Prince Daddy & the Nanny (13 page)

He thought he'd accepted that fact. After almost four years, he should have accepted it. During that entire time, while he'd gone through the motions of living, he'd been confident that Riley was in good hands with Brigitte, and he'd been comfortable with his daughter's relationship with her nanny.

So why did it seem so different when that nanny was someone else? Why did seeing his daughter with Hannah seem so wrong? Or was the problem maybe that it seemed so right?

How was it possible that after only one month, Hannah had become such an integral part of his daughter's life—and his, too? It was hard to believe that it had been four
weeks already, that it was already the beginning of August, almost…

The third of August.

The pain was like a dagger through his heart. The stab of accompanying guilt equally swift and strong. He reached for the railing, his fingers gripping so tight that his knuckles were white.

Dios
—he'd almost forgotten.

How had he let that happen? How had the events of the past few weeks so thoroughly occupied his mind and his heart that the date had very nearly escaped him?

He drew in a deep breath, exhaled it slowly.

“I just remembered that there are some files I need from the office,” he announced abruptly. “I'll have to go back to Port Augustine.”

“Tonight?” Hannah asked incredulously.

“Can we go, too, Daddy?” Riley asked.

Not
I
but
we,
he realized, and felt another pang. Already she was so attached to Hannah, maybe too attached. Because at the end of the summer, Riley would have to say goodbye to someone else she cared about.

“Not this time,” he told her, stroking a finger over the soft curve of her cheek. “It would be too far past your bedtime before we got into town.”

“When are you coming back?” Riley asked.

“Tomorrow,” he promised.

Riley nodded, her head still pillowed on Hannah's shoulder. “Okay.”

“Are you sure everything's all right?” Hannah asked.

Concern was evident in her blue-gray gaze, and as Michael looked into her eyes, he suddenly couldn't even remember what color Sam's had been.

“I'm sure,” he lied.

He'd loved his wife—he
still
loved his wife—but the memories were starting to fade. She'd been the center of
his world for so many years, and it had taken him a long time to put his life back together after she was gone. Losing her had absolutely devastated him, and that was something he wouldn't ever let himself forget. And that was why he wouldn't ever risk loving someone else.

M
ichael didn't remember many of the details of Sam's funeral. He didn't even remember picking out the plot where she was buried, and he wasn't entirely sure that he had. It was probably Marissa, who had stepped in to take care of all of the details—and his baby girl—who made the decision.

Thinking back to that time now, he knew that Sam would have been disappointed in him. She would have expected him to be there for their daughter, and he hadn't been. Not for a long time.

But he was trying to be there for her now, trying to be the father his little girl needed, and he thought he'd been making some progress. There was no awkwardness with Riley anymore. Not that everything was always smooth sailing, but they were learning to navigate the stormy seas together.

Hannah was a big part of that, of course. There was no denying the role she'd played in bringing him and Riley together. And sitting here now, on the little wrought-iron bench
by his wife's grave as he'd done so many times before, he knew that Sam would be okay with that.

He caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and, glancing up, saw his sister climbing the hill. She laid the bouquet of flowers she carried in front of Sam's stone.

“Are you doing okay?” she asked gently.

“You know, I really think I am.”

She nodded at that, then took a seat beside him.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, before he asked, “Why did you come?”

“Did you want to be alone?”

“No, I just wondered why you were here. Why you always seem to be there when I need you—and even when I don't realize that I do.”

“Because you're my big brother and I love you.”

He slipped his arm across her shoulders. “I'm the luckiest brother in the world.”

She tipped her head back and smiled.

“It would have been our sixteenth anniversary today,” he said.

“I know.”

“I thought we would have sixty years together.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “She was more than my wife, she was my best friend—and the best part of my life. And then she was gone.”

“But now you have Riley,” his sister reminded him.

He nodded. “The best part of both of us.”

Marissa smiled again. “I heard she's learning to play tennis.”

“Dr. Marotta told you, I'll bet.”

She nodded. “How's Hannah?”

“The stitches should come out in a couple of days, and she's learned to keep a distance from Riley's backhand.” He
waited a beat, then said, “She canceled almost all of Riley's lessons for the summer.”

“Good for her.”

He hadn't expected such unequivocal support of the decision. “You were the one who encouraged me to find a piano instructor for Riley,” he reminded her.

“Because she has an obvious talent that should be nurtured. But you went from music lessons twice a week to five days a week, then added language instruction and art classes. And I know the deportment classes were Mother's idea, but you could have said no. Instead, the poor child barely had time to catch her breath.”

Which was almost exactly what Hannah had said. And while Riley never complained about her schedule, he should have seen that it was too much. He should have seen a lot of things he'd been oblivious to until recently.

“So other than tennis, what is Riley doing with her spare time?” his sister wanted to know.

“She's…having fun.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I'd almost forgotten what it sounded like to hear her laugh,” he admitted. “It's…magic.”

Marissa smiled again. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“About what?”

“To worry about you. Maybe you are beginning to heal.”

He knew that he was. And yet, he had to admit, “I still miss her.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But you've got to move on. You're too young to be alone for the rest of your life.”

“I can't imagine being with anyone other than Sam,” Michael told her, but even as he spoke the words, he knew that they weren't entirely true. The truth was, he'd never loved anyone but Sam, and it seemed disloyal to even think that he ever could.

But that didn't stop him from wanting Hannah.

 

Hannah had sensed that something was wrong when the prince suddenly insisted that he needed to go to Port Augustine the night before. It seemed apparent to her that what he really needed was to get away from Cielo del Norte, though she couldn't figure out why.

Over the past few weeks, as Michael and Riley had spent more time together and grown closer, she'd thought that she and the prince were growing closer, too. But his abrupt withdrawal suggested otherwise.

She wasn't surprised that he was gone overnight. It didn't make sense to make the drive back when he had a house in town. She was surprised when he stayed away through all of the next day. But Caridad seemed unconcerned about his whereabouts. In fact, the housekeeper didn't comment on his absence at all, leading Hannah to suspect that she might know where the prince was.

It was only Riley, because she'd been spending more and more time with him every day, who asked for her daddy. Hannah tried to reassure the child without admitting that she had no idea where the prince had gone—or when he would be back.

It was late—hours after Riley had finally settled down to sleep—before she heard the door open. She told herself that she wasn't waiting up for him, but she'd taken the draft of Kevin's latest essay into the library to read because she knew if she was there that she would hear the prince come in.

“I didn't know if you'd still be up,” he said.

“I had some things to do.”

He opened a glass cabinet and pulled out a crystal decanter of brandy. She wasn't in the habit of drinking anything stronger than wine, and never more than a single glass. But when the prince poured a generous splash of the dark
amber liquid into each of two snifters and offered one to her, it seemed rude to refuse.

“You haven't asked where I've been all day,” he noted, swirling the brandy in his glass.

“I figured if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me.”

He sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, but with his back to the arm, so that he was facing her. But he continued to stare into his glass as he said, “It was Sam's and my anniversary today.”

“You went to the cemetery,” she guessed.

“Just like I do every year.” He swallowed a mouthful of brandy before he continued. “Except that this is the first time I almost forgot.”

Hannah eyed him warily, uncertain how to respond—or even if she should. She sipped her drink cautiously while she waited for him to continue.

“We celebrated twelve anniversaries together. This is only the fourth year that she's been gone, and the date almost slipped by me.”

“You're feeling guilty,” she guessed.

“Maybe,” he acknowledged. He tipped the glass to his lips again. “And maybe I'm feeling relieved, too. Because in the first year that she was gone, I couldn't seem to not think, every single day, about how empty my life was without her, so the important dates—like her birthday and our anniversary—were unbearable.”

He looked into his glass, and frowned when he found that it was nearly empty. “And then there was Mother's Day. She wanted nothing so much as she wanted to have a baby, and she never got to celebrate a single Mother's Day.”

Beneath the bitter tone, she knew that he was still hurting deeply, still grieving for the wife he'd loved.

“I wasn't happy when Sam told me she was pregnant,” he admitted.

Coming from a man who obviously doted on his little
girl, the revelation startled her more than anything else he'd said.

“I knew it was a risk for her,” he explained, and rose to pour another splash of brandy into his glass. “Though she'd successfully managed her diabetes for years, the doctors warned that pregnancy and childbirth would take a toll on her body.

“After a lot of discussion and numerous medical consults, we decided not to take the risk. It was enough, I thought, that we had each other.”

Obviously, Hannah realized, at some point that decision had changed.

“She didn't tell me that she'd stopped taking her birth control pills,” Michael confided. “We'd always been partners—not just in the business but in our marriage. Neither one of us made any major decisions without consulting the other, so I wasn't just surprised when she told me that we were going to have a baby, I was furious.”

Hannah didn't say anything, because she knew the prince wasn't trying to make conversation so much as he was trying to vent the emotions that were tearing him up inside. So she just sat and listened and quietly sipped her drink.

“I was furious with Sam,” he continued, “for unilaterally making the decision that would cost her life, even if neither of us knew that at the time. And I was furious with my mother, for convincing Sam that I needed an heir—because I found out later that was the motivation behind Sam's deception.”

And that, she thought, explained so much of the tension in his relationship with his mother.

“But in the end, I realized that I was most furious with myself—because I should have taken steps to ensure that Sam couldn't get pregnant. If I had done that, then I wouldn't have lost my wife.”

He sank into the chair beside hers, as if all of the energy
and emotion had drained out of him so that he was no longer able to stand.

She touched his hand. “You might not have lost your wife,” she agreed softly. “But then you wouldn't have your little girl.”

He sighed. “You're right. And now, when I think about it, I know that even if I could go back in time, I wouldn't want to. I couldn't ever give up Riley, even if it meant I could have Sam back.”

“They say there's nothing as strong as a parent's love for a child,” she said softly, her throat tight.

“The first time I held her in my arms, I knew there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for her,” he admitted. “For a few glorious hours, I let myself imagine the future we would have together—Sam and Riley and myself. And then Sam was gone.”

The grief in his voice was still raw—even after almost four years. And listening to him talk about the wife he'd obviously loved with his whole heart, Hannah experienced a pang of envy. Would she ever know how it felt to love like that—and to be loved like that in return?

She'd thought she was in love with Harrison, but when their relationship ended, she was more angry than hurt. She most definitely had
not
been heartbroken.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't come in here with the intention of dumping on you.”

“Please don't apologize, Your Highness. And don't worry—I can handle a little dumping.”

“Strong shoulders and a soft heart?”

She managed a smile. “Something like that.”

“Can you handle one more confession?”

She would sit here with him forever if it was what he wanted, but she had no intention of admitting that to him, so she only said, “Sure.”

“I met Sam when I was fifteen years old and while I
didn't realize it at the time, I started to fall for her that very same day. I was lucky enough that she fell in love with me, too, because from that first moment, there was never anyone else. Even after she died…I never wanted anyone else.” His dark eyes lifted to hers, held. “Until now.”

She swallowed.

“I know it's wrong,” he continued. “Not that it's a betrayal of my vows, because I've finally accepted that Sam is gone, but wrong because you're Riley's nanny and—”

She lifted a hand to touch her fingers to his lips, cutting off his explanation. She didn't want to hear him say why it was wrong—she refused to believe that it was. If he wanted her even half as much as she wanted him, that was all that mattered.

Somewhere in the back of her mind it occurred to her that the prince was still grieving and that if she made the next move, she might be taking advantage of him in a vulnerable moment.

Then his fingers encircled her wrist, and his thumb stroked slowly over the pulse point there as if to gauge her response. As if he couldn't hear how hard and fast her heart was pounding. Then he lowered her hand and laid it against his chest, so that she could feel that his heart was pounding just as hard and fast, and the last of her reservations dissipated.

She knew there was no future for them, but if she could have even one night, she would gladly take it and cherish the memories forever.

“I want you, Hannah,” he said again. “But the first time I kissed you, I promised that I wouldn't do it again.”

“You promised that you wouldn't make any unwanted advances,” she corrected softly.

“Isn't that the same thing?”

“Not if I want you to kiss me,” she said.

“Do you?” he asked, his mouth hovering above hers so
that she only needed to tilt her chin a fraction to make the kiss happen.

“Yes.” She whispered her response against his mouth.

It was the barest brush of her lips against his, yet she felt the jolt all the way down to her toes. She caught only a hint of his flavor, but she knew that it was rich and dark and more potent than the brandy she'd sipped.

“I want you to kiss me,” she repeated, in case there was any doubt.

He responded by skimming his tongue over the bow of her upper lip, making her sigh with pleasure. With need.

“I want you,” she said.

His tongue delved beneath her parted lips, tasting, teasing. She met him halfway, in a slow dance of seduction.

It was only their second kiss, and yet she felt as if she'd kissed him a thousand times before. She felt as if she belonged in his arms. With him. Forever.

No—she wasn't going to let herself pretend that this was some kind of fairy tale. She knew better than to think that the prince wanted to sweep her off of her feet and take her away to live out some elusive happily-ever-after.