Pregnant with a Royal Baby!

Alex sighed. “Now I’m stuck marrying her.”

She faced Dom’s younger brother with a wince. “Really? You have to marry the princess Dom was supposed to marry?”

The king said, “You can’t just back out of a twenty-year-old treaty. We promised a marriage. We will deliver a marriage.”

Alex batted a hand. “Doesn’t matter. The princess and I will have a marriage of convenience.” He shrugged. “I’ll run around on her. She’ll run around on me. Nobody will really know who our babies belong to and we won’t allow blood tests. It’ll be fine.”

The king scowled. “Once again, Alex, I won’t have you talk like that at the table.”

Silence fell over the foursome. Dominic didn’t defend his younger brother, who seemed oddly cowed by the reprimand. Hoping to restart the conversation and shift everybody’s attention, Ginny tried to think of a question to ask, but couldn’t come up with one to save her soul. She wanted to. She wanted to lift the gloom of talking about a dead queen, mourning subjects and a younger brother resigned to a loveless marriage—his life made tolerable by affairs. But nothing came to mind, except an empty, hollow feeling that this was the family she was marrying into.

But even as she thought that, she realized there was a human side to this story. A man had lost his wife and raised two boys alone. One son had become a slave to duty. The other rebellious.

Was the pain of losing a wife and mom any less because they were royal?

In some ways she thought it might have been worse.

Dominic started a conversation about the country’s budget and a quiet discussion ensued. When the dinner was over, the king took her hand, bent and kissed it. An apology, she supposed, for the long, difficult dinner. Or maybe an acknowledgment that the next few years of her life would be like this, if she chose to marry Dominic.

They walked back to Dominic’s apartment in silence, her blue dress swishing against her calves, mocking her, reminding her just how out of her element she was and just how much she wished she were back at her condo, sitting by the pool, sipping something fruity.

When they entered Dom’s apartment, he said, “We’ll meet the minister of protocol tomorrow morning.”

“Okay.” She headed for the double doors of her bedroom suite. “Great.”

“Don’t let my family scare you.”

She stopped, turned to face him. “I’m not afraid of you.” She almost said, “I feel sorry for you.” For as difficult as the beginning of her life had been, she’d redeemed it. She’d built a world of friends and meaning. Dominic, his brother and the grouchy king were stuck.

But the strange look in his eyes kept her from saying that. He didn’t seem embarrassed by his family as much as he appeared interested in what she thought of them. He wanted her to like them. Or approve of them. Or maybe just accept them.

She walked over to him, her ugly dyed blue pumps clicking on the marble floor, echoing in the silence. “I’m very accustomed to dealing with ornery dads. I was fine. Your father and brother might be a little grouchy or stern or even too flip, but I’d have paid to have family like them.”

He sniffed a laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious.” She smiled slightly. “Your brother needs a week of time-out in his room to get his act together, or maybe a good friend to talk through his life. Your dad lost his wife and lived his grief in the public eye. And you just want to live up to what your dad wants. You’re actually a very normal family.” Something she’d longed for her entire life. Something that could suck her in if she wasn’t careful. “Good night.”

* * *

As she turned to walk back to her bedroom suite, Dominic whispered, “Good night,” confused by what she’d said. From what his investigators had dug up, her father was dead. Her mother adored her and she had a billion friends.

So what was that sad note he heard in her voice?

And why the hell would she have wanted his family?

He told himself it couldn’t matter and walked to his suite, removing his tie. But the next day when she arrived at the table for breakfast, he jumped to his feet, feeling something he couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t see her in the red dress, dancing provocatively, happily seducing him. He saw a fresh-faced American girl who had something in her past. Something his private investigator hadn’t dug up, but something that made her more than accepting of his stiff and formal father, and sometimes-obnoxious playboy brother.

He pulled out the chair beside his. “What would you like to eat?”

“I’d like one of those oranges,” she said, pointing at the fruit in the bowl on the buffet behind the table. “And some toast.”