Another part of her knew she just missed the idea of Rafe. So far every time they’d been together they’d ended up in bed. It wasn’t as if he was even a friend.

She wanted that picture-perfect family that she kept in her head. She wanted that for this baby she was carrying. She didn’t want her child to have the piecemeal family that she did. No matter that she loved her mom and Harry fiercely. For her child she wanted more.

And being the bastard of a European king probably wasn’t what her child would want. She was going to have to be very protective. Raise the baby to know its own strength and place in the world.

She noticed Harry watching her, realized she wasn’t alone and that made the loneliness she felt when she thought of Rafe a little less painful.

* * *

Alma was breathtakingly beautiful. The island was surrounded by sparkling blue seas and old world charm seemed to imbue every building. They’d landed at a private air field and were driving to the royal palace in the urban capital of Del Sol.

Rafe had heard there was a lively nightclub scene and before Emily’s visit had sort of thought of checking it out. But now that he had the dual mantle of monarchy and fatherhood hanging over him, he figured he should rethink that.

Del Sol was even more striking than the black and white photos he’d seen in the albums his tia Isabella kept. While there were modern buildings dotted throughout the city many of the old buildings remained. Tia Isabella had been a young woman when she’d been forced to flee Alma with the rest of their family. When Rafe and his siblings and cousin had been growing up they’d been entertained by her stories. Tia Isabella had spent a lot of time talking about the old days and what it had been like to grow up on Alma. But Rafe thought he understood why his grandfather hadn’t talked that much about it. Rafe would have been sad to leave this homeland, too.

As the royal motorcade made its way into Del Sol, Alma’s capital, people on the streets craned their necks to get a glimpse of the Montoros. Rafe was used to a certain level of fame and notoriety in Miami, but not this. There he was one of the jet-set Montoros. The young generation who worked hard and played harder.

Here he was the future monarch. He’d be the face of Alma to the world. And while his ego was sort of jazzed about that, another part of him wasn’t.

“Maybe you should put the window down and do that princess wave,” his sister Bella said with a sparkle in her blue eyes. Their father and the rest of their party were in a separate vehicle.

“Princess wave? That’s more your cup of tea,” he said. “Maybe I’ll throw up the peace sign.”

She giggled. He’d always been close to his little sister, and making her laugh helped him to relax.

Bella looked like a fairy-tale princess with her pretty blond hair. Not anything like Emily. He wondered what Emily would think of Alma. It was an island not that unlike her hometown of Key West, but the laid-back attitude in the Keys was a world away from this charming European nation.

For a country that had been ruled by a dictator for decades, the people in the streets seemed happy and prosperous and the buildings were clean and well-maintained. Rafe didn’t see any signs of financial ruin. But economic danger lurked whenever there was a change of regime. And if there was one thing he was good at, it was making money.

But would the government here listen to him?

To be honest he wasn’t the kind of person to negotiate for what he wanted. That was one of the reasons Montoro Enterprises had thrived under his leadership. He made bold decisions. Sometimes they didn’t pay off, but most of the time they did.

“You okay?” Bella asked.

He started to shrug it off. There was no way he was going to mention Emily or the fact that she was pregnant to his sister. Not until he had a chance to figure it out for himself. But the family stuff was also getting to him, especially how Juan Carlos was going really crazy about protocol and proper image and all that.

“This return to Alma is throwing me,” he admitted to her.

“How?” she asked. “You’ve always handled whatever the family has dished out. This will be no different. Pretend you’re the CEO of the country.”

As if. Being the king was a “name only” position. No power. Maybe that was why he hesitated to fully embrace it. He was a man of action. Not a figurehead.

“Good suggestion,” he said, glancing out the window as they approached the castle. Surrounded by glittering blue water on three sides, it rose from the land like a sand castle at the beach. He groaned.

“What?”

“I was hoping the castle would be in disrepair.”

“Why?”

“So I could hate it.”

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