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Sharp lacerations bloodied her heart and for a moment Saffie couldn’t breathe through the pain to tell him he was wrong. That he was a far better man than his father could ever hope to be. That Shanghai wasn’t a mistake for her.

He placed one long finger over her lips before she could respond. ‘No need for more protest. I know where I stand. And you were right when you sa

id this needed to stop.’ He dropped his hand and stepped back. ‘You won’t need to suffer my touch any longer.’

With that, he strode away.

She was still there, her heart thudding dully in her chest, when Rubinho, the head butler, found her.

‘Would madam like some refreshments in the salon or in her suite?’ the young man asked.

She tried to focus beyond her deafening despair. ‘I... My suite would be fine.’

He nodded briskly. ‘Allow me to escort you to the south wing, por favor.’

She followed on wooden feet through several more stunning hallways and sweeping staircases.

Villa Sábia was magnificent in a way that awed and lifted the most depleted spirit. And Saffie was no less immune to the magic of the sprawling estate as she took in the authentic Brazilian architecture, the ethnic woodwork and international objets d’art that had gone into making the property one of the most stunning in the world.

By the time they approached the hallway that led to the south wing, she understood why she’d fended off numerous requests from top magazines to photograph Joao’s home.

Style, luxury, elegance, comfort. There wasn’t one piece of furniture or art that didn’t seamlessly elevate the true beauty of the villa. Not a surface she didn’t want to caress or just stand and admire in awe.

Her suite was no exception. And she wasn’t surprised when her love of Joao’s villa directly fused with her dangerously emotional sentiments for the man himself.

She knew it might be a futile attempt but she tried to counteract it by immersing herself in her own work. An hour after arrival she’d forced herself to eat a light tapas meal, after which she’d met with the senior household staff to discuss menus, wine and the guest list for the reception dinner planned in Lavinia’s honour the next night.

Afterwards, she was going through her diary when a reminder pinged that made her breath catch.

She’d officially reached the end of her first trimester yesterday. Her morning sickness had passed but Joao still insisted on the doctor accompanying them on their trips.

The same doctor would be conducting another health check tomorrow morning, including the ultrasound. Her heart skipped a beat, swelling with a love almost impossible to contain.

Everything she’d wanted was nestled in her womb.

Almost everything...

And she would have to be content with that because Joao had made his stance clear. He might desire her, but the emotional risk wasn’t worth taking for him. Perhaps he even secretly couldn’t wait to see the back of her once she’d fulfilled her usefulness on the Archer deal?

The stark agony that accompanied that realisation made her set her tablet aside. Shakily, she walked to the edge of the large terrace she’d chosen for her meeting. Beyond three tiers of landscaped garden and off the right of a trellised gazebo she saw the largest of the four swimming pools, sparkling in the late-afternoon sun.

She had two free hours before dinner and, eager to occupy herself with something other than her anguishing thoughts, she hurried to her suite and changed into a swimsuit.

The bra cups of her bikini felt a little snug and she avoided looking at herself in the mirror as she secured the ties. She hadn’t had time to buy new ones, so they’d just have to do.

Throwing on a silk beach robe, she fished out her sunglasses and sun cream and headed downstairs.

At the poolside, Saffie discarded her robe and stood on the edge of the pool, her face lifted up to the warm sun, wishing she could blank her mind of the anxiety for just a minute. Or, failing that, wishing she had a crystal ball to see into a future where she was fully content with just her and her babies.

Where the absence of Joao didn’t cut her like a knife.

Shaking her head free of fairy tales, Saffie lowered herself into the pool. She swam lazy laps, the joy of the cool water washing over her soothing her senses, until thirst drove her out. After drinking half a glass of her lime-based punch, delivered while she’d been in the water, she returned to sit on the wide shallow steps of the pool, her feet in the water.

Then, as so often happened in her quiet moments, her mind went to the babies growing within her.

Her breath caught softly.

Twins.