To Sam’s surprise, before she could intervene, Rafaele bent down to Milo’s level and said, ‘Piccolino, the car will still be here when we get back...so why don’t we see the animals first, hmm?’
Milo’s face cleared like a cloud passing over the sun and he smiled, showing his white baby teeth. ‘Okey-dokey, horsies first.’ And then he put his hand in Rafaele’s and started pulling him the direction he wanted to go.
Sam caught the unguarded moment of emotion in Rafaele’s eyes and her chest tightened at its significance. It was the first time Milo had reached out to touch him.
She followed them, doing up her slimline parka jacket and tried not to be affected by the image of the tall, powerful man, alongside the tiny, sturdy figure with identical dark hair.
Within a few hours Sam could see the beginnings of the hero-worship situation she’d predicted unfolding before her eyes. Milo had barely let go of Rafaele’s hand and was now in his arms, pointing at the pigs in a mucky pen.
She was watching Rafaele for signs that this situation was getting old very quickly—she knew how demanding and energetic Milo could be—but she couldn’t find any. Again she was stunned at his apparent easing into this whole situation.
Rafaele looked at her then and Sam coloured, more affected by seeing him with Milo in his arms than she cared to admit.
He looked grim and said, ‘I think now is a good time.’
Instantly Sam understood. He wanted to tell Milo who he was. Panic flooded Sam. Until Milo knew Rafaele was his father it was as if she still had a way out—the possibility that this wasn’t real. It was all a dream. But it wasn’t, and she knew she couldn’t fight him. He deserved for his son to know. And Milo deserved it too.
Jerkily, feeling clammy, Sam nodded her head. ‘Okay.’
So when Milo had finished inspecting all the animals exhaustively they found a quiet spot to eat the food they’d got from the house’s café and Sam explained gently to Milo that Rafaele was his father.
She could sense Rafaele’s tension and her heart ached for him. Her conscience lambasted her again.
With all the unpredictability of a three-year-old though, Milo just blinked and looked from her to Rafaele before saying, ‘Can we look at the horsies again?’
To his credit, Rafaele didn’t look too surprised but when Milo had clambered off his chair to go and look at something she said, ‘It’s probably a lot for him to take in—’
But Rafaele cut her off, saying coolly, ‘I know he took it in. I remember how much three-year-olds see and understand.’
He got up to follow Milo before Sam could make sense of his words and what he’d meant by them.
* * *
When they were back in the car Milo began chattering incessantly in the back.
‘Rafelli, did you see the pigs? Rafelli, did you see the horsies and the goats? And the chickens?’
Sam looked out of the window, overcome with a surge of emotion. It was done. Rafaele truly was his father now. No going back. Tears pricked her eyes as the enormity of everything set in. She’d kept Milo from his own father for so long. Guilt was hot and acrid in her gut.
Suddenly her hand was taken in a much bigger, warmer one and her heart stopped.
‘Sam?’
Panicked that he’d see her distress, Sam took her hand from his and rubbed at her eye, avoiding looking at him. Breezily she said, ‘I’m fine. It’s just some dust or something in my eye.’
TWO WEEKS LATER Sam was trying to concentrate on test results and threw her pen down in disgust when her brain just refused to work. She got up from her desk in her decent-sized office at the factory and paced, rolling her head to ease out kinks as she did so.
It felt as if an age had passed since that day at the stately home. Within a few days Milo had been tentatively calling Rafaele Daddy, much to Bridie’s beaming approval, Rafaele’s delight and Sam’s increasing sense of vulnerability.
Bridie had also paved the way for Sam to go to work with Rafaele every day, assuring her that she had nothing to worry about where Milo’s care was concerned. So in the past two weeks a routine had developed where Rafaele took Milo to playschool, either with or without Sam, and then they left for work and returned in time for Milo’s supper. Sam had put her foot down, though, and insisted that she still only do a half-day on Wednesdays as that had been her routine with Bridie.
And also she felt the need to establish some control when it felt as if Rafaele had comprehensively taken everything over. They’d even come home one evening to find a chef in the kitchen and Rafaele saying defensively something about it being unfair to expect Bridie to cook for them as well as taking care of Milo.
Needless to say Sam could see that Bridie was not far behind Milo in the hero-worship stakes. Most evenings now Rafaele tucked Milo into bed and read him a story, making Sam feel redundant for the first time in a long time.
In the middle of all this change and turmoil was the sheer joy Sam felt at being back working on research within an environment where the actual cars and engines were only a short walk away. The scale of Rafaele’s English factory had taken her breath away. It proved just how far he’d come even in three and a half years. Professionally she would have given her right arm to be part of this process, and now she was overseeing a group of mechanics and engineers, focusing their expertise on the most exciting developments in automotive technology, thanks to Rafaele’s unlimited investment.
But overshadowing everything was the fact that she was working for Rafaele. Back in a place where she’d never expected or wanted to be. She felt as if she was that girl all over again—that naive student, obsessed with her boss. Watching out for him. Aware of him. Blushing when their gazes met. It was galling and humiliating. Especially when Rafaele appeared so cool and seemed to be making every effort to steer well clear of Sam. Only addressing her in groups of people. Never seeking her out alone.
Even on their car rides to the factory and back their conversation centred mainly around Milo or work.
Her hands clenched to fists now, even as her whole body seemed to ache. She was glad. She was. She didn’t want history to repeat itself. Not in a million years. It had almost been easier when Rafaele had hated her; now that they were in this uneasy truce it was so much more confusing to deal with.
Sam noticed the clock on the wall then, and saw how late it was. Normally Rafaele’s assistant would have rung to inform her that he was leaving by now. Giving up any pretence that she could continue to work while waiting, Sam decided to pack up and find him herself. She would inform him she was going home. He’d offered her one of the cars if she wished, so now perhaps it was time to assert some more independence from him.
Heading for his office, she saw it was quiet all around, most of the other staff and the main engineers and mechanics having left. His own secretary’s desk was clear and empty in the plush anteroom of his office.
She hesitated for a second outside his door and then knocked. After a few seconds she heard him call abruptly, ‘Come in.’
* * *
Rafaele glanced up from his phone call, frowning slightly at the interruption, and then when Sam walked in his whole body reacted, making a complete mockery of any illusion of control over his rogue hormones. She stopped in her tracks and made a motion to leave again, seeing he was on the phone, but everything within him rejected that and he held up his finger, indicating for her to wait.
She closed the door behind her and he couldn’t stop the anticipation spiking in his blood. For