He chuckles to himself and moves to sit down at the edge of my bed. I feel the weight of him sink into the mattress. Feel myself tilt toward him. It all seems so real. I can even feel the heat from his body through the blanket, warming my leg.
“If you’re smiling at me like that, they must have you on something powerful,” he says, his smile faltering slightly. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“You’re right on time,” I say, reaching out to grab his hand.
As soon as his fingers are in mine, I’m shocked by the sensation. By the warmth and the smooth skin of his palm. It feels real. Too real.
He squeezes my fingers back, his eyes glassy with emotion, and I blink hard. I want to wake up now. The dream is too much. It is everything I could have and did hope for over the last seven months since I found out I was pregnant. And when I wake up and Christian is gone, I’ll be devastated all over again.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me,” he says, glancing over at our baby in his bassinet. “When I left you in August, I was…I was an ass, Jane-Ann. And I’m so sorry.”
I blink again and again, but I’m not waking up. The image isn’t growing hazy and distant. If anything, Christian is becoming more and more clear.
“I shouldn’t have left the way I did or said the things I did, but I was angry with my family and my life and myself, and on some level, I took it out on you. Probably because you were beautiful and fun, and I knew I’d never get to have you. So, I treated you like garbage, and it is no wonder you didn’t want to tell that guy you were pregnant. But I’m different now. I swear.”
Never get to have me? Christian wanted me? No, no, no. I need to wake up. Now.
“I need to wake up,” I say quietly, looking down at where our fingers are still tangled.
“What?” he asks, his voice low and concerned. “Are you okay, Jane-Ann?”
“I need to wake up,” I repeat, closing my eyes in hopes that not seeing Christian will make my subconscious wipe him from the dream.
But I can still feel his fingers against mine, and his other hand slides up my forearm to grab my elbow.
“Do you think you’re dreaming, Jane-Ann?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m flattered you think this could only be a dream, but I assure you I am very real. I have wrinkled pants from a ten-hour international flight to prove it.”
Slowly, I open my eyes again and peek up at him. “You’re really here?”
His lips twist to the side, and he nods.
“Why?”
“I just got Blakely’s letter yesterday,” he says, pulling a folded-up piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “I came as soon as I read it. Though, I wish I’d read it when she first sent it two months ago.”
I nod silently, afraid of what I’ll say or admit about my own feelings if I open my mouth. Christian runs a hand through his blond hair and continues.
“I followed the return address on the envelope and pulled up to your apartment just as Blakely arrived. She told me how your water broke and you’d just had the baby. She told me which room you were in, and I’m here.”
I mentally curse Blakely for not calling to warn me so I could brush my hair and put on some of the makeup she packed for me, but I can barely worry about that when he is in front of me. Real and present and as perfect as the first time I saw him from across the dancefloor at Jimmy’s.
“You’re here,” I say again, though this time it is a statement instead of a question. “Do you want to meet your son?”
Christian’s eyes widen, and he looks over at the bassinet. At the swaddled bundle that is our child.
“I was admiring him before you woke up, but if it’s okay…I’d love to hold him.”
“Of course, it’s okay,” I say, my voice thick.
I didn’t expect to be so emotional about this. In fact, I didn’t expect for this moment to ever happen. Perhaps that is where the tears are coming from. Pure shock and elation. My child has a father. A man who flew across the world to see him. A man who cares about him.
Christian moves toward the bassinet slowly, and his hands hover over the baby for a minute, unsure, before he slides his hands under the swaddle and lifts the baby out of the bassinet. Like a natural, he holds his son against his chest and presses his cheek to the little stockinged head.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,” he whispers, bouncing slightly on his toes. “But I’m here now.”
I turn away so he won’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks. I wipe them away and pretend to fuss with my blankets.
“And everything is okay?” Christian asks. “He is healthy?”
I clear my throat. “So far, so good. He is a little early, but he is a healthy boy.”
Christian beams and whispers words I can’t hear to his son, and I lay back in the bed and let them have this time. Ten minutes later, Christian is still walking the baby around the room when a nurse arrives.
“It’s time for his hearing test,” she says to me. Then, she notices Christian in the corner and her eyes widen momentarily. I’m sure she doesn’t recognize him as the Prince of Sigmaran, but is just surprised by his good looks the same way I was when I first saw him.
Christian looks to me for the okay before he hands over our son, giving him one last kiss on the forehead. When the nurse wheels him away, Christian stands at the door watching them move down the hallway until he can’t see him anymore. Then, he reclaims his spot next to me on the bed.
“He’s perfect, Jane-Ann. Absolutely perfect.” Christian’s hand lands on my leg, and he smiles and shakes his head. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
“I’m sure it has been an interesting twenty-four hours for you,” I say, residual guilt at not telling Christian about the pregnancy earlier rearing its head.
He nods and then nudges me playfully in the shoulder. “But a good kind of interesting.”
I bite my lower lip and twist my fingers in the sheet nervously. “It is? Good, I mean? You aren’t upset?”
“What is there to be upset about? You didn’t plan this, so I can’t be mad at you. I guess I can shake my fist at the universe, but what good would that do? Plus, our son is gorgeous. I can’t be angry at that.” His brows pull together and he looks down at me. “What is his name?”
I wonder whether he is referring to his first name or his surname. Either way, the answer is the same. “He doesn’t have one yet.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Only one,” I admit. “I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about names. But my grandfather’s name was Tyler.”
“Tyler,” Christian says, brow furrowed in thought. He smiles. “I love it. That’s perfect.”
“You think so?” I ask, somewhat surprised. “I didn’t know if there was some royal tradition you’d want to follow.”
“There is no tradition with first names, but his middle name will have to be Eugene after my great uncle.”
My nose wrinkles before I can stop myself, and I turn to Christian to see him biting back a laugh. I roll my eyes and slap his arm.
“Not funny.”
“Kind of funny,” he says, shaking the bed with his laugh. “No, there are no traditions. You can name him whatever you’d like.”
“What about Tyler Christian?” I ask, looking at him out of the corner of my eye to gauge his reaction.
Christian’s mouth opens and closes, and I think he might be trying to think of something witty or sarcastic to say, but then he just reaches out and grabs my hand. His fingers are warm.
“I love that, Jane-Ann.”
I look away and nod. “Good.”
We are silent for a few minutes. The only movement is Christian’s thumb brushing over my knuckles and my attempts to slow the rapid rise and fall of my chest. But finally, Christian turns to me and breaks the quiet.
“I’m sorry for how much I missed. I know I’ll never be able to make up for it but—”
“I’m the
one who kept it from you,” I argue.
Christian waves me away. “I’m the one who acted like a jerk and made you think I wouldn’t care. If I’d been decent, you would have told me.”
I open my mouth to argue, but I can’t. He’s right. Even after the way he acted before leaving, I still battled with wanting to tell him. If Christian had been this sweet that first night we met, he would have been the first person I called. I would have wanted his support.
“So, I know I can’t make the last nine months up to you,” he says. “But I’m here now, and I’d like to try. Can I stay with you and Tyler?”
“In the hospital?” I ask.
He nods and then smiles, his head tilting to the side in a question. “And at home.”
My heart clenches in my chest.
“I don’t want to intrude,” Christian adds. “I can get a hotel if I need to or—”
I shake my head. “No. You can stay with us.”
His shoulders relax, and he smiles, blinking and nodding like he can’t really believe it. Then, he sinks back against my pillows and continues massaging my fingers with his thumb.
“Thanks, Jane-Ann.”
My eyes once again fill with tears. I don’t know if it is my crazy hormones or the immense relief I feel now that my baby’s father is here and desperate to be involved. Either way, I’m overwhelmed in the best possible way.
“You’re welcome, Christian.”
Chapter 18
Christian
After landing in Austin, I’d gone straight to the address on the envelope and had been met by Blakely. I hadn’t gone in any further than the front door, but from what I could see of the apartment, it was small. Too small for two grown adults and a baby. And if I was going to stay with Jane-Ann and Tyler for a while, the apartment would feel even smaller.
When I asked Jane-Ann about why she’d given up her place, she told me about the complications. About passing out at work and being put on bed rest. About not being able to afford her rent and having to move in with Blakely. Every word felt like a weight tied to my ankle, pulling me down until I’d drown in guilt.
“I should have been there,” I said, leaning forward in the recliner and resting my elbows on my knees. “You shouldn’t have had to do that on your own.”
“Everything’s fine,” she insisted. “Blakely and I are going to make it work.”
I lived in a three-bedroom guest house on the palace grounds with a private garden in the back and two sitting rooms. I couldn’t stand by and let Jane-Ann and my son “make it work.” I had to make it right.
And I am. At this moment, Blakely and I are packing up Jane-Ann’s belongings to move to the new place I’ve found for her and the baby.
“How have you had time to already find a place?” Blakely asks.
I look up as Blakely walks in the room carrying more boxes. Where Jane-Ann is innocent and light and soft, Blakely is sharp. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek high ponytail that highlights her cheekbones, and she has eyeliner smeared under her eyes that might be purposeful—but might also be leftover from the night before.
“Not sleeping really gave me an edge,” I admit with a laugh.
I should have had more time. I should have had months to prepare for this, but I can’t dwell on that. I have to make good use of the time I do have.
“That explains the dark circles under your eyes that match mine,” she says, gesturing under her own eyes and wincing.
“I’m definitely not in Sigmaran anymore,” I say. “A comment like that would get someone sent to the dungeons.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blakely go rigid and stare at me for a moment before shaking her head and dropping the boxes at the foot of Jane-Ann’s bed. I’m not sure she appreciated the joke.
“I packed up all of her stuff from the kitchen,” she says.
I eye the suspiciously small box.
“Your girl isn’t much of a cook,” she says in way of an explanation.
Your girl. I bite my lower lip to keep from smiling.
“Thanks for your help.”
“How did you find her a place of her own so fast?” she asks, flopping down on the bed, her ankles crossed.
“Being a prince has its perks.”
My phone rings and I dismiss the call instinctively. I know I should just turn my phone off, but I want to keep track of how many times they’re calling me. How desperate they are. When the calls stop, that’s when I’ll truly be worried.
Blakely narrows her eyes. “So, money?”
I laugh. “Lots of it.”
I found a small cottage on the edge of town. It’s surrounded by farmland on all sides, offering near-panoramic views along with a two-car garage and an open-concept. The owners of the farmland also own the cottage, and they wanted to rent it out until my checkbook convinced them otherwise. I bought it from them that morning, handing over the check myself, and movers are clearing out the rest of the owner’s belongings as I pack up Jane-Ann’s stuff.
“Is it because you feel guilty?” Blakely’s tone has shifted to something menacing, and I stop packing up the bookshelf and stand up, feeling like I need to face her for this conversation.
“Is what because I feel guilty?”
Blakely waves her arms to encompass the room and all of the boxes. “This. Packing up her stuff. Buying her a house. Are you doing this because you feel guilty? Are you trying to buy your way back into her goodwill?”
My first night in America was sleepless and exhausting and more than I ever could have imagined, and standing in front of Blakely, I feel every tiring minute begging me to sit down and take a break. But I can’t. Not until I make things right.
I’d stood outside Jane-Ann’s hospital room for ten minutes, too nervous to go in and see how she would react to seeing me. Would she be excited? Angry? Confused? All three?
And honestly, part of me had been afraid to go in and see my child for the first time. A child I hadn’t known existed the night before. I didn’t even know whether it was a boy or a girl. How much would my life change once I saw the baby? Would I ever be able to go back? Would I want to?
All my questions and doubts faded as soon as I walked in and saw Jane-Ann sleeping in the bed, her blond hair a mess of curls around her head. Over the almost nine months we’d been apart, her face hadn’t changed in my memory. Time hadn’t warped a single inch of her. She looked as beautiful as I remembered.
Then, I saw my child. A tiny baby swaddled in blue blankets. A boy. My boy.
And all my doubts quieted.
And as the night wore on and Jane-Ann and I began to learn what it would mean to be parents, my doubts disappeared altogether. I couldn’t imagine a life without Jane-Ann and Tyler in it.
“Partially,” I admit, wanting to be honest.
Of course, I feel guilty. I hate that I wasn’t around when Jane-Ann was pregnant, when she had to go on bed rest and lost her job, when she had to move, when she went into labor. I hate that I missed out on the birth of my child. But guilt isn’t what propelled me to get on a plane and fly across the world, and it isn’t what kept me up all night trying to contact the owner of the cottage I knew would be perfect for Jane-Ann and Tyler.
“But I also care about her.”
“You don’t know her,” Blakely says sharply, sitting up and sliding to the edge of the stripped mattress. “But I do. And I know that even if she never said so, she’s been waiting for you to show up.”
“And I did,” I say. “I’ve been wanting to come back ever since I left.”
Blakely purses her lips and pushes herself to standing. She crosses the distance between us in just a few steps, and even though she’s a few inches shorter than me, I feel like she’s looking straight into my eyes.
“I’m happy for both of you, but I just want to make sure you understand that, prince or not, if you hurt my best friend, I’ll hunt you down.”
I’m not sure whether to laugh or cower in fear, but before I can d
o either, Blakely spins on her heel and marches out of the room.
Even though Blakely had suspicions about me and my motives, she agreed to keep the cottage a secret for me. I’m sure it was difficult for her, but it’s all worth it when I see the nurse pushing Jane-Ann and Tyler through the automatic doors in a wheelchair, heading straight for where I’m waiting in my rental car. Another princely perk is convincing the rental company to give me a car despite my lack of an American driver’s license. When Jane-Ann sees the white Mustang, she grins.
“You got a sports car to take our baby home in?” she asks. “Where’s my jeep?”
Jane-Ann’s jeep is currently transporting what is hopefully one of the last loads of boxes from Blakely’s apartment to the cottage house. But in the interest of maintaining the surprise, I don’t say so.
“Our son deserves only the best escort home.” I open the door and push the passenger seat forward so she can see the car seat strapped into the back. “And I just left the fire station where the Chief assured me I was a natural at installing car seats.”
“My favorite quality in a man,” Jane-Ann purrs, making the nurse pushing her wheelchair blush. Then, she tightens one arm around Tyler and holds out her other arm for me. “Now, stop posing next to the car and come help me up.”
My phone rings and I ignore it, not even bothering to check who it is. I already know.
I shove the device into my pocket and jog across the sidewalk to wrap an arm around her waist. It’s the closest I’ve been to her since the night our child was conceived. When I look down at Jane-Ann, her lashes flutter and she looks away, focusing on Tyler. I think she may have come to the same realization.
While I may have been a pro at installing the car seat, installing a child inside of it is a completely different story. It takes fifteen minutes for Jane-Ann to instruct me on how to strap Tyler in. Finally, once I’m sweating and a touch out of breath, I fall into the driver’s seat and pull away from the hospital.
Jane-Ann keeps glancing over her shoulder to see Tyler’s face in the mirror I installed to hang from the back seat. I want to assure her he is fine and have her relax in her seat, but her nerves are actually doing me a favor. We are on the opposite side of town from Blakely’s apartment before Jane-Ann realizes something is wrong.
Prince Baby Daddy - A Secret Baby Royal Romance Page 13