‘Why did you not tell us?’ Xav demanded.
‘We haven’t told anyone. It’s too soon. The pregnancy was only confirmed last week.’
‘Did you not think the photos would surface?’
He’d thought, hoped, they would make a small, scarcely visible splash. Certainly here in England that had been the case, thanks to a minor royal and her very public skirmish with law enforcement dominating the tabloids. Spain was a different story, however. Every gossip site had picked up the photograph of him and Emily standing outside a Harley Street gynaecologist’s clinic. In addition, the shot taken of them outside Saphir in Paris over seven weeks ago had surfaced.
‘The photos are unfortunate,’ he said tightly.
A heavy sigh came down the line. ‘Hector’s been on the phone. He’s on his high horse again. He says the board will have some natural concerns about the potential for negative reaction from our more conservative shareholders.’
‘Tell Hector he can go scr—’
‘I did.’
Ramon leaned back in his chair. His cool, diplomatic brother had told Hector where to go? That was a conversation he would have liked to witness.
‘But he has a point.’ Xav’s voice was weary. ‘This kind of publicity could have a negative impact on both the business and the family.’ He was silent. ‘Marry the Royce woman and make this right, Ramon. It’s what Mamá and Papá will expect. Make them happy. Don’t bring disgrace on the family.’
He didn’t add the word ‘again’, but he didn’t need to.
The inference was loud and clear.
* * *
‘I made you some tea.’ Marsha walked across the office and placed a mug of steaming liquid on Emily’s desk. ‘It’s ginger,’ she said. ‘For the nausea.’
Emily managed a grateful smile. ‘Thanks.’
‘Can I do anything else?’
‘No. Thank you. You’re doing plenty. Have there been many more calls?’
A scowl formed on Marsha’s pretty face. ‘Those tabloid journalists are scum,’ she declared. ‘Honestly, the things they have the nerve to ask—’ She broke off, perhaps seeing Emily’s silent wince. Quickly, she added, ‘But they’re not worth fretting over. And they’re not getting anything from me but a “no comment”.’
Emily nodded, gratitude surging again. From the moment her pregnancy had become fodder for the tabloids, her assistant had been a godsend. Seventy-two hours of online speculation and gossip had taken its toll, however, and it seemed even Marsha’s sweet, patient disposition was being tested.
Emily waited until the younger woman had left before dropping her head in her hands. Humiliation swamped her. This was not how she’d wanted her pregnancy revealed to the world. It was embarrassing and intrusive, and she didn’t want even to think about the impact it could have on The Royce. So often she’d swept her father’s scandalous behaviour under the carpet, condemning him for his irresponsibility and lack of discretion. Not once had she ever imagined that she would cause a scandal.
At least they hadn’t made the front page of the papers, although the online gossip sites were having a field day. Emily had fought her curiosity until a moment of weakness had struck. She’d regretted the impulse as soon as she’d clicked on the photo of her and Ramon standing outside the clinic. It made her want to crawl into a very deep hole and never come out. The paparazzo had snapped them just as she had looked up at Ramon, and the expression on her face...
Oh, God
.
A fresh wave of humiliation struck. The photo made her look besotted. Infatuated. In love. Which was ridiculous. Yes, they were sleeping together—something she knew they’d have to stop doing eventually—but she wasn’t in love with him. How could she be? She didn’t know the first thing about love.
‘Emily.’
She jerked her head up, an immediate shiver running down her spine. She mightn’t love Ramon, but his deep voice nevertheless held the power to elicit a swift, visceral response. He moved from the doorway, a mouthwatering mix of raw masculinity and sharp, sophisticated style. He didn’t own a single suit that didn’t fit his broad frame to utter perfection. The casual look he sported in the evenings in her home was the one she’d come to prefer of late, however. Faded jeans, tee shirt and bare feet. Until recently, she hadn’t realised how sexy a man’s feet could be.
‘Emily?’
She started. ‘Sorry?’
‘I asked if you’re all right.’
‘Of course.’ A lie. She was a mass of tension and nerves.