Pregnant with a Royal Baby! (16 page)

“You’re not glowing today.”

“Nope. Why didn’t anybody tell me that pregnant women didn’t get any sleep when they got close to their due date?”

“Nobody wants to scare women off,” her mother said with a laugh as she entered the sitting room. She bent and kissed Ginny’s forehead, then sat beside her on the sofa.

“Dom not coming around?”

“Nope. And I’m out of tricks. We talked baby names. I’ve shown him how to feel the baby move. We eat breakfast and dinner together every day, and nothing. I’m out of ideas, short of seduction.” She pointed at her stomach. “And we both know seduction would be a little awkward now.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“It’s fine. But I’ve gotta run. I get to play loving princess now, while he ignores me.”

* * *

They left through the front of the palace so long-range lenses could pick up photos of Dom opening the door for Ginny.

Every inch of Dom now hated the charade he’d created. It was working, but it was also a strain on Ginny. When she was just a normal woman, a one-night stand, he didn’t see the strain as being as much of a big deal, though he knew it was a sacrifice.

But now that he could see the effects of her sacrifice, her swollen stomach, the sadness that came to her eyes every time she realized how empty, how hollow their relationship was, it burned through him like a guilty verdict pronounced by the gods. She had been the sweetest woman in the world, and in spite of the way he was using her, she was still sweet, still genuine, still helping him.

If he didn’t go to hell for this, it would be a miracle. Because he certainly believed he deserved the highest punishment.

She slid into the limo and blew her breath out in a long, labored sigh.

His gaze darted to hers. “Are you okay?”

She placed her hands on her basketball stomach. “I’m not accustomed to carrying twenty-five extra pounds.” She laughed good-naturedly. “Sometimes I get winded.”

The funny part of it was she didn’t look bad. Wearing slim slacks that tapered to the top of her ankle and a loose blue sweater that didn’t hide her baby bump but didn’t hug it, either, she just looked pregnant. Her arms hadn’t gained. Her legs hadn’t gained. She simply had a belly.

A belly that held his child.

“If the trip is too much, we can go back to the palace.”

“Only to have to reschedule it for tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The guilt pressed down again. He glanced at her feet, pretty in her pink-toned sandals. Her whimsy in the choice of color made him smile.

“You have an interesting fashion sense.”

She gaped at him. “I have a wonderful fashion sense, Mr. White-Shirt-and-Tie-Everywhere-You-Go. You need to read
Vogue
every once in a while.”

The very thought made him laugh.

Her head tilted as she smiled at him. “It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh.”

“Yeah, well, our saber-rattling sheikh is back and he isn’t the country’s only problem. It’s hard for me to laugh when I have business to attend to.”

Her pretty blue eyes sought his in the back of the limo. “Is it really that difficult?”

He turned his head to the right and then the left to loosen the tension. “Yes and no.” Oddly, he felt better. He could twist his neck a million times, sitting in the halls of parliament, and nothing. But two feet away from her and the tension began to ebb.

“Ruling is mostly about paying attention. Not just to who wants what but also to negotiating styles and nonverbal cues. There are parliamentarians who get quiet right before they walk out of a session and spill their guts to the press. There are others who explode in session.” He caught her gaze again. “I’d rather deal with them.”

She smiled and nodded, and the conversation died. But when he helped her out of the limo at Marco’s seaside coffee shop, she was all smiles.

A reporter shouted, “Coming back to the scene of the crime?”

She laughed. “If fainting was a crime, tons of pregnant women would be in jail.” She smiled prettily as she slid on the sunglasses that made her look like a rock star. “Just hungry for a cookie.”

With his bodyguards clearing a path, they made their way into the coffee shop. Standing behind the counter, Marco beamed with pleasure.

He bowed. “It is an honor that you love my cookies.”

She laughed. “The pleasure is all mine. Not only do I want a cookie and a glass of milk for now, but I’m taking a half-dozen cookies back to the palace.”

Marco scurried to get her order. Dominic frowned. “Don’t you want to hear what I want?”

“Hazelnut coffee,” Marco said, clearly disinterested in Dominic as he carefully placed cookies in a box for Ginny. Antonella brought Dominic’s coffee to the counter.

He pulled a card out to pay, but Marco stopped him with a gasp. “It is my honor to serve our princess today.”

Dominic said, “Right.”

Because Ginny didn’t faint this time, Dom could actually lead her out to the long deck that became a dock. He set her milk on the table in front of her, along with her single cookie. He handed the box of six cookies to a bodyguard.

Ginny said, “There better be six cookies in that box when we get back to the palace.”

Dominic’s typically staid and stoic bodyguard laughed.

After a sip of coffee, he said, “They love you, you know?”

She unwrapped her big sugar cookie as if it were a treasure. “Everybody loves me. But there’s a reason for that. It’s not magic. I’m a child of an alcoholic. I
know
everybody has something difficult in their life so I treat everyone well.”

“I treat everyone well.”

She lifted her cookie. “Yeah. Sort of.”

“Sort of? I never yell at anyone. And if I reprimand, it’s with kindness.”

“You’re still a prince.”

“Dominic?”

Dom glanced up to see his boarding school friend, Pietro Fonichelli. The son of an Italian billionaire and a billionaire several times over in his own right, thanks to his computer software skills, Pietro was probably better known around the globe than Dominic was. He was also on Dominic’s list of friends, the people his bodyguards were told to allow access to him.

Dominic rose. “What are you doing here?”

As he said the words, Dom noticed Pietro wore shorts and a big T-shirt.

“Vacationing.” He faced Ginny. “And this is your lovely bride.”

It was the first time Dominic was uncomfortable with the ruse. Engaging in a charade to help his subjects enjoy the birth of the country’s next heir? That was a good thing. Fooling someone he considered a friend? It didn’t sit well. Pietro had been at the wedding, but there had been so many people that at the time it hadn’t registered that he was tricking a friend.

He politely said, “Yes, this is Ginny Jones.”

Pietro laughed. “Ginny Jones? Is she so American that she didn’t take your last name?”

Ginny rose, extending her hand to Pietro. “No. Dom sometimes forgets we’re married.”

Laughing, Pietro took the hand she extended. Instead of shaking it, he kissed the knuckles.

Something hot and fuzzy whipped through Dom. The custom in Xaviera was that a man had a choice. A handshake or a kiss. He should not be upset that his friend chose a kiss. It was nothing more than a sign of affection for the wife of a friend.

Holding Dom’s wife’s gaze, Pietro said, “I’m not entirely sure how a man forgets he’s married to such a beautiful woman.”

Ginny smiled as if she thought Pietro’s words were baloney, but Dom had never seen his friend so smitten before. Just as Dom had been tongue-tied and eager the day he’d met Ginny, Pietro all but drooled.

Ginny said, “Dom’s a great husband.”

“Yeah, well, if he ever isn’t—” he let go of Ginny’s hand and pulled out a business card “—this card has my direct line on it.”

Ginny laughed, but Dom said, “What? Are you flirting with my wife?”

“Teasing,” Pietro said. He pulled Dom into a bear hug, released him and said, “It was great to run into you.” He glanced at Ginny, then back at Dom. “We should do dinner sometime.”

The air came back to Dom’s lungs and he felt incredibly stupid. He knew Pietro was a jokester. He knew his friend loved getting a rise out of Dom. It was part of what made them click. They could joke. Tease. “Yes. We should.”

With his coffee gone and Ginny’s cookie demolished, they walked back to the limo, one bodyguard conspicuously holding a box of a half-dozen brightly painted sugar cookies.

He helped Ginny into the limo, then sat beside her, realizing Pietro was the kind of man who wouldn’t care if her ex was a king. He would pursue Ginny. With the money to buy and sell loyalty, her connection to a king would mean nothing to him. Once Ginny was free of Dom, it wouldn’t even cross Pietro’s mind to care that she’d been his wife. He’d pursue her.

His nerves endings stood on edge like the fur of a hissing cat.
Not out of jealousy
, he told himself. Out of fear for her. Pietro might be a great friend, but he wouldn’t be a good husband. Like Dom, he took what he wanted. Discarded it when he was done.

His nerves popped, and he suddenly knew another consequence of this fake relationship. In two years, he was going to have to watch his wife with another man.

* * *

That night in bed, the tension that vibrated from Dom rolled through Ginny. She considered shifting away, going to her own side of the bed, but she couldn’t. Her baby would be born in thirty-two days, give or take a week for the unpredictability of first babies, and in two short years she would be gone. She wouldn’t give up one second of her time with him. Even if it meant she wouldn’t sleep tonight because the muscles of Dom’s arm beneath her head had stiffened to concrete.

Finally, unable to take the tension anymore, she said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” Knowing they weren’t going to get any sleep anyway, she ran her fingers along the thick dark hair on his chest and said, “So I’ll bet it was nice seeing your friend today.”

He laughed. “Yeah. Nice.”

“You know he was only teasing.”

“Yes. He’s a jokester and if he’d do something stupid at a bar, the press would love it and it could take the heat off of us.”

“I don’t mind the heat.”

He didn’t say anything for a second, then his arm tightened around her shoulders. “I know you don’t.”

“So we don’t need for your friend to get punched out at a bar.”

“Especially since I would like to have dinner with him. Actually, he’s somebody I’d like to have in the baby’s life. He started off wealthy, could have bummed around the world forever on his dad’s money, but he knew the importance of being strong, being smart. I might just make him the baby’s godfather so he’s here for more than the big events.”

She nodded but tears came to her eyes as an awful scenario ran through her brain. In two years, she and Dom would be divorced, but Dom and the baby’s lives would go on—without her. She would come and go for those big events in the baby’s life. She’d even be a part of things, but not really. After her two years were up, she’d be an outsider looking in.

“Are you crying?”

Dom’s soft voice trickled down to her.

She swallowed. “It’s just a pregnancy thing.”

He sat up slightly and shifted her to her pillow so he could look down at her. “Is there anything I can do?”

You could love me
, she thought and wished with all her heart she could say the words. But she’d seduced this guy twice. She’d agreed to his plan to have their child born amid celebration. She was good to his family, good to his employees, good to the press and his subjects. She didn’t spend a lot of money, but she did spend enough that she looked like the princess he wanted her to be.

And what did she get for her troubles? The knowledge that in two years she’d be nothing to him.

She sniffed.

Dominic’s eyes widened with horror. “Please. Silent tears are one thing. Actually crying will make us both nuts.”

“Really? I’m fat. I’m hungry. I’m
always
hungry. I’m always
on.
I’ve been good to you, good to your family, good to your subjects and you can’t love me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “It isn’t that I can’t love you.”

“Oh, it’s just that you
don’t want to love me.
That makes it so much better.”

He popped his eyes open. “It isn’t that, either.”

“Then explain this to me because I’m tired but can’t sleep. And I’m hungry even though I eat all the time. And I just feel so freaking alone.”

“We could call your friends.”

“I want my husband.”

“The Affectionate Prince.”

“I don’t give a flying fig what the press calls you. This is our baby. Half yours. You should be here when I need you.”

“I am here when you need me.”

“Yeah. Right. You’re here physically, but emotionally you’re a million miles away.”

“I rule a country.”

She shook her head. “Your dad rules the country. You work for him. Technically you’re just the minister of finance.”

“I need to be prepared for when I take over.”

“Really? Your dad is around fifty-five. He’s nowhere near retirement age. You and I could have three kids and a great life before your dad retires.”

He laughed. “Seriously?” But she could tell from his tone of voice that the thought wasn’t an unpleasant one.

She sat up. Holding his gaze, she said, “Would it be so wrong to ease off for the next ten years?”

He shook his head with a laugh. “First you wanted two years...now you want ten?”

“Yes.” A sense of destiny filled her. The this-is-your-moment tug on her heart. There was something different in his voice. He wasn’t hard, inflexible, as he usually was. In some ways, his eyes looked as tired as hers.

Could he be tired of fighting?

“I’m asking for ten years, Your Majesty, if your dad retires at sixty-five.”

Dom frowned.

She plowed on, so determined that her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. “What if he works until he’s seventy? What if he’s like Queen Elizabeth, keeping the throne until he’s ninety? We could have a long, happy life.”