Rafael froze, his mind taking in her words, processing her admission. Leila had been pregnant before? She’d lost their baby? And what the hell did she mean by worse? What could be worse than losing their baby?

  “Leila, you were pregnant?” he asked, gripping her upper arms and jolting when she nearly collapsed against his chest.

  He folded her in his arms, absorbing her tremors. She was scaring the hell out of him now, for this wasn’t like her. This wasn’t the Leila that was always in control.

  “I—I didn’t kn-know, Rafael,” she said between gulping sobs, her tears soaking his shirtfront and burning his skin. “I’m s-so sorry. So sorry.”

  He pinched his eyes shut and held her, stunned to know they’d conceived once. That the baby he had wanted so much had been created and lost.

  No, that they’d lost this precious life, for it was clear Leila was just as heartbroken as he.

  A thousand questions bombarded him, but he could only force one from his constricted throat. A question that he was sure he knew the answer to, for he hadn’t touched her this past year until their quick rendezvous in March. “When did this happen?” he asked. She said nothing for the longest time until her sobs gradually eased. Until the tremors that racked her lessened to occasional shivers. “September,” she said.

  Eight months ago! He sucked air into his tight lungs, unable to believe she’d kept this from him for so long. That she was only just telling him now.

  Anger surged through him, for how could she hide this from him when she knew how much he yearned for a family. “Why didn’t you tell me when this happened?”

  Her fingers splayed on his chest, but he gained no comfort from her touch, not when his heart was frozen with shock and grief. “You were away in Brazil when I miscarried, busy with your work, and when you returned I was off on location. I didn’t see you again until March.”

  He swore, knowing she hadn’t exaggerated. The past year had been a constant whirl of activity for both of them. It had been the turning point in his career just as her own had taken another upswing to launch her into superstardom.

  “I wanted to tell you in March,” she said, “but so much time had passed by then. And we had so little time together. I didn’t want to ruin it by telling you. Please forgive me.”

  He was mad as hell that this had happened. Furious with himself for being away, that she’d suffered this loss alone.

  That she’d grieved in solitude.

  He should have been by her side. Holding her hand. Grieving with her. Instead he had been on location with the film company—a remote location deep in the jungle. His phone connection had been virtually nil.

  He tipped his head back and let his anger drift from him like smoke from a spent fire, welcoming the pain of grief that quickly threaded inside him to wrap around his heart. Dammit, this hurt like hell.

  His hands moved slowly, tenderly, up Leila’s spine. He should have been with her, and he’d never forgive himself for being away so long.

  She was still burrowed against his chest, but her sobs had lessened and her breathing was somewhat normal. Despite her sorrow, he sensed the steel in her spine, that unbreakable, unbendable will that he so admired. That inner strength that had allowed her to delve back into her work and excel.

  “You saw a doctor?” he asked, needing to know why their first attempt at a family had turned out so wrong.

  “A specialist,” she said, her voice so small he had to bend close to hear her over his thundering heart. “There were more tests. Studies.” She shook her head, looking close to tears. “This was my fault, Rafael.”

  Guilt. He understood it. Felt its fangs sink into him as well. His mind latched on to cold graphic reasons why she would be culpable, then he quickly flung them aside in disgust. Leila would never purposely do anything to put a baby at risk. The doctor wouldn’t have looked so stridently for a cause if it had been obvious.

  He drew on what little he knew of the chances of conception and miscarriage. “These things are often far from a women’s control.”

  She pushed away from him, shaking her head more vigorously now, looking more miserable than he’d ever seen her look in their marriage. “No, I am to blame. The doctor explained it to me. There is a higher incidence of miscarriage when the mother has a history of anorexia. She said that though I was fully recovered from the disease and have been for years, I am still technically underweight.”

  The last was said with clear revulsion in her voice. But was she averse to gaining weight because of her history of anorexia? Or was she afraid how added pounds would impact her career?

  He’d always accepted that Leila was slighter than the majority of women because of her career. All the top models were lean, without any excess body fat.

  He’d come to accept Leila’s thinnest as normal. Now a doctor had told her that her low body weight had a bearing on losing their child?

  “Help me understand, Leila,” he said. “If the risk of this happening again can be lessened when you gain weight and remain healthy, then why are you so gripped with fear?”

  She wrung her hands, looking miserable. “I’m afraid, Rafael. I’m afraid I won’t be able to cope with the weight I’ll gain when pregnant. That I’ll relapse. That I’ll destroy our baby and myself this time.”

  “I won’t let that happen!” he said, taking her in his arms, relieved she didn’t pull away from him this time.

  Leila let out a bitter laugh. “That is exactly what I told my friend who went through recovery with me. Who became a model when I did. Who got pregnant a few months before me.”

  She bunched his shirtfront in her fists and stared up at him with wide tear-filled eyes. “She worried about gaining weight too, but I encouraged her that everything would be fine. That I’d be there with her. That our babies would grow up to be friends. Yet in that month I was recovering from my miscarriage, she relapsed. She lost too much weight too fast and her heart just stopped.”

  He swallowed hard, feeling her fear and desperation clear to his soul. “I am sorry for your friend, but you are stronger than that, Leila. We are stronger together.”

  “I know you believe that. And I do want a child. Your child. But now—” Her hand fluttered up and down, much like his hopes for a family were doing. “Please understand. I need to wait.”

  Wait. They had waited years already to start a family. How many more before she could cope with her fears? Before she’d trust him to protect her?

  He wished he knew. “Of course. You need time to heal.”

  Physically and emotionally, he realized, for Leila looked frail and vulnerable.

  “The doctor suggested a year. That I gain weight before I attempt conceiving,” she said, a husk of aversion in her voice.

  He chose his words carefully. “How do you feel about that?”

  “Nervous. But I’ve gained five kilograms in the past few months.” She hugged herself and he caught her frown, a telling gesture that proved she was troubled even by that scant increase. “The change in weight has been hard for me to accept, but I’m trying. I realize I need to feel good at this size before I attempt to gain more.”

  Meu Deus! This wasn’t simply a model concerned over the change in her body. Her statement smacked of a deep-seated fear.

  For the first time his mind latched on to the real issue for Leila. The hidden one that she’d been hesitant to voice—to face.

  Yes, she had every right to fear suffering another miscarriage. It was likely a concern of many couples, especially when they’d already lost one baby. But he’d never considered that she could suffer a relapse.

  It didn’t seem feasible to him that a strong woman like Leila would fall victim again to the disease she’d beaten before. But if she couldn’t cope with gaining a bit of weight now, what the hell would she do when her belly was swollen with child?

  “Perhaps counseling would benefit you again,” he said, for when they’d met, she’d told him of the months of therapy she’d taken before she was able to eat normally, though for a model that was still slight portions.

  “After my miscarriage, I saw a psychiatrist for weeks,” she said, and her tone hinted she was not willing to continue that course of therapy.

  Yet she was still blaming herself. But at least she was talking to him, now. That was a start, even though it wasn’t what he wanted to hear!

  Rafael scrubbed a hand over his mouth and paced the salon.

  There were very real and dangerous issues at stake here. He couldn’t arrogantly assume that all would be right just because he wanted it to be. Because in the end nothing could guarantee that Leila could have a healthy, happy pregnancy.

  Leila … She was his first order of business. He must find a way to help her cope with the guilt and fear that was eating at her. To make her feel at ease with herself, to know that the scant kilograms she had gained only made her womanly curves more beautiful, more desirable to him and to the world.

  “There will be no more long separations in our marriage,” he said, his mind already figuring out a plan where he could spend the majority of his time with Leila. It was clear she needed him as much, if not more, than he needed her in his life on a daily basis.

  That would be especially true once she was with child.

  The soft bow of her lips trembled into a smile. “Good. I’ve missed you so.”

  That simple admission touched him more than any love profession she could voice. It stripped away their wants and fears and honed in on what they had always had. Each other.

  He crossed to her, his hands trembling slightly as he gently cupped her face, his eyes adoring her. “We have a beautiful goal to work toward, querida. We have a good future ahead of us. One day we will have a child. A normal family. Trust me.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  TRUST him? Hadn’t he listened to a word she said? Hadn’t he understood the risk to her and their unborn child? Her very real fears?

  Of course not. It had taken her years to understand that she battled her eating disorder much like an alcoholic avoided strong drink. Because any number of triggers could throw her back into that vicious cycle of anorexia.

  She’d stayed strong and healthy because her career demanded it. Because she had an average weight she must maintain to stay on top of her game. She was in total control of every aspect of her life. Being pregnant would be a completely different thing, for she’d have zero control over the changes in her body.

  If she failed to cope with her pregnancy—if she was the cause of losing another baby—she’d simply lose her mind.

  As for a normal family.

  “Would either of us recognize a normal family if we saw one?” she tossed back at him, not bothering to hide the shame of her own troubled childhood this time.

  “I know what it isn’t,” he said, serious as always when the subject of family came up. “Though your family was poor, you had a home, a brother and the love of both parents for much of your childhood.”

  Leila let out a bitter laugh at that assessment, for it was far from the truth. “Please, Rafael. You knew my mother. She was not an affectionate woman.”

  Selfish and demanding, yes. But never loving.

  He gave an abbreviated nod, his brow furrowed, likely recalling the rows he’d had with her mother. He’d never been good enough for Leila.

  “What of your father? Your brother?” he asked. “You’ve never spoken much of them, yet they were a big part of your upbringing.”

  What was there to say about people she hardly knew? About a place that had only existed in her mother’s imaginings?

  “Home was a shanty in one of the largest favelas in Rio. No electricity. No water. After my father died, we were forced to move from our two-room ‘home’ into a one-room hut.”

  She glanced at him and took in his stunned expression. She’d shocked him, for like the world he’d believed her mother’s lie. That they’d had a small home near the mountains.

  Leila heaved a weary sigh and dropped onto the sofa, kicking herself for not unburdening this shame years ago. Her mother had woven a tender, tragic story of being a young widow and single parent that Leila had never disputed, for what was the use?

  Unlike her mother, Leila had never courted sympathy from anyone—especially Rafael. But now? She still didn’t want his empathy, for she had escaped the fate she’d been born into. But he was asking, and she couldn’t continue the lie.

  “I don’t remember my father, other than he was a stern man who was always away working,” she began, her fingers worrying her skirt as she searched her memories and found few good ones to draw on. “As for my brother, he was much older than I was and ignored me for the most part. He worked in the factory with my father, and both died the night it caught fire. After that, my mother sponged off anyone she could for support.”

  Rafael’s brows pulled into a disagreeable V over his patrician nose while his beautifully sculpted lips flattened into a thin hard line. “Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?”

  She simply stared at him. “What’s the use? You never asked, and the truth changes nothing about me. And unless I’m mistaken, you’ve never divulged everything about your childhood or your family in England.”

  He jerked his head to the side, his expression hardening, but only for an instant. “You are right. Neither of us had a normal family.”

  She waited for him to go on. Hoped he would, but he remained silent.

  It was just as well. One set of lies revealed in a day was enough for any marriage.

  The past was over. Leila had never dwelled on what would have happened to her and her mother if a talent scout hadn’t “discovered” the teenaged Leila in Rio. How ironic that her mother had gone to the mall that day to beg for a handout from an aunt who had a soft heart and a job.

  Of course that truth had never made the headlines. Instead it was reported that the young beauty had simply been shopping with her mother in the mall.

  But that had never mattered to Leila. Modeling had been her chance to have a better life and she’d taken it.

  From that day forward Leila had become the breadwinner—the hungry young model who was all the rage, the big-eyed waif to millions and the rising starlet on the fashion scene. Nobody knew the truth about her past life in Rio. Nobody but her mother.

  She pushed aside the old shame and anger and chanced another peek at Rafael. He was far too pensive for her peace of mind. “You’re angry with me,” she said. “Yes,” he snapped, and she flinched at the fury in that one word. “Before we married, we vowed we’d never keep secrets from each other. That we’d never set out to deceive each other.”

  She looked away, blinking back the sudden rush of tears, for there was nothing more she could say in her defense. She had lied. She had deceived him.

  “What’s done is done. We reaffirm our vow to be honest with each other always and move forward.” Strong masculine fingers cupped her jaw and turned her to face him, face the determined intensity of his eyes boring into her soul. “I am not giving up on our goal or us, querida.”

  She swallowed hard, helpless to stop the tears from slipping from her eyes. He was right. Yet she dreaded to be brutally honest with him about their future as parents. “Maybe you should.”

  Silence swirled around them, raising the hairs on her nape, twisting her nerves into knots that pulsed and burned and jumped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know if I will ever be able to give you the family you want, Rafael! Even if my body can carry a child, I’m not sure my fears will allow me to do it.”

  “I will not let what happened to your friend happen to you!”

  “I know you believe that—”

  “Because it is true,” he said with so much conviction she almost believed him. Almost. “Our love is strong, Leila. We’re strong. I will see you have the best doctors. The best care. That you are spoiled and pampered and assured daily how beautiful you are.”

  Leila released a watery laugh that eased some of the tension gripping him. “I doubt that my agent, clients and photography crew will appreciate me playing the role of diva.”

  “It doesn’t matter what they think, for once you become pregnant you’ll give up modeling.”

  Rafael felt her slender spine stiffen and knew he’d hit a raw nerve. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  Just like that, all the tension that had drained from him went taut as bowstrings. “Isn’t it obvious? You are concerned about having a healthy pregnancy. About a relapse. Work would be a great risk.”

  “One has nothing to do with the other,” she said, trying to pull away, but he held tight, refusing to let her run away from him or this issue that stood between them, knowing it would only fester if they left it alone.

  “Doesn’t it? We are wealthy beyond measure. There is no need for you to be a working mother, to devote your time to a career instead of your family.”

  Her chin came up. “There is pride, Rafael. You don’t want me to work because your mother slaved to provide for you.”

  “That is some of the reason,” he said with a nod.

  “Well, I refuse to be like my mother, who never worked a day in her life even when we were close to starving,” she said. “She was content to let her husband hold two jobs, and to see her only son follow him to the factory even before he was old enough to do so.”

  He yanked her flush against him, feeling the thunder of her heart against his chest. Feeling anger course through her at breakneck speed.

  “You aren’t like her at all,” he said. “You could never be like her even if you were a full-time mother.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished. “I will work, Rafael. Maybe not full-time. Maybe only on occasion. But I refuse to give up who I am, what I have worked for.”

  “I wish you could see yourself as I do, Leila.

  Then perhaps you wouldn’t feel so compelled to prove your worth.”

 

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