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He sank down into a chair His hands were in his hair, on his face, He stood up, staggered around She stood staring at the space he’d been in, her own face a co

He strode over to her ‘How can you be? Didn’t we? Weren’t you? When did you find out? Oh, God’

He paced again—to the bathrooather in his hands and splashed it on his face He stared at himself in the mirror

Pregnant? He was going to be a father No, no, no

A father? This wasn’t the face of a father!

He wasn’t cut out for that He wasn’t even cut out for his own path in life—he hadn’t led the bank back to glory yet—nevera family He could never be a father—not now, like this

He walked back out She was still there, standing exactly as he’d left her

Her shoulders were straight, a delicate blend of bone and muscle and satin skin Her slim arms were folded at her waist Her wrists lay crossed over her tiny stoh and proud This woht as now bound to him for life The path of his life had just taken another unforeseen fork

Dear God—what had he done?

He thought of the château, the guests, the Arturos waiting He thought of his mother’s face, his father’s set the bank back to where it should be

And he thought of this wo a life with him

What the hell had he been thinking? Why couldn’t he have been more careful?

Augusto He had to get downstairs, e the situation He had to steer the ship away from the rocks

‘Who have you told?’ he asked ‘Does anyone else know? I need to knohat I’ with here When will it hit the press?’