Читать книгу A Royal Baby For Christmas - Scarlet Wilson, Scarlet Wilson - Страница 12

CHAPTER ONE

SHE STARED AT the stick again.

Yep. The second line was still there.

It wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Just as the missing period wasn’t a dream and the tender breasts weren’t a sign of an ill-fitting bra.

A baby. She was going to have a baby.

She stared out of her house window.

Her mortgage. She’d just moved in here. Her mortgage was huge. As soon as she’d seen the house she’d loved it. It was totally too big for one person—how ironic was that?—but she’d figured she’d have the rest of her life to pay for it. It was five minutes from Teddy’s and had the most amazing garden with a pink cherry blossom tree at the bottom of it, and a little paved area at the back for sitting.

It was just like the house she’d dreamed of as a child. The house where she and her husband and children would stay and live happily ever after.

She sighed and put her head in her hands.

She was pregnant. Pregnant to Seb, the liar.

It made her insides twist and curl. She’d never quite worked out when he’d realised who she was, while she’d spent the weekend in blissful ignorance.

A weekend all the while holed up in the most beautiful mountain chalet-style house.

The days had been joyful. She’d never felt an attraction like it—immediate, powerful and totally irresistible. Seb had made her feel like the only woman in the world and for two days she’d relished it.

It was too good. Too perfect. She should have known. Because nobody could ever be that perfect. Not really.

She’d been surprised by his security outside the hotel. But then, lots of businessmen had bodyguards nowadays. It wasn’t quite so unusual as it could have been.

And she hadn’t seen any of the sights of Montanari. Once they’d reached his gorgeous house hidden in the mountains, the only thing she’d seen was his naked body.

For two whole days.

She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. It hurt to remember how much she’d loved it.

How many other woman had been given the same treatment?

She shook her head and shuddered. Finding out who he really was had ruined her memories of those two wonderful days.

Of those two wonderful nights...

She pressed her hand on her non-existent bump. Oh, wow. She was pregnant by a prince.

Prince Sebastian Falco of Montanari.

Some women might like that. Some women might think that was amazing. Right now she was wondering exactly why her contraceptive pill had failed. She’d taken it faithfully every day. She hadn’t been sick. She hadn’t forgotten. This wasn’t deliberate. This absolutely wasn’t a ploy to get pregnant by a prince. But what if he thought it was?

Her mind jumped back to her house. How much maternity leave would she get? How much maternity pay would she get—would it cover her mortgage? She’d used her savings as the deposit for the house—that, and the little extra she’d had left to update the bathroom and kitchen, meant her rainy-day fund was virtually empty.

She stood up and started pacing. Who would look after her baby when she returned to work? Would she be able to return to work? She had to. She was an independent woman. She loved her career. Having a baby didn’t mean giving up the job she loved.

She rested her hand against the wall of her sitting room. Maybe someone at the hospital could give her a recommendation for a childminder? The crèche at the hospital wouldn’t be able to cater for on-calls and late night emergency surgeries. She’d need someone ultra flexible. There was so much to think about. So much to organise.

She couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept jumping from one thing to the other. Oh, no—was this the pregnancy brain that women complained about?

She couldn’t have that. She didn’t have time for that. She was a neonatal cardiothoracic surgeon. She was responsible for tiny lives. She needed to be focused. She needed to have her mind on the job.

She walked through to the kitchen. The calendar was lying on the kitchen table. It was turned to April—showing when she’d had her last period. It had been left there when the realisation had hit her and she’d rushed to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test. She’d bought four.

She wouldn’t need them. She flicked forward. Last date of period, twenty-third of April. Forty weeks from then? She turned the calendar over, counting the weeks on the back. January. Her baby was due on the twenty-eighth of January.

She pushed open her back door and walked outside. The previous owners had left a bench seat, carved from an original ancient tree that had been damaged in a lightning strike years ago. She sat down and took some deep breaths.

It was a beautiful day. The flowers in her garden had all started to emerge. Fragrant red, pink and orange freesias, blue cornflowers, purple delphinium and multi-coloured peonies blossomed in pretty colours all around her, their scents permeating the air.

She smiled. The deep breathing was beginning to calm her. A baby. She was going to have a baby.

She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together as a wave of determination washed over her. Baby McDonald might not have been planned. But Baby McDonald would certainly be wanted.

He or she would be loved. Be adored.

A familiar remembrance of disappointment and anger made her catch her breath. For as long as she could remember her parents had made it clear to her that she’d been a ‘mistake’. They hadn’t put it quite in as few words but the implication was always there. Two people who had never really wanted to be together but had done ‘what was right’.

Except it wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. Anger and resentment had simmered from them both. The expression on her father’s face when he had left on her eighteenth birthday had told her everything she’d ever needed to know—as had the relief on her mother’s.

She’d been a burden. An unplanned-for presence.

Whether this baby was planned for or not, it would always feel loved, always feel wanted. She might not know about childcare, she might not know about maternity leave, she might not know about her mortgage—but of that one thing, she was absolutely sure.

Her brain skydived somewhere else. Folic acid. She hadn’t been taking it. She’d have to get some. Her feet moved automatically. She could grab her bag; the nearest pharmacy was only a five-minute drive. She could pick some up and start taking it immediately. As she crossed the garden her eyes squeezed shut for a second. Darn it. Folic acid was essential for normal development in a baby. She racked her brains. What had she been eating these last few weeks? Had there been any spinach? Any broccoli? She’d had some, but she just wasn’t sure how much. She’d had oranges and grapefruit. Lentils, avocados and peas.

She winced. She’d just remembered her intake of raspberries and strawberries. They’d been doused in champagne in Montanari. Alcohol. Another no-no in pregnancy.

At least she hadn’t touched a drop since her return.

Her footsteps slowed as she entered the house again. Seb. She’d need to tell him. She’d need to tell him she was expecting his baby.

A gust of cool air blew in behind her, sending every hair on her arms standing on end. How on earth would she tell him? They hadn’t exactly left things on good terms.

She sagged down onto her purple sofa for a few minutes. How did you contact a prince?

Oliver. Oliver Darrington would know. He was Seb’s friend, the obstetrician who had arranged for her to go to Montanari and train the other paediatric surgeons. But how on earth could she ask him without giving the game away? Would she sound like some desperate stalker?

Oh, Olly, by the way...can I just phone your friend the Prince, please? Can you give me his number?

She sighed and rested her head backwards on the sofa watching the yellow ticker tape of the news channel stream past.

Her eyes glazed over. Last time she’d seen Seb she’d screamed at him. Hardly the most ladylike response.

It didn’t matter that his lie had been by omission. That might even seem a tiny bit excusable now. But then, six weeks ago, rationality had left the luxurious chalet she’d found herself in.

It had been a simple mistake. The car driver—or, let’s face it, he was probably a lot more than that—had given a nod and said Your Highness to something Seb had asked him.

The poor guy had realised his mistake right away and made a prompt exit. But it was too late. She’d heard it.

At first she’d almost laughed out loud. She’d been so relaxed, so happy, that the truth hadn’t even occurred to her. ‘Your Highness?’ She’d smiled as she’d picked up her bags to go back in the house.

But the look of horror on Seb’s face had caused her foot to stop in mid-air.

And just like today, the hairs on her arms had stood on end. Seb. Sebastian. The name of the Prince of Montanari. The person who’d requested she train the surgeons in his hospital. The mystery man that she’d never met—because he was doing business overseas.

Just like Seb.

She might as well have been plunged into a cold pool of glacier ice.

‘Tell me you’re joking?’

For the first time since she’d met him, his coolness vanished. He started to babble. Babble. His eyes darting from side to side but never quite meeting her gaze.

She dropped her bags at her feet on the stony path. ‘You’re not, are you?’ He kept talking but she stopped listening. Her brain trying to make sense of what was going on.

‘You’re Sebastian Falco? You’re the Prince?’ She walked right up under his nose.

It must have been the way she’d said it. As if it were almost impossible. As if he were the unlikeliest candidate in the world.

He let out a sigh and those forest-green eyes finally met hers. His head gave the barest shake. ‘Is that so ridiculous?’

The prickling hairs on her arms spread. Like an infectious disease. Reaching parts of her body that definitely shouldn’t feel like that.

Although the rage was building inside her, all that came out was a whisper. ‘It’s ridiculous to me.’

He blinked. She could see herself reflected in his eyes. Hurt was written all over her face. She hated feeling like that. She hated being emotionally vulnerable.

Her mother and father had lived a lie for eighteen years. She’d always promised herself that would never be her life. That would never be her relationship.

She’d thrown caution to the wind and lost. Big style.

He’d made a fool of her. And she’d let him.

‘How could you?’ she snapped. ‘How could you lie to me? What kind of woman do you think I am?’

As she heard the words out loud she almost wanted to hide. She knew exactly what kind of woman she’d been these last two days. One that acted as though this was nothing. She’d experienced a true weekend of passion and abandon. She’d pushed aside all thoughts of consequences and lost herself totally in him.

Ultimate fail.

Now she was looking into the eyes of a man who’d misled her. Let her think that this was something it was not.

He pulled his gaze away from hers, having the good shame to look embarrassed, and ran his hand through his thick dark hair.

But even that annoyed her. She’d spent all weekend running her own fingers through the same hair and right now she knew she’d never do that again.

He reached up and touched her shoulder. ‘Sienna, I’m sorry.’

She pulled back as if he’d stung her and his eyes widened.

‘Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me again. Ever!’ She spun around and walked back inside.

She ignored everything around her. Ignored the soft sofas they’d spent many an hour on. Ignored the thick wooden table that they’d eaten more than their dinner from. Ignored the tangled sheets in the white and gold bedroom that told their own story.

She grabbed the few things she’d brought with her—and the few other things she’d bought—and started throwing them into her bag.

Seb rushed in behind her. ‘Sienna, slow down. Things weren’t meant to happen like this. I’m sorry. I am. I came to the hotel to get away. I came to think about some things.’ He ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘And then, when I got there, there was just...’ he held his hands up towards her ‘...you,’ he said simply.

She spun back around.

‘I didn’t realise right away who you were. I’d asked Oliver if he could send a surgeon to help with training. I’m the patron of the hospital and they only come to me when there are big issues. The hospital board were unhappy about all our neonates having to be transferred to France for cardiac surgeries. It was time to train our own surgeons—buy our own equipment. But once I’d made the arrangement with Oliver I hadn’t really paid attention to all the details. Our hospital director took care of all those because I knew I wouldn’t be here. I didn’t even recognise your name straight away.’

She felt numb. ‘You knew? You knew exactly who I was?’

He sighed heavily and his tanned face paled. ‘Not until yesterday when you mentioned you were a surgeon.’

She gulped. She knew exactly what he wasn’t saying. Not until after they’d slept together.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you knew Oliver yesterday?’

He shook his head. ‘Because we’d already taken things further than either of us probably intended. We were in our own little bubble here. And I won’t lie. I liked it, Sienna. I liked the fact it was just you and me and the outside world seemed as far away as possible.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I didn’t want to spoil it.’ He started pacing around. ‘Do you know what it’s like to have the eyes of the world constantly on you? Do you know what it’s like when every time you even say hello to a woman it’s splashed across the press the next day that she could be the next Queen?’ The frustration was clearly spilling over.

‘You expect me to feel sorry for you?’

He threw up his hands. ‘The only time I’ve had a bit of a normal life was when I was at university. The press were banned from coming near me then. But every moment before that, and every second after it, I’ve constantly been on display. Life is never normal around me, Sienna. But here—’ he indicated the room ‘—and in Il Palazzo di Cristallo I get a tiny bit of privacy. Do you know how good it felt to walk in somewhere, see a beautiful woman and be able to act on it? Be able to actually let myself feel something?’

Her throat was dry. Emotion and frustration was written all over his face. He couldn’t stop pacing.

It was as if the weight of the world were currently sitting on his shoulders. She had no idea what his life was like. She’d no idea what was expected of him. Her insides squirmed. The thought of constantly being watched by the press? No, thanks.

But the anger still burned inside. The hurt at being deceived. How many other women had he brought here? Was she just another on his list?

She stepped up close to him again, ignoring his delicious aftershave that had wound its way around her over the last few days. ‘So, everything was actually a lie?’

He winced. ‘It wasn’t a lie, Sienna.’

‘It was to me.’

He shook his head and straightened his shoulders. ‘You’re overreacting. Even if I had introduced myself, what difference would it have made?’ He moved closer, his chest just in front of her face. ‘Are you telling me that this wouldn’t have happened? That we wouldn’t have been attracted to each other? We wouldn’t have ended up together?’

She clouded out his words—focusing only on the first part. It had been enough to make the red mist descend. ‘I’m overreacting?’ She dropped the clothes she had clutched in her hands. ‘I’m overreacting?’ She let out an angry breath as her eyes swept the room.

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Seb. I’m not overreacting.’ She picked up the nearest lamp and flung it at the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. ‘This. This is overreacting. This is letting you know how I really feel about your deception.’

His chin practically hung open.

She stalked back to the bed and stuffed the remaining few items into her bag, zipping it with an over-zealous tug.

She marched right up under his nose. ‘If I never see you again it will be too soon. Next time find someone else to train your surgeons. Preferably someone who doesn’t mind being deceived and lied to.’

He drew himself up to his full height. On any other occasion she might have been impressed. But that day? Not a chance.

His mouth tightened. ‘Have it your own way.’

‘I will,’ she’d shouted as she’d swept out of the chalet and back into the waiting car. ‘Take me back to my hotel,’ she’d growled at the driver.

Heavens. She hoped she hadn’t got that poor man fired. He hadn’t even blinked when she’d spoken. Just put the car into gear and set off down the mountain road. Her last view of Seb had been as he’d walked to the door and watched the car take off.

Now, it seemed all a bit melodramatic.

She’d never admit she’d cried on the plane on the way home. Not to a single person. And especially not to a person she’d now have to tell she was carrying his baby.

Her eyes came into focus sharply and she leaned forward.

The tickertape stream of news changed constantly. Something had made her focus again.

She waited a few seconds.

Prince Sebastian Falco of Montanari has announced his engagement to his childhood friend Princess Theresa Mon Carte of Peruglea. Although the date of their wedding has not yet been announced it is expected to be in the next calendar year. The royal wedding will unite the two neighbouring kingdoms of Montanari and Peruglea.

Every single tiny bit of breath left her body. Her stomach plummeted as a tidal wave of emotions consumed her.

It was as if the glacier ice pool she’d imagined on the mountain of Montanari had followed her home. Nausea made her bolt to the bathroom.

This wasn’t morning sickness.

This was pure and utter shock.

He was engaged. Sebastian was engaged.

As she knelt on the bathroom floor she felt momentarily light-headed. Could this be any worse?

She squeezed her eyes closed. Trying to banish all the memories of that weekend from her mind. Her body responded automatically, curling into a ball on the ground. If she didn’t think about him, she couldn’t hurt. She couldn’t let herself hurt like this. She had a baby. A baby to think about.

She pressed her head against the cool tiles on the wall.

Pregnant by a prince. An engaged prince.

Funnily enough, no fairy tale she’d ever heard of ended like this.