Prince's Son of Scandal

He stalled, reality hitting him like a train. He let her draw his hand across the tense swell of her midsection. He had thought it would feel like an inflated beach ball, but she was warm and there was give within the firmness. A shape. Something that felt no bigger than his knuckle pressed outward, moving across the palm of his hand.

He almost jerked back, yet he was too fascinated and kept his hand in place, waiting to feel it again. “Does that hurt?”

“It reassures me. Hola, bebé. Cómo estás?”

Another tiny kick struck his hand, prompting a soft noise of amusement deep in her throat. She turned her head to look at him. Her eyelids were red and swollen, but her smile was so filled with joy and wonder, she took his breath away.

The moment snaked out like a rope to encircle and draw them together, binding them, inexorable and eternal.

He sucked in a breath, drawing back as he tried to pull himself free of what threatened to carry him into deep waters like a deadly riptide.

“How are we even here? How—Why me, bella?”

“Why did I sleep with you? I didn’t plan to sleep with anyone.” She curled around her pillow, rubbing her face against it, drying tears. “I only wanted to practice being in public. I was so proud for having the courage to talk to a man, then to be alone with one. You made me feel normal. Safe. I needed that. I was using you. I admit that. But sleeping with you?” She craned her neck to look at him, her expression helpless. Anxious. “I couldn’t help myself. You said we were volatile. That...”

He knew what he had said. It had been true. He’d never experienced anything like what he’d felt with her that night. Despite his best efforts, the memory haunted him. He wasn’t a dependent person, but he was disturbingly gratified to be this close to her again. The animal inside him had finally stopped pacing with restless frustration.

He was loath to admit any of that, though. Her power to still affect him unnerved him. “It was my last night before I got engaged. We were both attributing significance for our own reasons.”

The light in her eyes dimmed with hurt. She withdrew, turning away again.

He closed his fist in the tangle of blanket across their hips, lungs turning to lead.

“Either way, it gave me hope that I could be normal. Maybe fall in love and get married, someday. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be normal. Now I never will be, because I’m carrying a royal baby and I was so happy to be pregnant, but I knew this was a disaster. You have your life and I’ve never had any life at all. I deserve a chance to be single and free. Free of this!”

Her tension returned in a contraction of her muscles that drew her in like a shrinking bloom, fists coming up to her clenched eyes.

“I told Gili I would run Maison des Jumeaux. When we were little, she was able to count on me. I want to be that person people can rely on, but I’m always going to be this pathetic—”

“Trella. You have to stop escalating.”

“Do you think I can control it?” Her hands went into her hair, clenching handfuls. “I try. I really try, but the fear grips me. Now we have to get married and you don’t want some crazy burden of a wife. You’ll hate me. I’m so scared of what will happen.”

“Stop.” He couldn’t stand it. He pressed his body heat around her, held her in sheltering arms and willed her back to calm. “Hatred is a wasted emotion. It closes all pathways to resolving a conflict. Our situation is difficult, but hating each other won’t make it easier.”

Her trembling continued, but he felt the moment his words penetrated. Her hands loosened in her hair.

“That sounds very wise,” she said on a sniff. “Do they teach you that in monarchy school?”

“Divorce class. My mother was a great believer in practical demonstrations.”

She unfolded a few increments more. “When we were in Paris, you said your mother was sent away by your grandmother because she wanted a divorce?”

He eased his embrace, regretting his loose lips. He had learned out of necessity to be comfortable with his own thoughts, never needing confidantes, but keeping her mind engaged seemed to forestall her emotional downtrends, so he answered.

“She made a commitment then didn’t accept her lot. Unhappy wives move into the dowager wing. They don’t reject royal life altogether. My mother tried separation, but my father and grandmother pressured her to have another baby. Since their marriage was over, she refused. She was granted a divorce on the grounds that she left Elazar. She had family in Germany so she moved there.”

“Exiled, you said. But you still saw her? How old were you?” She tried to twist enough to see him.