King's Ransom (Man on a Mission 2)

Dirk opened the door to Juliana’s knock. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

“Oh. Hi,” she answered, her disappointment showing on her face.

Dirk laughed under his breath. “Well, that’s a blow to my ego,” he teased. “I take it you weren’t looking for me.”

She smiled appealingly and shook her head. “I was hoping I could talk with Bree.”

“She’s sleeping. The pregnancy’s taking a lot out of her. I barely got back from the set when she pretty much passed out on my shoulder as I was telling her how today’s filming went, so I put her to bed.”

Suddenly concerned, Juliana asked anxiously, “Is that normal, Bree being so tired at this stage?” She tried to think about her other friends who’d gone through pregnancies. “I thought by the second trimester women weren’t that tired. Is it related to the cancer?”

He shook his head slightly. “Not as far as I can tell. And Bree’s taking all her prenatal vitamins, eating right, doing everything she should be doing at this stage of her pregnancy.” Two of the palace’s household staff turned a corner and began walking down the corridor toward them, and Dirk pushed the door open. “Come on in—this isn’t a conversation I want to have in the hallway.”

Once Juliana was ensconced on the sofa in the sitting room, he stood leaning against the fireplace mantel and continued. “Morning sickness is long past, thank goodness. But she is carrying twins, and that takes an extra toll on her body. Bree’s been seeing an ob-gyn here in Zakhar—we found a woman Bree felt comfortable with—and she tells us things are progressing normally where the babies are concerned.”

His face softened into incredible vulnerability. “I don’t know if Bree mentioned it to you, but she’s feeling the babies move already. Little flutters. And at her last checkup we heard the heartbeats.”

He didn’t have to say another word. The babies were real to him now in a way they hadn’t been before. There was such an expression of paternal love and wonder on his face that Juliana knew he wasn’t even thinking about what he’d told her the first time he’d talked to her about Sabrina’s pregnancy, before they knew she was carrying twins—that he didn’t care about the baby, that he would sacrifice their child without a second thought if it would save his wife. There was no way Juliana was going to remind him, either. He loved their babies now, maybe not exactly the same way Sabrina did, but he wanted them just as much. He wanted his wife, but he wanted their children, too, and he would no longer sacrifice one for the other.

Juliana closed her eyes and breathed deeply, realizing she had her answer even without talking to Sabrina. Her eyes flew open. “Thank you,” she told Dirk. “You have no idea, but...thank you.” She jumped up and crossed the room to hug him tightly, then headed for the door.

“Wait a second,” Dirk called after her. “What did I say?”

She turned with her hand on the doorknob, her eyes shining. Men can change, she thought, free of the shackles of the past at last. They can grow into love. But she couldn’t say that to Dirk, not without reminding him of how he’d first felt about Sabrina’s pregnancy. She couldn’t tell him that eleven years ago Andre had sent her money along with a cold, nearly unforgivable message—that the money was for an abortion if she was pregnant. And if not, the money would serve as his parting gift to her. She hadn’t been pregnant, but those words had destroyed her make-believe world, the world where Andre loved her and would love any child they created.

But the money and the message he’d sent her eleven years ago didn’t necessarily mean that was the way he felt now. Dirk hadn’t wanted his own baby at first, even though he loved Sabrina with all his heart, but now he did. The same could hold true for Andre. “I can’t tell you,” Juliana told Dirk, her face radiant. “But I owe you anything you want to name. Just ask. Anytime, anywhere. And when Bree wakes up, give her a kiss for me and tell her I said she’s so lucky to have you. I mean that.”

* * *

Back in her own suite Juliana paced her bedroom restlessly. Glancing constantly at the tapestry on the wall, the tapestry that hid the door to the passageway leading to Andre’s bedroom. He would never use it again. He’d promised her he wouldn’t, and she knew he’d keep his word. But he’d also told her, “You are welcome to use the passageway to come to me, if you choose. Anytime. Day or night.”

If she went to him, she would be admitting she forgave him for everything that had happened eleven years ago, for his rejection of her and the child they might have created that night. She would be admitting she loved him—had always loved him—and she would accept whatever he had to offer her, whatever role he would allow her to have in his life. Even if it wasn’t the marriage she’d dreamed about at eighteen.