Illegitimate Tycoon (12 page)

 
          
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.”

 
          
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?