The Frenchman Chosen Bride✔️(Completed)

Eight

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Nearly Four Months Later...

Vanessa shouldered her way through the door of her one bedroom ground-floor flat, shutting out the noise of the traffic and wailing sirens. She was soaked. Autumn was here with a vengeance. She dropped the bags of shopping and kicked off her shoes with relief, taking off her layers and leaving them to drip dry in the bathroom. She ran a quick hot bath and afterwards wrapped herself in her dressing gown, feeling a little better. She would have to be more careful. She sat gratefully on her sofa, placing a hand on her belly. She still couldn't believe she was pregnant. But she was.

    She remembered the shock of that day when, after weeks of relentless nausea on her return from France and then no sign of her period, dread had settled in her heart. Finally, one day after work, she had worked up the nerve to buy an over the counter test. A positive result. Confirmed by the doctor.
    She hadn't told anyone yet. Not even her mom. Even now she was barely able to contain her heartbreak. It was far, far worse than she'd imagined. She had fobbed Abbie off when she asked about the holiday, being vague, and Abbie thankfully had responded with her usual exasperated roll of the eyes, before launching into the last adventure of her own love-life.

    Her hand moved abstractedly over her belly. She had never contemplated not keeping the baby. That wasn't an option. She sighed heavily as the object of her every waking and sleeping thought intruded.
    Rafael.

    She knew she couldn't live a lie, couldn't have the baby and not have the truth known. She had to let him know. But how to tell him? How to get in touch with him? How to be prepared in case he got heavy-handed and demanded...what? Vanessa remembered him telling her that he was last in his line. No doubt an heir figured somewhere in his future. Just not with someone like her.

    But would he demand she had over the baby? She felt a sliver of fear. She didn't think he would be capable, but then he was so powerful. An heir to his fortune was important, necessary for the survival of the island...
    She would have to be strong and not let him bully her. She doubted he'd want to be saddled with a small baby anyway. It would seriously cramp his lifestyle.

    She grimaced. She'd gone from a world where Rafael had never existed to one in which, since she'd come home, every paper she opened seemed to have a picture of him. In New York, Paris, Napoli... In each place a new fortune being made, a new woman on his arm. Each time like a knife in her heart.

    She got up wearily and went through the motions of cooking dinner, eating it and tasting nothing. Afterwards she went into the bathroom and saw the pool of water on the floor under her dripping clothes. She went to get the Sunday papers she was about to throw away, opening them out on the floor to soak up the water.

    For a second, she didn't even notice that she'd stopped breathing, then shook her head as if to clear it. The photo and the words didn't disappear. It was the business section. His face stared at her starkly from the page under a headline:
    FRENCH BILLIONAIRE IN UK TO SAVE
    HOTEL CHAIN
    Rafael Xavier-Lèzille, the French
    entrepreneur, owner of Lèzille island
    and the exclusive hotel chain of the
    same name, is in London this week in
    negotiation to save the once luxurious
    chain of Winchester hotels...
    In recent times they have deteriorated...
    Has his own offices in the City...
    Other companies interested in his hotel...
    Why do we have to look abroad to be saved.

   The words swam up at her from the page. She sank down oblivious to the wet floor. Checked the date. Yesterday. That meant he was here this week. Incredulously.
    She read it again. He had offices in the City. She went to her phone book and checked with nerveless fingers. Sure enough, there it was, the address and phone number. Why hadn't she thought of that before? She checked the clock. It was still business hours.
    Just before she could think or lose her nerve she dailled the number from the book. A crisp voice answered. She asked to be out through to Rafael's personal secretary.
    "Hello, Martha Morris here."