feel...if not safe, then at least as though she had an ally. It was nice to have an ally.

Not that Della could do anything about it either. She needed the job, presumably. And going against Rafe would mean the loss of a job. He did not run a democracy. This was a dictatorship—no doubt about it.

But Charlotte was feeling surprisingly good today, and she didn’t want anyone to wait on her. She wanted to get tea by her own power. She just needed to do something.

That was the problem with being cooped up in this place. It reminded her too much of the past. And it gave her far too much time to think.

There was a lot of brooding, of course. A lot of unhappiness about what Rafe had become. But then, inevitably, it led to memories of their time together. Bittersweet and painful feelings. How he had made her feel cared for, loved, for the first time in her memory.

And that was why it was so difficult to hate him now. Why it was hard not to hope whenever she heard footsteps that it was Rafe coming into the room to see her.

Because he was the one who had taught her what it meant to be cared for. And perhaps it had all faded, broken apart in the ensuing years.

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