The Queen's Baby Scandal

by Maisey Yates

  But would it have been different if he’d found out about her when she was a baby? And, more importantly, could she consciously deny her own child the chance of having what she had so desperately wanted for herself?

  The seconds ticked by as she wondered what to do. He would have a PA for sure—only she couldn’t tell them why she was ringing. But would they put her through to him without a reason? She bit her lip. More importantly, could she honestly go through with it? Tell him over the phone that he was a father?

  She cleared her throat. ‘Actually, Lucas, could you have Sóley for me after all?’ she said, glancing over at her daughter. ‘There’s something I need to do. In person.’

  * * *

  Being interviewed was probably his least favourite part of being a CEO, Ragnar Stone decided, as he stood up and shook hands with the earnest-faced young man in front of him. It was so repetitive, and most of the answers could easily have been given by even the most junior member of his PR department. But, as his head of media Madeline Thomas had told him that morning, people were ‘in thrall to the personality behind the brand’, so he had dutifully worked his way through twenty-two interviews with just a half-hour break for lunch.

  And now he was done.

  Shrugging off his jacket, he loosened his tie and pulled a black hoodie over his head as his PA Adam came into the room.

  ‘What time is the car coming to pick me up in the morning?’ he asked, reaching down to pick up a slim laptop from his desk.

  ‘Six-thirty. You have a meeting with James Milner at seven, you’re seeing the graphics team at eight, and then breakfast with Caroline Woodward.’

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Ragnar smiled briefly at his PA. ‘And thanks for keeping it moving today, Adam.’

  Stepping into the lift, he ran his hand over his face. Only one more week and then, once this final round of publicity was over and the new app went live, he was going to take some time away from all this.

  He knew he’d left it too long. His annual two-week recharge ritual had dwindled to a couple of snatched days, but since launching ice/breakr two years ago life had been insane.

  Working long hours, eating and sleeping on the move in a series of hotel rooms, and of course in the background his gorgeous, crazy, messy family, acting out their own modern-day Norse saga of betrayal and blackmail.

  Glancing down at his phone, he grimaced. Three missed calls from his half-sister Marta, four from his mother, six texts from his stepmother Anna, and twelve from his stepbrother Gunnar.

  Stretching his neck and shoulders, he slipped his phone into the pocket of his hoodie. None of it would be urgent. It never was. But, like all drama queens, his family loved an audience.

  For once they could wait. Right now he wanted to hit the gym and then crash out.

  The lift doors opened and he flipped his hood up over his head, nodding at the receptionists as he walked past their desk and out into the dark night air.

  He didn’t hear their polite murmurs of goodnight, but he heard the woman’s voice so clearly that it seemed to come from inside his head.

  ‘Ragnar.’

  In the moment that followed he realised two things. One, he recognised the voice, and two, his heart was beating hard and fast like a hailstorm against his ribs.

  As he turned he got an impression of slightness, coupled with tension, and then his eyes focused on the woman standing in front of him.

  Her light brown hair was longer, her pale face more wary, but she looked just as she had twenty-odd months ago. And yet she seemed different in a way he couldn’t pin down. Younger, maybe? Or perhaps she just looked younger because most of the women in his circles routinely wore make-up, whereas she was bare-faced.

  ‘I was just passing. I’ve got an exhibition up the road...’ She waved vaguely towards the window. ‘I saw you coming out.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know if you remember me...?’

  ‘I remember.’

  He cut across her, but only because hearing her voice was messing with his head. It was a voice he had never forgotten—a voice that had called out his name under very different circumstances in a hotel room less than a mile away from where they were standing.

  He watched her pupils dilate, and knew that she was thinking the same thing.

  For a second they stared at one another, the memory of the night they shared quivering between them, and then, leaning forward, he gave her a quick, neutral hug.

  Or it was meant to be neutral, but as his cheek brushed against hers the warm, floral scent of her skin made his whole body hum like a power cable.

  Stepping back, he gave her a small, taut smile and something pulsed between them, a flicker of corresponding heat that made his skin grow tight.

  ‘Of course I remember. It’s Lottie—Lottie Dawson.’

  ‘Yes, that’s my name.’

  Seeing the accusation in her eyes, he felt his chest tighten, remembering the lies he’d told her. It wasn’t hard to remember. Growing up in the truth-shifting environment of his family had left him averse to lying, but that night had been an exception—a necessary and understandable exception. He’d met her through a dating app, but as the app’s creator and owner, anonymity had seemed like a sensible precaution.

  But his lies hadn’t all been about concealing his identity. His family’s chaotic and theatrical affairs had left him wary of even the hint of a relationship, so when he’d woken to find himself planning the day ahead with Lottie he’d got up quietly and left—because planning a day with a woman was not on his agenda.

  Ever.

  His life was already complicated enough. He had parents and step-parents, and seven whole and half-and step siblings scattered around the world, and not one of them had made a relationship last for any length of time. Not only that, their frequent and overlapping affairs and break-ups, and the inevitable pain and misery they caused, seemed to be an unavoidable accompaniment to any kind of commitment.

  He liked life to be straightforward. Simple. Honest. It was why he’d created ice/breakr in the first place. Why make dating so needlessly confusing? When by asking and answering one carefully curated question people could match their expectations and so avoid any unnecessary emotional trauma.

  Or that was the theory.

  Only clearly there been some kind of glitch—a ghost in the machine, maybe?

  ‘So it’s not Steinn, then?’

  His eyes met hers. She was not classically beautiful, but she was intriguing. Both ordinary and extraordinary at once. Mousy hair, light brown eyes... And yet her face had a capacity for expression that was mesmerising.

  And then there was her voice.

  It wasn’t just the huskiness that made his skin tingle, but the way she lingered over the syllables of certain words, like a blues singer. Had he judged her simply on her voice, he might have assumed she had a lifestyle to match—too many late nights and a history of heartache, but their night together had revealed a lack of confidence and a clumsiness that suggested the opposite. Not that he’d asked or minded. In fact it had only made her feverish response to him even more arousing.

  Feeling his body respond to the memory of her flowering desire, he blocked his thoughts and shrugged. ‘In a way it is. Steinn is Icelandic for Stone. It was just a play on words.’

  Her eyes held his. ‘Oh, you mean like calling your dating app ice/breakr?’

  So she knew about the app. ‘I wanted to try it out for myself. A dummy run, if you like.’

  She flinched and he felt his shoulders tense.

  ‘I didn’t intend to deceive you.’

  ‘About that? Or about wanting to spend the day with me?’ She frowned. ‘Wouldn’t it have been fairer and more honest if you’d just said you didn’t want to spend any more time with me?’

  Ragnar stared at her in silence, gritting his teeth against the sting of her words. Yes
, it would. But that would have been a different kind of lie.

  Lying didn’t come naturally to him—his whole family played fast and loose with the facts and even as a child he’d found it exhausting and stressful. But that night he’d acted out of character, starting from the moment he’d played games with his American father’s name and booked a table as Mr Steinn.

  And then, the morning after, confronted by his body’s fierce reaction to hers, and that uncharacteristic and unsettling need he’d felt to prolong their time together, the lies had kept coming.

  ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She swiped his answer away with a swift jerk of her hand. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’ She glanced past him into the street. ‘There’s a café open down the road...’

  He knew it. It was one of those brightly lit artisan coffee shops with bearded baristas and clean wooden counters. Nothing like the shadowy, discreet bar where they’d met before.

  His heartbeat stalled. He could still remember her walking in. It had been one of those sharply cold March evenings that reminded him of home, and there had been a crush of people at the bar, escaping the wind’s chill.

  He’d been on the verge of leaving.

  A combination of work and family histrionics had shrunk his private life to early-morning sessions with his trainer and the occasional dinner with an investor when, finally, it had dawned on him that his app had been launched for nearly three months.

  On a whim, he’d decided to try it out.

  But, watching the couples dotted about the bar, he had felt a familiar unease clutch at his stomach.

  Out of habit, he’d got there early. It was a discipline he embraced—perhaps because since childhood any chance to assemble his thoughts in peace had always been such a rarity. But when Lottie had walked through the door rational thought had been swept away. Her cheeks had been flushed, and she’d appeared to be wearing nothing but a pair of slim-heeled boots and a short black trench coat.

  Sadly she’d been clothed underneath but he’d stayed sitting down. If using his own dating app had been impulsive, then not leaving by another door had been the first time he’d done something so utterly unconsidered.

  ‘And you want me to join you there?’

  Her eyes met his and there was a beat of silence before she nodded.

  His pulse accelerated.

  It was nearly two years since that night.

  He was exhausted.

  His head of security would be appalled.

  And yet—

  His eyes rested on the soft cushion of her mouth.

  * * *

  The coffee shop was still busy enough that they had to queue for their drinks, but they managed to find a table.

  ‘Thank you.’ He gestured towards his espresso.

  His wallet had been in his hand, but she had sidestepped neatly in front of him, her soft brown eyes defying him to argue with her. Now, though, those same brown eyes were busily avoiding his, and for the first time since she’d called out his name he wondered why she had tracked him down.

  He drank his coffee, relishing the heat and the way the caffeine started to block the tension in his back.

  ‘So, I’m all yours,’ he said quietly.

  She stiffened. ‘Hardly.’

  He sighed. ‘Is that what this is about? Me giving you the wrong name.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘No, of course not. I’m not—’ She stopped, frowning. ‘Actually, I wasn’t just passing, and I’m not here for myself.’ She took a breath. ‘I’m here for Sóley.’

  Her face softened into a smile and he felt a sudden urge to reach out and caress the curve of her lip, to trigger such a smile for himself.

  ‘It’s a pretty name.’

  She nodded, her smile freezing.

  It was a pretty name—one he’d always liked. One you didn’t hear much outside of Iceland. Only what had it got to do with him?

  Watching her fingers tremble against her cup, he felt his ribs tighten. ‘Who’s Sóley?’

  She was quiet for less than a minute, only it felt much longer—long enough for his brain to click through all the possible answers to the impossible one.

  He watched her posture change from defensive to resolute.

  ‘She’s your daughter. Our daughter.’

  He stared at her in silence, but a cacophony of questions was ricocheting inside his head.

  Not the how or the when or the where, but the why. Of course he’d used condoms but that first time he’d been rushing. And he’d known that. So why hadn’t he checked everything was okay? Why had he allowed the heat of their encounter to blot out common sense?

  But the answers to those questions would have to wait.

  ‘Okay...’

  Shifting in her seat, she frowned. ‘“Okay”?’ she repeated. ‘Do you understand what I just said?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘You’re saying I got you pregnant.’

  ‘You don’t seem surprised,’ she said slowly.

  He shrugged. ‘These things happen.’

  To his siblings and half-siblings, even to his mother. But not to him. Never to him.

  Until now.

  ‘And you believe me?’ She seemed confused, surprised?

  Tilting his head, he held her gaze. ‘Honest answer?’

  He was going to ask her what she would gain by lying. But before he could open his mouth her lip curled.

  ‘On past performance I’m not sure I can expect that. I mean, you lied about your name. And the hotel you were staying at. And you lied about wanting to spend the day with me.’

  ‘I didn’t plan on lying to you,’ he said quietly.

  Her mouth thinned. ‘No, I’m sure it comes very naturally to you.’

  ‘You’re twisting my words.’

  She shook her head. ‘You mean like saying Steinn instead of Stone?’

  Pressing his spine into the wall behind him, he felt a tick of anger begin to pulse beneath his skin.

  ‘Okay, I was wrong to lie to you—but if you care about the truth so much then why have you waited so long to tell me that I have a daughter? I mean, she must be what...?’ He did a quick mental calculation. ‘Ten, eleven months?’

  ‘Eleven months,’ she said stiffly. ‘And I did want to tell you. I tried looking for you when I was pregnant, and then again when she was born. But the only Ragnar Steinns I could track down weren’t you.’ She shifted in her seat again. ‘I probably would never have found you if you hadn’t been on the TV.’

  He looked at her again, and despite the rush of righteousness heating his blood he could see that she was nervous, could hear the undertone of strain beneath her bravado.

  But then it was a hell of a thing to do. To face a man and tell him he had a child.

  His heart began to beat faster.

  Years spent navigating through the maelstrom of his family’s dramas had given him a cast-iron control over his feelings, and yet for some reason he couldn’t stop her panic and defiance from getting under his skin.

  But letting feelings get in the way of the facts was not going to help the situation. Nor was it going to be much use to his eleventh-month-old daughter.

  Right now he needed to focus on the practical.

  ‘Fortunately you did find me,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Here.’ She was pushing something across the table towards him, but he carried on talking.

  ‘So I’m guessing you want to talk money?’

  * * *

  At that moment a group of young men and women came into the café and began noisily choosing what to drink. As the noise swelled around them Lottie thought she might have misheard.

  Only she knew that she hadn’t.

  Ever since arriving in London that morning she’d been questioning whether she was doing the right t
hing, and the thought of seeing Ragnar again had made her stomach perform an increasingly complicated gymnastics routine. Her mood had kept alternating between angry and nervous, but when he’d walked out into the street her mood had been forgotten and a spasm of almost unbearable hunger had consumed everything.

  If she’d thought seeing him on TV had prepared her for meeting him again then she’d been wrong. Beneath the street lighting his beauty had been as stark and shocking as the volcanic rock of his homeland.

  And he was almost unbearably like the daughter they shared. Only now it would appear that, just like her own father, Ragnar seemed to have already decided the terms of his relationship.

  ‘Money?’ She breathed out unsteadily. The word tasted bitter in her mouth. ‘I didn’t come here to talk to you about money. I came here to talk about our daughter.’

  Her heart felt suddenly too big for her chest. Why did this keep happening? Why did men think that they could reduce her life to some random sum of money?

  ‘Children cost money.’ He held her gaze. ‘Clearly you’ve been supporting her alone up until now and I want to fix that. I’ll need to talk to my lawyers, but I want you to know that you don’t need to worry about that anymore.’

  I’m not worrying, she wanted to scream at him. She wasn’t asking to be helped financially, or fixed. In fact she wasn’t asking for anything at all.

  ‘I’ve not been alone. My mother helps, and my brother Lucas lives with me. He works as a tattooist so he can choose his own hours—’

  ‘A tattooist?’

  Glancing up, she found his clear blue eyes examining her dispassionately, as if she was some flawed algorithm. She felt slightly sick—just as she had in those early months of the pregnancy. Only that had been a welcome sickness. A proof of new life, a sign of a strong pregnancy. Now, though, the sickness was down to the disconnect between the man who had reached for her so frantically in that hotel room and this cool-eyed stranger.