The Queen's Baby Scandal

by Maisey Yates

  “It isn’t a factor now,” Astrid said, her cheeks getting warm.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No,” she scoffed. “He’s no longer interested in me anyway.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “He’s... Well, he’s completely cold toward me, and anyway...” She sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want from this. What I want to do. What would you do?”

  Latika blinked. “Do you mean in this exact situation? Because I don’t think I can answer that.”

  “Okay,” Astrid said slowly. “I grant you that my current situation is a little bit unorthodox.”

  Latika snorted. “A little bit?”

  Astrid turned around, facing her assistant instead of the mirror. “What do you do with men? I don’t have any experience with them. Except for that one night. And I hardly think that counts.”

  Latika sighed heavily. “I can’t say as I have any brilliant suggestions on how to handle a man like Mauro.”

  “But surely you must have some idea how to handle men?”

  Astrid could see Latika decide to dodge the question. While she valued that skill in Latika when it came to her acting as a shield between Astrid and the rest of the world, it was deeply annoying at the moment.

  “Latika, we don’t speak overly much of your past because I can see that it hurts you, but if you could offer me some insight...”

  “I can’t. I always knew I would be married off to a man I didn’t love, and I was sheltered from men to...preserve me. When the man my father chose turned out to be an ancient European with a reputation for treating women ill... Well, now I am here. I know how to plan and organize any event, how to make casual conversation with people from all walks of life. I might have been roped off from having my own social life, but I was forced to participate in the social lives of my parents. I’ve planned your wedding, but I can’t help you here, I’m afraid.”

  “If nothing else, it’s very helpful to have you. To have a friend.”

  Latika treated her to a small smile. “What is it you want from him? Because it seems to me that while you might have failed in the first iteration of your plan, this one is going to work just fine.”

  “That’s the problem,” Astrid said. “I’m really not sure what I want. I should want to keep things compartmentalized. We have a good agreement. We really do.”

  “But...”

  “There’s no but,” she said quickly. “Not really.”

  Latika sighed. “You have a crush on him. You have ever since you saw his picture in that magazine.”

  Astrid sputtered. “One cannot have something so...benign as a crush on a man like Mauro Bianchi. Anyway. I’m a queen. Queens don’t have crushes.”

  “You’re human. A human woman. You would have to be blind not to notice his appeal.”

  “So you’ve noticed it, then.”

  Latika laughed. “International playboys aren’t really my thing.”

  “No. If they were you might not want to pinch my brother’s head off every time you were in the same room with him.”

  Latika shifted. “Maybe.”

  “I need to stay strong with him,” Astrid said. “I need to make sure that I don’t blur lines between us.”

  “If you think so,” Latika returned.

  “You think I should do differently?”

  “I wouldn’t dare question you. But mostly... I had a high-handed...unorthodox upbringing, you could say. I was very cloistered, and protected. Something I know you understand. Even now sometimes I feel like I’m hiding. If I had the ability to claim freedom the way that you did, I would take it. And I know that I was a little bit disapproving of your entire plan, but it was only because I worried for you.”

  “So you think that I should continue on with a physical relationship with him?”

  Latika shrugged. “If not him then with someone. But it seems to me that you have feelings for him. Also, you’re pregnant with his baby and marrying him, so it seems that he’s the most convenient target around.”

  “He hates me,” she said. She was suddenly very aware of exactly what that strange emotion she could feel vibrating beneath the surface of the man was. “He really does. And he wants the child, and I don’t understand why. I mean, he says it’s because it’s a man’s responsibility to be a father...”

  “And you don’t believe him?”

  “I just think there’s more.” She shook her head. “It’s the strangest thing. It isn’t that I think he’s lying. Just that I can sense there’s something else. And he’s never going to tell me.”

  “Have you asked him?”

  “Why would I ask him? I just said I’m fairly certain he hates me.”

  “You should ask him about that too. About whether or not he actually hates you. It seems to me that he could have taken a much more extreme tactic with you than he has.”

  “Oh, than forcing me into marriage?”

  “You have to admit, as things go... His version of forcing you into marriage is fairly kind.”

  “Kind is not the word I would use for it.”

  “Okay. Maybe that was an overstatement. But he isn’t after your country. He isn’t after any of your power. And you have to admit that when compared to basically every other man in your life—except for Gunnar—that’s fairly significant.”

  “That might be the first nice thing I’ve ever heard you say about my brother.”

  Latika rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not going to happen again. Don’t get used to it.”

  “I’m getting married.” A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t even blame morning sickness. “I wonder what my mother would think of all this.”

  “She would be proud of you,” Latika said. “I didn’t know her, but from everything you’ve told me I think she would approve greatly. Think of all she did, the way she put her marriage in jeopardy to ensure your position on the throne. She would understand why you were doing all of this.”

  Astrid had nothing else to anchor her. Nothing that made her feel particularly assured, or like she even knew which way was up. But if she could just imagine her mother being proud. It was the one thing she’d worked for all these years, really. And even if she’d never get the words of approval she’d always longed for, she knew that she was doing what her mother had always wanted her to do.

  That she was becoming what her mother had wanted her to be.

  For now, that would be enough.

  And the mystery of Mauro, and the problem of what she was going to do about him, would have to wait to be solved.

  However, the countdown to the wedding night was ticking down... And she imagined she would have to make a decision before then.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  MAURO HAD NEVER given much thought to the Christmas season. As a child it had meant next to nothing. Something for other children to celebrate, for other people to enjoy. As for his life, it had always been a reminder of the ways in which he had very little in comparison with those. Not in a monetary sense. He hadn’t cared about that so much, at least apart from being fed.

  But in the sense of family.

  While he’d had a long succession of uncles throughout the course of his childhood, it certainly wasn’t the same as the sorts of families—whatever shape they took—who gathered around Christmas trees and dinner tables during that most festive season.

  As an adult, it had meant little more to him than an excuse to throw themed parties at his clubs across the world. Everyone enjoyed the excuse to engage in revelry. All the better it was an excuse to cover up past pain and breakaway issues with family, and lovers new and old.

  He was under no illusion that many of the people who patronized his clubs were doing just that. But, it wasn’t his job to worry about the emotional well-being of the people who danced their way to obli
vion in his establishments on a nightly basis. He envied them their oblivion, in point of fact.

  Typically, he felt nothing.

  That sense of blurry freedom that came with alcohol and other substances didn’t resonate with him. Not anymore. It violated his sense of control, and that was an unpleasant place for a man like himself to be in. He could not have what he wanted.

  But then, that was true of a great many things lately. Astrid dominated his dreams, and now here it was, attending a Christmas tree lighting, on his wedding day. As the holiday held such little significance for him in general, this would be the marker for it for the rest of his life, whether he wanted it to be or not.

  A marriage that wasn’t a marriage. For a child who was no larger than an avocado at the moment.

  But the child wouldn’t stay the size of an avocado. Indeed, that child would grow. A son or daughter. One that he... He would have to hold it. Care for it. Granted, both he and Astrid could hire enough people to make sure that neither of them ever had to interact with their progeny if they chose. But he failed to see the point of that. It would make him barely a shade better than his father. And that just wasn’t... It was a strange thing to him to discover he had standards, but it turned out he did.

  A fact that was in ample evidence as he stood there in his bespoke tux, custom made for this day.

  His wedding.

  And tonight would be his wedding night. A wedding night that would herald the beginning of two years without sex. That was something he had not yet fought his bride on. There would be no way he would fall in line in such a way for that long. It simply wasn’t reasonable, not for a man like him.

  If nothing else, it was the principle of the thing. And he would not be dictated to.

  “Two minutes.”

  The order from Astrid’s petite, efficient little assistant came almost in defiance to that thought.

  She was a pretty woman. With jet-black hair and golden-brown skin. Her glittering eyes and sharp features gave the impression of an astute field mouse, always in motion, and never missing even the faintest twitch of movement around her.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not going to leave your princess at the altar.”

  “I didn’t think you were. Considering you were the one who pushed for this in the first place.”

  “I get the feeling you don’t trust me.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I don’t trust anyone. Not in the least.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t seem like the type of person who would be that hard.”

  “Very few of us are exactly what we seem. Astrid might be. Utterly and completely who she seems to be. And if you hurt her, I will have you executed.”

  “I have no plans to hurt your queen.”

  “Good. Then we have no problem.”

  She turned and left, and Mauro lingered for a moment, waiting until it was time for him to walk out of the holding room, as he thought of it, and toward the chapel. He was ushered to a back door that took him to the front of the sanctuary. All eyes were on them, and he knew that only approved photos were allowed. There were no cell phones present in the sanctuary. Only official photographers.

  Thus was the royal protocol demanded by the very angry council that had been hands-off in every way in regards to the wedding, except for things like that. Things that made it all feel like a circus performance, more than anything else.

  Not that he was opposed to a circus.

  He was quite an accomplished ringmaster. But he preferred to have greater control of the show. And not the kind being exerted here.

  He took his position, and music began to play, a hush falling over the room. Neither of them had attendants. It was not a tradition in Bjornland, and anyway, it made no sense for him or for her. So it quickly became a bridal march, and the guests rose, turning toward the doors, which opened slowly, as if building anticipation for what they would reveal.

  And what they did reveal was as a punch to his stomach.

  She was exquisite. The first time he’d seen her she’d been in white, but she had been draped in fabric designed obviously to seduce. And he was a man who enjoyed the obvious. This was something more.

  The lace gown clung to her curves, lovingly shaping to her beautiful body. The neckline was scalloped, the rounded curves drawing attention to breasts that he knew were soft and plump, and just the right size to fit in his hand.

  She was like a goddess, her red hair cascading around her shoulders like a copper-gold halo, the light from behind seeming to ignite it. She did not have a veil, but rather a simple, jeweled circle that draped across her forehead.

  She did not carry flowers. Her elegant hands were empty, her engagement ring glittering on her finger as she moved toward him, slowly, with purpose.

  And suddenly, inspiration for just how he would handle his wife hit him, like a falling anvil.

  She had used her body to bring them to this moment.

  She had used him.

  And he had absolutely no qualms now about using her. Until his desire for her was spent. Until his lust for her had been quenched. How long had she tormented him?

  Months.

  Months before he had found her again, and in the months since returning to Bjornland. Since their engagement. He had wanted her, and not allowed himself to have her. He had desired her, and not allowed himself to stake a claim.

  Celibacy for two years? Why? When the most beautiful, intoxicating woman he’d ever had in his bed would be with him. Bound to him. When he would be living part-time in the palace of a necessity. He had easy access to her, and there was no reason he shouldn’t make free use. At least, not in his estimation. There was terror in her eyes when she approached him, her hands trembling as she clasped his.

  He wanted her to tremble before him. But for a different reason.

  He wanted her out of her mind with need, as he had been. So incredibly naive. And he had not been naive.

  He had never considered himself naive. But that was what she had done to him. And why shouldn’t he reclaim himself?

  He felt a slow smile cross his lips. And as the priest led them in their vows, he allowed himself to skim over the words. They didn’t matter. Neither of them were forsaking all others for as long as they lived. There was no point to such a thing. Death would not be what parted them. But rather a calculated move on both their ends.

  Love was not what had brought them together, so it did not matter what tore it asunder.

  What mattered was tonight. Tonight, he would make his queen beg. Tonight, he would stake his claim in the marital bed.

  She might not be his for life, but she was his for now. And he would make sure that the time they did have was spent naked.

  That was what was wrong. Of course it was. Those moments when he felt compelled to understand her... They had never been about that. They had been replacement for what he truly desired. Her body, pressed against his. Her body, pliant and willing. His inside hers.

  That thought got him through the ceremony, and then on to the reception.

  And there was a moment, where the dance floor was cleared, and he and his bride were meant to dance together.

  “Quite an elaborate party for a farce,” he said the moment they were joined together, his voice nothing more than a husky whisper.

  “What’s the point of engaging in a farce if you don’t go all the way?” Her spring-green eyes met his, and his gut tightened.

  Indeed. There was no point engaging in a farce if it didn’t go as far as it could. And that was what he intended to claim for himself tonight. All of it. Everything.

  “The food is good,” he said. “At least.”

  “What an odd detail to focus on.”

  “I also like your dress,” he said, lowering his voice. “Or rather,
I suspect that I like the body beneath it.”

  Her cheeks immediately turned pink. “Really? I mean... I don’t know...why you would say that either. I would rather talk about the food.”

  “I like food a great deal,” he said, very intentionally moving his hand so that it rested lower on her spine, hovering just above the curve of her ass. “You see, I spent a good deal of my childhood starving. And when you have experienced something like that... You become very protective of your next meal. And you appreciate it when you get it.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. With the change in subject being so sudden, with everything.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. But you see, this is why I enjoy the many vices I do. Because there were very few in my life as a child. Very little I could depend on. As I got older I learned to depend on myself. To make my own way. I have not been hungry since. It is a powerful thing, realizing you can change your own world.”

  Astrid nodded slowly. “I know. I know because that was what I had to learn. That I could change my world. That I could change my world and not violate my duty. Not the part of it that counted.”

  Something turned over inside him, and he felt a sense of grudging respect for her. And more than that... Understanding.

  “We should be making our departure soon,” he said.

  “Should we?”

  “A married couple very much in love is eager to escape on their wedding night. At least, that is my sense for it.”

  She looked away from him for a moment, and then back. “Right. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “I did. In fact, I’ve thought of little else beyond the fact that it’s our wedding night since you stepped out in that dress.”

  Her eyes met his, wide and full of uncertainty. A strange thing with Astrid, who made it her business to at least appear certain at all times. “We have an agreement.”

  “Cannot agreements be amended?”

  “You didn’t give any indication that you wanted ours to be amended.”

  He was tired of talking. He was tired of being civil. This was the problem with business negotiations. It was the problem with needing to be civilized. At least when he had lived on the street there had been an honesty about it. About the transactions he’d engaged in with women who wanted his body, and would allow him to share their beds. In honesty and all motivation. It was clear. In the upper echelons of society, things like tact were required, and in Mauro’s world those things were overrated.