a fuss of Bramble.
The man she loved.
The man she wanted to be her family.
Her heart felt as if it was doing a back flip when she saw him smile at the dog. Please, please, let him smile at her again. Let things go back to how they’d been before Raffi had died.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked.
‘In a moment. Let’s walk on the beach first.’
Bramble’s tail wagged madly at the word ‘walk’, and Dragan just about caught her before she jumped out of the car. ‘Steady, girl,’ he said softly.
They walked down the rocky path to the bay; once, Melinda stumbled, and Dragan automatically put a hand out to steady her. She wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but then they were holding hands. And it felt so good, she wanted to cry with relief. Maybe they still had a chance. Maybe she hadn’t wrecked this completely.
She didn’t say a word, not wanting to break the spell and make him pull his hand away from hers. And, to her relief, the beach was deserted. Everyone was probably having their evening meal in the pub.
They stood in silence near the edge of the lapping waves, looking out to sea. When Bramble flopped onto the sand, Melinda smiled and dropped to a sitting position, tugging Dragan down with her.
Although in some respects she didn’t want to break the silence, she knew they had to get this out in the open before they could move on. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said softly. ‘I know you think I have a duty to go back. And I know you think I’m being selfish.’
‘Aren’t you?’
She turned to face him. ‘Dragan, I know you’d give anything for the chance to be able to go home and help your family. That they came first with you. But the difference is, your family loved you right back. And they wouldn’t have expected you to give up being a doctor for them.’
‘I was going to be a lawyer,’ he reminded her. ‘And then manage the family firm.’
‘But supposing you’d hated boats? Supposing you’d discovered…oh, say, that you were a brilliant artist? Your family would’ve encouraged you to follow your dreams. To follow your vocation, yes?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted.
‘There’s the difference. My parents never did. They only ever noticed me when they wanted me to do something for them. Right from when I was very small, I wanted to work with animals. I wanted to be a vet. And I’ve worked hard to make it happen.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘Only my nonna understood that. Remember I told you that my parents didn’t even come to my graduation? They treat me as if I’m a spoiled child who’s just playing dress-up—that this is some kind of hobby for me.’
He shook his head. ‘You’re a professional, and you’re good at it. But the thing is, Melinda, there are other people who can do your job. There aren’t other people who can rule Contarini.’
‘Actually, there are.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Do you want to know what I spent last night doing—apart from trying very hard not to come over and see you? I read the constitution of my country—I got Serena to scan it and email it to me. And there are ways around this. My father could pass an act of parliament so the title goes to his brother instead of to me. Or I could be crowned and then abdicate—and then Serena can take over, because she’s next in line after me.’
‘Have you asked Serena how she feels about that?’
‘She was born to be queen, Dragan. She’s everything Raffi and I weren’t. She’s diplomatic, she’s good with people—’
‘You’re good with people,’ he cut in.
Melinda shook her head. ‘Not in the same way.’
‘All the same, have you asked her?’
‘Not exactly,’ she admitted.
‘So aren’t you just doing the same as your parents? Expecting someone else to fall in with what you want?’
She felt the colour burning through her cheeks. ‘I’m not being manipulative, Dragan. Of course I’ll talk to Serena about it—it has to be what she wants, too. And if she does…then there’s no reason why I can’t stay here. With you.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘Then it’s back to the drawing board. We’ll think of something else.’ But at least he was still holding her hand. Her fingers tightened around his. ‘Is it so much to ask? Just to live my life like any other woman, be with the man who makes me feel as if I really belong somewhere for the first time I can remember?’
He was silent for a long, long time. Finally, he raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. ‘I don’t know. I would always put my family first, do the right thing. But, as you say, our experiences are different.’ He paused. ‘And I’m still trying to get my head round the fact that you didn’t trust me.’
‘I do trust you, Dragan. I just panicked—I acted with my head instead of my heart. I remembered the way people had reacted to me in the past, and although I know you’re not like any of them I couldn’t help myself.’ She grimaced. ‘The irony is now you don’t trust me.’
‘Can you blame me? Our whole relationship was based on secrets and lies.’
‘Not lies,’ she corrected. ‘There was one thing I hadn’t told you.’
‘I’m very glad,’ he said dryly, ‘that you didn’t call it “just one little thing”. Because it was a big thing.’
‘I know, and I’m sorry. But it was the only thing I didn’t tell you.’ She held his gaze. ‘And everything else I’ve told you has been the truth.’
‘The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?’
She smiled wryly. ‘Yes. And I’d swear that in a court of law. I never wanted to hurt you, Dragan. You mean everything to me.’ She swallowed hard. ‘So where does that leave us?’
‘This whole thing has hurt us both,’ Dragan said, ‘so let’s just take it slowly. Get to know each other again. This time no secrets.’
‘No more secrets. I promise,’ she said.
‘Bene.’ He kissed the back of her hand again.
She coughed. ‘Up a bit.’
He shook his head. ‘Too soon. We’re taking this slowly.’
‘And that means what…dating?’
‘It means taking it slowly and learning to trust each other,’ he said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on. Time to go back.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘SLOWLY’ meant frustratingly slowly, Melinda discovered. She’d drafted a statement for the press, with Dragan’s agreement, that they were ‘just good friends’. Which meant that in Penhally they couldn’t even hold hands or kiss each other goodnight. In a way, it went with Dragan’s insistence on taking things slowly, getting to know each other again—but she ached for their old, more physical relationship. She missed waking up in his arms, having breakfast with him.
Well, maybe not so much breakfast.
She’d lost her appetite, and even the scent of toast had turned her stomach.
Or maybe it was her period coming. She’d always been peculiarly sensitive to smells just before—
She stopped dead.
No.
She couldn’t possibly be pregnant. She and Dragan had only made love without protection that one time—the night before she’d gone back to Contarini. And it had been her safe time. Some