Annie West - Her Forgotten Lover's Heir

Slowly she pivoted, surveying the range of feminine clothes it would surely take months and months to wear. Had they, like the clothes she wore, been bought while she’d been in hospital? Was it all on loan while she decided which items she wanted? She’d have to talk with Pietro.

But as she turned she discovered something else. There was no men’s clothing in the space.

Frowning, Molly backed out and returned to the bedroom.

There was another set of doors. But as she turned the handle she discovered they led out onto part of the roof terrace, made private by screens of green foliage that blocked it from the rest of the garden.

Molly turned and crossed the room, her feet silent on the cool floor. She pushed open another door and there was a bathroom, an airy space full of exquisite creamy marble flecked with gold.

Ignoring the call of the sunken tub, and the rain shower big enough for a small crowd, Molly spun round, surveying the bedroom.

No more doors, which meant no walk-in closet for Pietro.

Nor were there any signs of male habitation. There was nothing on the bedside tables, desk or even on the long sofa facing the bed.

Pietro didn’t share this room with her.

Which begged the question—exactly what sort of marriage did they have?

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