difficult, Sophie exhausted, and when Adrian died of an unexpected hemorrhage, her mother took over and saved her.
“I’ll take Camille until you’re feeling better.”
“...for a few more weeks, darling.”
“...until you find a full-time job and a crèche.”
“...only until the end of the year.”
“...so you can get your studio up and running.”
“...just until she’s ready to start school.”
And so far, guilty and grief-stricken and still fumbling for stable ground, she’d not been able to reclaim her tiny daughter.
Rafe sighed and relaxed his death-grip a fraction, finally letting the hurt pour out. “When I was a baby it didn’t matter to her because she had the twins to look forward to. And it didn’t matter to me because I was too young to know better. But a couple of years later, by the time I was three or four, I knew damn well where I should have been.”
Sophie’s hands stilled in his hair.
Three or four. Camille’s four. If he ever finds out about her he’ll think I’m as bad as his mother. Worse, because I’ve no other children to worry about.
She slipped out of his embrace and resumed her seat, mute and trembling.
Rafe swiveled towards her as he continued. “Koro got me into carpentry, and that meant I could work anywhere in the world. I took off when I was still nineteen to find some of my grandfather’s Blackhawk relatives if I could.”
“And did you?” She lifted her half-eaten slice of pizza and then put it down. There was no way she was hungry any longer.
Does Camille feel as deserted as Rafe did?
Does she see me as a fly-by-night visitor who swoops in once a week and then leaves her again?
“In Oklahoma and Wyoming,” Rafe said, dragging her away from her distressed thoughts. “Before you could easily Google things, of course. I had to do a lot of traveling, but I knew a bit about his war record so that was a place to start.”
“Were they nice?” she asked, functioning on automatic.
How would she keep Camille a secret? Should she just confess right now? But if she did, and Rafe was as offended as she expected, it was goodbye to his contract, and goodbye to Subtle’s possible success, and therefore goodbye to her chance of claiming Camille back too. She was trapped.
“Nicer than the Severinos,” she heard him say. “The Blackhawks were different. Quiet people. Stoic about what they’d had to endure.”
“At least you found them.”
“Some of them, anyway.”
“Anyone really close?”
“My cousin Joe,” he said with more warmth in his voice. “He persuaded me to try boat-building work in San Diego. And that turned my life around.”
He looked more intently at Sophie. She seemed light-years away. Had he bored her? She was too damned easy to talk to. He’d told her things he probably shouldn’t have. Things he’d sworn never to tell anyone. Right now she looked as though she hadn’t heard any of it but her replies had been succinct and appropriate. He watched her as she sat there, suddenly so distant.
“Earth to Sophie?”
“I’m listening.”
“Could have fooled me. You went away for a while.”
“Mmmm...”
“And you’re still not back.”
“I’m here. Just considering a problem.”
“A house problem?”
“No, not at all,” she said, sounding slightly irritated. “But I don’t know when you expect me to get this whole big place finished for you. It’s the worst time of the year with Christmas around the corner.”
She reached down for the sample books and began to flip through the fabrics. It was far too dark now to see the colors with any accuracy.
Somehow he didn’t think the house was the problem. The expressions which had flitted across her face weren’t work-related. She had something personal going on. Something much larger than paint colors or curtain fabrics. Something that didn’t include him.
“I’m not expecting miracles. I’m comfortable enough. But there’s no point leaving the
“I’ll take Camille until you’re feeling better.”
“...for a few more weeks, darling.”
“...until you find a full-time job and a crèche.”
“...only until the end of the year.”
“...so you can get your studio up and running.”
“...just until she’s ready to start school.”
And so far, guilty and grief-stricken and still fumbling for stable ground, she’d not been able to reclaim her tiny daughter.
Rafe sighed and relaxed his death-grip a fraction, finally letting the hurt pour out. “When I was a baby it didn’t matter to her because she had the twins to look forward to. And it didn’t matter to me because I was too young to know better. But a couple of years later, by the time I was three or four, I knew damn well where I should have been.”
Sophie’s hands stilled in his hair.
Three or four. Camille’s four. If he ever finds out about her he’ll think I’m as bad as his mother. Worse, because I’ve no other children to worry about.
She slipped out of his embrace and resumed her seat, mute and trembling.
Rafe swiveled towards her as he continued. “Koro got me into carpentry, and that meant I could work anywhere in the world. I took off when I was still nineteen to find some of my grandfather’s Blackhawk relatives if I could.”
“And did you?” She lifted her half-eaten slice of pizza and then put it down. There was no way she was hungry any longer.
Does Camille feel as deserted as Rafe did?
Does she see me as a fly-by-night visitor who swoops in once a week and then leaves her again?
“In Oklahoma and Wyoming,” Rafe said, dragging her away from her distressed thoughts. “Before you could easily Google things, of course. I had to do a lot of traveling, but I knew a bit about his war record so that was a place to start.”
“Were they nice?” she asked, functioning on automatic.
How would she keep Camille a secret? Should she just confess right now? But if she did, and Rafe was as offended as she expected, it was goodbye to his contract, and goodbye to Subtle’s possible success, and therefore goodbye to her chance of claiming Camille back too. She was trapped.
“Nicer than the Severinos,” she heard him say. “The Blackhawks were different. Quiet people. Stoic about what they’d had to endure.”
“At least you found them.”
“Some of them, anyway.”
“Anyone really close?”
“My cousin Joe,” he said with more warmth in his voice. “He persuaded me to try boat-building work in San Diego. And that turned my life around.”
He looked more intently at Sophie. She seemed light-years away. Had he bored her? She was too damned easy to talk to. He’d told her things he probably shouldn’t have. Things he’d sworn never to tell anyone. Right now she looked as though she hadn’t heard any of it but her replies had been succinct and appropriate. He watched her as she sat there, suddenly so distant.
“Earth to Sophie?”
“I’m listening.”
“Could have fooled me. You went away for a while.”
“Mmmm...”
“And you’re still not back.”
“I’m here. Just considering a problem.”
“A house problem?”
“No, not at all,” she said, sounding slightly irritated. “But I don’t know when you expect me to get this whole big place finished for you. It’s the worst time of the year with Christmas around the corner.”
She reached down for the sample books and began to flip through the fabrics. It was far too dark now to see the colors with any accuracy.
Somehow he didn’t think the house was the problem. The expressions which had flitted across her face weren’t work-related. She had something personal going on. Something much larger than paint colors or curtain fabrics. Something that didn’t include him.
“I’m not expecting miracles. I’m comfortable enough. But there’s no point leaving the
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