The Prince's Scandalous Wedding Vow

She knew.

“There is no heartbeat,” he said quietly. “I am so sorry.”

For a moment she couldn’t breathe. For a moment she felt as if she’d just vanish into thin air.

There was no heartbeat.

The little life inside her was gone.

She shook her head, and then again, unable to look at the doctor or Alexander. This time when she turned to face the wall, she stayed that way, even after the doctor and his nurse had gone.

She gripped her hands into fists, trying to keep from screaming. This was her fault. All her fault.

“Josephine,” Alexander said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged him off. “Don’t say anything.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “I know what you’re saying to yourself, and it was such a little mistake, such a simple thing.”

“Please go. Please leave.” She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the scalding tears.

“The doctor wants us to go into his office for the procedure he mentioned—”

“I don’t want to do it.”

“I know, and I don’t want you to be put through it, either, but he believes it will be better for you, less risk of an infection.”

“Alexander, no.”

“I hate this, too, cara, but we need to keep you well. We need to do what’s best for you now.”

* * *

The procedure on Wednesday night was horrendous, and Josephine slept in on Thursday, having cried herself to sleep the night before.

She didn’t want breakfast Thursday morning, and she didn’t want to get up, too spent, worn-out, wrung out, cried out. Queen Serena came by her room just before noon to tell her how deeply sorry she was, and shared that she understood Josephine’s grief because she had miscarried, too, and that Josephine should feel free to come to her anytime, for anything.

Josephine got through the short visit without breaking down, but once Serena had gone, she curled into a ball and cried again. The last six weeks had been a gigantic roller coaster and this last drop was too much, too frightening, too heartbreaking.

Worse, there was no reason for Alexander to marry her anymore. He was only marrying her because of the baby, but now that there was no baby he was free.

She’d freed him. That was good, right? Still crying, she threw back her covers and got out of bed. She should go. That’s what she should do. She should just go and put this whole nightmare behind her.

Josephine was in the middle of packing the few things she’d brought with her when Alexander entered her room. From his expression, she knew that someone from her staff had alerted him that Josephine was preparing to leave.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly, taking in the clothes she’d put in the pile to leave at the palace and the sarong and blouse and swimsuit she would take back to Greece with her.

She wiped tears away. “I want to see my father. I want to be in my house again.”

“Your father is on his way here for the wedding.”

“We’re not getting married now,” she said, folding another simple blouse. “There is no reason for him to come.”

He crossed the room and closed the door that divided the bedroom from the sitting room where her staff had collected. “You can’t run away every time there is a problem,” he said tersely, facing her. “You have to be stronger than your fear.”

“I think there is some confusion here. I’m not afraid. I’m just no longer necessary, which is why I’m choosing to return home.”

“Not necessary? You’re my fiancée. My intended. My betrothed. We’ve announced it to the world. We’ve celebrated it in style. We have a wedding in two days.”

“It’s a small wedding, a very private wedding. It’s not going to be difficult to cancel it.”

“I don’t understand. I know you’re upset about the miscarriage, but why are you doing this to us?”

“Because there is no us!” she cried, balling up a T-shirt and smashing it against her knees. “There has never been an us. This—” she gestured to him, and then herself “—this has never been about you and me. It’s only been about the baby, and the baby is no more.”

“You are my fiancée. We’re marrying in two days.”

“Why? You don’t need me. You don’t want me. You were only marrying me because I was pregnant, and I’m not pregnant anymore. You’re free. Go! Find Danielle. Or find a new princess. Find someone who wants to be your princess. I never wanted the job.” She rose and stepped over the clothes, wishing she could fling the doors open and escape, but there was no escape here, and there would be no escape, not until she was on her own island, in her own world.

“I am not going to break off our engagement.” His voice was hard, every word sharp and brittle. “I cannot put my father through the humiliation of another broken engagement. It would kill him—”

“He’s going to die anyway!”

“How dare you?” He took an enraged step toward her and then stopped himself. “How dare you disrespect him—”

“I’m not trying to disrespect him, Alexander.” Her voice broke. “I’m trying to save us from disaster. You don’t love me. You desire me. You’ve sexualized me. But there is nothing else for me... There is no real relationship. I’m to be in your bed, and at your side for important appearances, but what else is there for me? Why should I stay? Give me one good reason to stay!” She was almost trembling with emotion, trembling with the need to hear him say he loved her and wanted her above all else—not because she was pregnant and not because this was duty but because he couldn’t live without her. He didn’t want to live without her.

“Because you made a promise,” he ground out, jaw flexed, blue gaze icy. “My father has given us permission, and we have announced our wedding, and I will not disappoint my father again. I refuse to disappoint my father. I will not.”

They weren’t the words she needed. Her eyes burned, filling with tears. “So you’ll trap me and disappoint me.”

“You benefit, cara, you benefit beautifully from this arrangement.”

“No.”

“And there will be children. You will be pregnant again soon—”

“I knew you were not a terribly sensitive man, but your lack of empathy at the moment is astonishing.”

“My lack of empathy? My father is dying—”

“And my child just died.” Her voice broke and she reached up to knock away the tears, hating them and hating him. He had no idea how much he was hurting her. He had no idea how every word he said wounded. “And I appreciate that your father is a king and I am but an ordinary woman, an American at that, but can you please allow me to grieve for what I have lost? Or are you too self-absorbed with duty and your tortured relationship with your father to allow me time to mourn and heal?”

She’d finally effectively silenced him.

He stood there stiffly, features granite hard, no emotion anywhere on his handsome face.

She should have felt a thrill of victory because she knew that finally something she’d said had penetrated his thick skull and the even thicker wall he kept around his emotions. But she hated that it was the miscarriage that should do it. How much better if he’d actually loved her. How much better if he’d been willing to fight for her.

Alexander saw the pain in Josephine’s eyes and her pain unnerved him. She was so open and so vulnerable and he could see what she was feeling—even feel what she was feeling—but the sheer intensity of so much emotion made him shut down and pull even further away.

Emotions had always been problematic for him, but his father’s death was even more challenging because this was his last chance to get it right. This was Alexander’s last chance to try to make amends with a father who had never wanted or needed him. If there ever was a time to be the son Bruno had wanted and needed, it was now. “I am not indifferent,” he said lowly, his voice rough to his own ears. “I am more disappointed than I can say—”

“I don’t believe you.”

He gave her a slight bow. “I’m sorry.”