The Christmas Love-Child

The only time she’d accepted anything was to give her family a place to live, when Maksim had blackmailed her into marriage. A strange feeling almost like shame went through him at the memory.

I had no choice, he told himself. I had to protect my child. I had to make her marry me. But the oft-repeated reason rang hollow today.

“I love you,” she’d whispered. “Can you ever love me?”

“You’re right,” he said heavily, clawing his hand through his dark hair. “Grace is not my usual type of woman.”

“She’s not.” Francesca gave him a sly smile. “I am.”

She was right. Francesca was exactly his type. A selfish beauty who enjoyed playing games and liked to fight dirty. She liked to insinuate they were special due to aristocratic birth, but there was one thing and one thing only Francesca thought was truly noble: money.

Creeping closer to him, she licked her sultry red lips. “You and I are perfect for each other. Yes, we fought constantly, but only because we pursue our own desires no matter the cost. We’re both selfish to the bone. Face it, Maksim, we’re exactly alike!”

He stared at her.

“That’s not true,” he said hoarsely. “I’m nothing like you. Now get out.”

“Maksim, don’t be a fool. You’re throwing away a fortune if you don’t marry me!”

“We’re done, Francesca. Through.” He clenched his fists, staring at her coldly. “If I ever see you again—if you ever upset my wife again—you will regret it.” Walking to the door, he flung it open. “Now leave.”

“Fine,” she ground out, tossing her head and exiting toward the curious party-goers outside. “Enjoy your common little wife. You’ll be tired of her before your kid’s even born!”

In the echo of her departing steps, Maksim closed the door heavily and sank into a chair at his desk. In his heart of hearts, he knew that he was just like Francesca.

Or at least he had been. Until he’d met someone who’d inspired him. Someone who with her sweet kindness and natural beauty had made him believe there was more to life than money.

He heard someone come in, and looked up, ready to snarl.

His sister stood in the doorway, her arms folded.

“About time you sent that woman away,” Dariya said. “And I hope you did it more thoroughly this time. Heaven knows she won’t take a hint. Maybe you should toss a Rolex into the Moskva River—she’d be sure to dive through the ice. That would be one way to finally—”

“Where’s Grace?” he interrupted.

“She wasn’t feeling well, so she’s gone upstairs to her room.” Her eyes met his. “You have a houseful of guests with no host or hostess at the moment. I thought you’d want to know.”

He took a deep breath. “Did Grace see me come in here with Francesca?”

“Yes. Everyone saw it. You might want to come and do some damage control.”

Maksim clenched his jaw. “I’ll go to her now.” His encounter with Francesca had left him feeling strangely dirty. Had he really been like that? Like her?

He needed to see Grace. To see her calm face and hear her sweet voice. To have her take him in her soft arms so that he could take a deep, clear breath…

“Let Grace rest, Maksim,” Dariya said sharply. “Let her sleep and talk to her in the morning. You need to end the rumors going through Moscow, or your marriage will be over before it’s begun.”

He clenched his jaw. He didn’t blame Grace for fleeing to her bedroom. How could he? He’d left her alone during their wedding reception, abandoning her with hundreds of strangers while he disappeared behind closed doors with his ex-mistress.

No wonder Grace had been so insecure, considering that he hadn’t bothered to reassure her. He’d just left her, his lonely, pregnant, deserted wife.

He clenched his hands into fists.

He had to make this right.

He had to see her.

“We’re exactly alike,” Francesca had said.

But fighting that was the soft echo of Grace’s voice from long ago. “You’re a good man, Maksim. You think it’s weakness…but I know your secret.”

Which woman did he want to believe?

Which man did he want to be?

He took a deep breath. “I’ll just check on her. I won’t wake her if she’s sleeping,” he promised. “Act as hostess until I’m back, Daritchka, won’t you?”

But friends and acquaintances were swarming the foyer. Bewildered at the sudden abrupt disappearance of both bride and groom, they stopped him in his path, asking for reassurance and explanations that Maksim hardly knew how to give. It took him almost twenty minutes to cross the marble floor of the foyer to the limestone stairs.

He went to Grace’s bedroom and knocked softly on the door. When he heard no answer, he pushed the door open.

Her room was dark. Only in the faintest trace of moonlight from the window could he see her shape in the Wedgwood-blue canopy bed beneath the covers.

He wanted to wake her but held himself back. Waking her would be selfish when it was only to seek his own comfort.

He was a husband.

He was going to be a father.

Everything had changed for him, but he’d been slow to realize it.

Turning away, ignoring the ache in his throat, he went downstairs and did his duty as host. He spent the rest of the long night entertaining his guests and reassuring them that his new bride had just taken ill due to her delicate condition. But all through the endless hours, he couldn’t stop thinking of his pregnant wife sleeping upstairs. Lonely in the bedroom that he’d given her as a way to punish her for calling his offer of marriage “a gilded cage.”

At dawn, after he’d finally shoved the last guest firmly out the door, Maksim crept back to her room, praying she would now be awake. If she wasn’t awake, he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.

He needed to feel comforted by her presence. To tell her he was sorry he’d been so cruel. To tell her…to tell her…

The warm blush of a gray-and-pink dawn filled her bedroom as he pushed open the door. She was still in bed, just as she’d been before.

I won’t wake her, he told himself. He would just watch her sleep. Even that would bring him some small peace.

But as he walked forward in the lightening room, something didn’t look right. Her body beneath the blanket looked strange. The comforter stretched all the way up to the headboard. He pulled back the blanket and discovered…pillows.

She was gone!

He snatched up the note attached to the pillow. It read:

Maksim,

There is no baby. I faked the pregnancy—don’t ask how—to try and get your money. But I can’t do it. Please divorce me immediately and don’t try to find me. I don’t want any alimony. I wish you every happiness in your life with Francesca. All I want is for you to be with the woman you love.

Grace

No baby? She’d faked the pregnancy?

Pain ripped through him, pain so staggering it almost dropped him to his knees.

He couldn’t breathe. The tie on his tuxedo suddenly seemed to constrict his air, choking him. He ripped it to the ground in a tear of fabric. He read the note again. And again.

No baby.

She’d faked the pregnancy.

He crumpled up the note in his fist.

He’d been shocked by her pregnancy, but until this moment he hadn’t realized how much the baby had come to mean to him. In spare moments between the bone-crushing work of completing the oil company merger, he’d daydreamed about their coming baby. Would he have the Rostov profile? Would he have Grace’s pale-blond hair and blue eyes?

He threw the note across the room. It floated gently to the floor. Not enough. Grabbing the lamp, he threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall.

No baby.

She’d lied to him. She’d faked the pregnancy to marry him for his…

Money?

His body snapped straight. Grace, after his money?

He recalled all the times he’d tried to help Grace with money. She’d refused. She’d fought everything—jewels, designer clothes, fancy cars, cash, everything. Beyond having food, clothes and a roof over their heads, Grace didn’t give a damn about the so-called finer things in life. All the designer clothes and jewels she’d gotten since their marriage were still hanging neatly in her closet. His eyes fell upon the priceless tiara once owned by his great-aunt, the Grand Duchess.

Grace hadn’t lied about the baby.

She was lying now.

He looked back at the note.

Please divorce me immediately and don’t try to find me. I don’t want any alimony. All I want is for you to be with the woman you love.

Francesca must have somehow convinced Grace that Maksim loved her.

And he’d helped her, he acknowledged to himself grimly. He thought of all the times he could have reassured Grace that he wanted both her and the child. The hours he could have spent with Grace, instead of deserting her in his palace. He’d claimed he wanted to protect his unborn son or daughter, and he’d forced Grace to be his wife, but he’d never acted like a decent husband or father.

He’d withheld the security and comfort and affection he could have given his lonely, pregnant wife.

Grace, on the other hand, wanted him to be happy—even if that meant throwing him into the arms of another woman.