His Pregnant Christmas Princess

by Leah Ashton

  No. For now he’d just focus on what he knew he could do. He knew he could—already did—love this child.

  Ana and this baby had catapulted him beyond just existing in his life. Beyond just coping. And yet when his mother had called earlier today, he’d let it ring out. Answering her call hadn’t even been an option.

  Which told Rhys that, despite Ana, despite their baby, he was still broken.

  He’d been broken for so very long.

  He was going to patch himself together enough to be a good father—he was—but was he capable of more than that? Or was he just too damaged? Were the fissures too deep?

  Was this version of Rhys all he’d ever have to offer anyone? To offer Ana?

  After all Ana had been through, was it fair to burden her with that? With him?

  Ana stirred in her sleep, rolling onto her belly, her hair cascading over her bare shoulders in waves of chocolate brown.

  Her eyes fluttered open and met his gaze, which he knew must be full of complications.

  But Ana just smiled, then shimmied up onto her knees so she could look down at him, her long hair tickling his chest.

  ‘Stop thinking,’ she said. ‘This works best when we go with what we feel.’

  The old Rhys would probably have said they needed to talk. But this version of him selfishly dragged her onto his chest and followed Ana’s advice to the letter.

  Because when he kissed Ana, he wasn’t capable of thinking about anything messy or painful or broken.

  When he kissed Ana, he wasn’t capable of thinking of anything but how good, how perfect—how right—she felt.

  * * *

  It was the carollers that woke Ana.

  She’d dozed off again, with Rhys sprawled beside her, but now the sounds of Christmas carols drifted up from the street below.

  The song that had woken her was a traditional Slavic carol, and the familiar melody made Ana smile as she remembered so many wonderful Christmases with her family—her dida playing the accordion beside her baba’s open fireplace, the smell of fir and baked treats filling their home...

  Baking.

  Her cookies!

  Ana leapt out of bed, searching about for her clothes.

  What time was it?

  She retrieved her knickers from the bedroom floor and hopped into them as she raced into the kitchen. Thankfully she hadn’t had a batch of cookies baking when she’d kissed Rhys. Vrag knew she’d forgotten all about them the instant he’d kissed her back. But she needed to finish all those cookies tonight—ready to take to the library tomorrow morning, for Christmas Eve.

  T-shirt located, and then her phone, she tugged the shirt over her head and checked the time: it was late, but she still had plenty of time.

  Hands on her hips, she took a long, deep breath.

  What was she doing?

  And she wasn’t just thinking about her baking.

  Rhys was naked and sleeping in her bedroom. Her lips still felt deliciously bruised from his mouth, and her skin scratched from his stubble. If she closed her eyes and thought about what they’d just done, she’d be caught up in memories and sensations that were too good to regret.

  And yet it had been a pretty dumb thing to do.

  She’d said all the right things last night, but all sleeping with Rhys had done was make her wonder about more. Because surely sex couldn’t be that intense, that intimate, but not mean anything?

  She didn’t think she was wired for casual sex—she never had been. But the couple of relationships she’d had before Petar had been short-lived—and certainly hadn’t left her feeling like this. They hadn’t been anything like this thing with Rhys, where attraction seemed to overwhelm her common sense.

  Although she didn’t exactly have a stellar track record when it came to good judgement. She’d almost married the wrong man, after all...

  Ana’s eyes popped open. She didn’t have any time to worry about Rhys right now. She had a lot of cookies to bake.

  * * *

  Rhys walked out of her bedroom just as she was putting the last tray of medenjaci into the oven. He wore his jeans, but nothing else—and he looked so remarkable without his shirt that Ana was momentarily helpless to do anything but stare at him.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. His gaze took in the kitchen and the rows of cookies on cooling racks. ‘Looks like you’ve been busy.’

  Ana closed the oven door and set the timer before turning to face Rhys properly. ‘I have,’ she said. ‘They’re for the kids at the library,’ she explained. ‘I decided I would make them again this year.’

  After telling Rhys about medenjaci a few days ago, it had occurred to Ana there was no reason she couldn’t bake them this year. So she’d organised a visit to her old workplace—with cookies—for tomorrow.

  Rhys had located his shirt and jumper on the floor near her sofa, but he didn’t put either on. Instead he just stood there, looking at her.

  Ana knew she must look a mess, with her hair all over the place and without a bra, and yet Rhys’s gaze could only be described as admiring.

  No, that was too gentle a word. When Rhys looked at her like that, it was as if he couldn’t get enough of her. It was as if his gaze devoured her.

  She suspected the way she looked at him wasn’t all that different. All rumpled and sleepy and sexy, Rhys had never looked more handsome.

  So, their sleeping together again had made no difference to the delicious magnetic pull between them.

  Had she ever thought it would?

  No. It had never even been a possibility.

  ‘What happens now?’ Ana asked bluntly.

  Rhys looked down at his clothes. He’d bunched them into a tight ball.

  ‘I told myself I was going to get dressed and go,’ he said, even though he made no move to do so. He looked up and caught Ana’s gaze. ‘But what I really want is to kiss you again. I want to take you back to bed.’

  His words, his gaze, made Ana catch her breath. The way Rhys wanted her was overwhelming. No other man had ever needed her the way Rhys did. It was a seductive and powerful sensation.

  ‘I want that too,’ she said, helpless not to. A blush heated her cheeks at her candour—but, honestly, what was the point of pretending otherwise? ‘But—’

  Suddenly Rhys was right in front of her, his hands at her hips, close enough that she had to look up at him—close enough to kiss.

  He was doing it on purpose, of course, knowing his proximity to her scrambled her thoughts.

  ‘How about—rather than thinking about how complicated this is, or about making mistakes, or about what we have ahead of us—we both take your advice and stop thinking when it comes to us,’ he said, leaning closer until his lips were a whisper against her neck. ‘When it comes to this.’

  He kissed her, his mouth and his breath hot and electrifying against her skin. She shivered beneath his touch.

  He murmured against that delicious spot just beneath her ear. ‘You’re the one who told me this works best when we go with what we feel.’

  Ana made herself shake her head. ‘We can’t do that for ever.’

  He took a step back now so he could meet her gaze. His expression was intense...serious. ‘But what if we don’t want for ever?’ he said. ‘What if we just worry about right now?’

  His words held echoes of last night—focusing on what they both wanted in the moment and nothing more.

  It was so tempting.

  But it was so reckless.

  Rhys leant forward again so his cheek was pressed against hers, his words rough against her ear.

  ‘I know I don’t want to walk away yet, Ana. I know I have to, and I know I should, but I can’t. Not yet.’

  Temptation warred with fear: Ana knew it would be all too easy to fall for Rhys. To be hurt by Rhys. And yet...

  ‘I ca
n’t walk away either,’ Ana said.

  And barely had the words come out of her mouth than Rhys’s mouth had covered hers and his hands had drawn her hard against him.

  Sometime later—minutes? Hours? Ana had no idea—they came up for air.

  Rhys just looked at her, waiting as they both took deep, shaky breaths.

  ‘Stay the night,’ she said.

  The next moment Rhys swung Ana into his arms, exactly the way she’d imagined that very first night they’d met—as if saving her from a burning building. Then, as he carried her into her bedroom so effortlessly, Ana focused on all the heat, the fire between them—how irresistible it was, how powerful, how right...

  All she needed to do was make sure she didn’t get burned.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  RHYS WOKE SUDDENLY to Ana shaking his shoulder.

  ‘Wake up!’ she said in an urgent whisper. ‘I need your help.’

  Instantly he was on his feet, his muscles coiled and ready for action.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked sharply.

  His gaze travelled over her—she was in jeans and a pale blue button-up shirt and looked a bit surprised, but not upset. The house was silent. Outside, he heard a car drive by, but otherwise all seemed calm.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Ana said. ‘It’s just we both slept in. I need help icing cookies.’

  Adrenalin eased from his tense muscles. ‘So no emergency?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Sorry... I didn’t think that a soldier might be used to emergencies more significant than those cookie-related.’

  Rhys sank back onto the bed. He was completely naked and his hands were twisted in the white sheets.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ana asked. Her forehead was creased with concern.

  Not really.

  For a split second he’d been back in the desert, hearing the worst possible news of his life. But Ana didn’t want to hear that. She didn’t need to hear that.

  ‘Of course,’ he said casually. ‘You just startled me.’

  For a moment he thought she wasn’t going to leave it at that—that she was going to start asking questions.

  But instead she smiled. It was her princess smile—he’d learnt to recognise it now. Practised, beautiful—and very fake.

  He should be disgusted at himself for not walking away last night. Worse—for talking Ana into continuing a relationship based entirely on lust and attraction when he knew absolutely that Ana deserved so much more.

  But he couldn’t regret what he’d done. Couldn’t regret being here with Ana.

  And now, seeing her princess smile and her lack of questions, Rhys knew they were playing the same game.

  She was going to pretend that she hadn’t just triggered the worst memory of his life, and he was going to ignore that long-forgotten part of him that wanted to tell her everything.

  In a relationship without a future, there wasn’t much point digging up the past.

  ‘Mirjana called earlier,’ she said brightly. ‘Just to confirm my visit to the City Library. She suggested you accompany me, as it’s not an official royal visit, so there aren’t the usual protocols. It will make our relationship appear quite serious.’

  ‘Surely she knows I stayed here last night?’ he asked.

  ‘She might,’ Ana said, ‘but she didn’t say a word. It’s a perk of being royalty—the palace staff are unfailingly discreet.’

  ‘So she’s stage-managing a fake relationship around our actual relationship?’

  ‘Well...’ Ana said, and her tone was light. ‘She’s stage-managing a serious relationship, while I’d like this one to remain a secret as much as possible.’

  Rhys had to laugh. ‘This all feels a bit meta.’

  Ana frowned. ‘Meta?’

  ‘Like a movie inside a movie,’ he said. ‘Or arguing about arguing. We have a relationship inside a relationship.’

  Or a non-relationship inside a fake relationship.

  ‘Either way,’ Ana said, ‘I need you to help me ice these cookies.’

  * * *

  Ana’s visit to the Vela Ada City Library hadn’t been announced to the public, so there were a few glorious minutes after Ana walked through the familiar glass doors when no one noticed her arrival.

  Her guards had already completed a covert sweep of the building, and now they kept their distance as Rhys and Ana stood just inside the library entrance, each balancing several boxes of medenjaci in their arms.

  How had she described her love of libraries to Rhys?

  There aren’t many places where you can just be.

  A familiar feeling of comfort and acceptance enveloped Ana as she walked towards the information desk. For those brief moments she could almost pretend she was still normal old Ana Tomasich, arriving for work. Ana Tomasich—who no one looked twice at and who was perfectly happy with her perfectly average life.

  But by the time her once colleague and meant-to-be bridesmaid Anita had greeted her, half the library had looked twice. And the other half had by the time Rhys shook Anita’s hand.

  The change in the library was palpable.

  No longer was everyone happily browsing the shelves, or searching the web, or reading the newspaper. Everyone was looking at her. Talking about her.

  It was impossible to hear exactly what people were actually saying, but Ana could imagine...

  Did you know she used to work here? I wonder why she—

  Her poor fiancé. I heard—

  What a lovely dress. I bet it cost more than I earn in a month—

  The buzz and hum of conversation, of speculation, was impossible to ignore, and Ana heard clearer snippets as Anita led the way to the children’s corner.

  Fancy flaunting a new man so soon—

  Probably thinks she’s better than us now—

  Suddenly Rhys took her hand in his. Calmly he laced his fingers with hers and then gently squeezed her palm.

  Immediately the buzz of real and imagined judgement receded. Partly because Rhys’s touch was as electric and distracting as always, but mostly because of the way he looked at her.

  He looked at her as if he could see all that ricocheted inside her brain at that very moment, and none of it mattered to him. Because of course it didn’t—Rhys North couldn’t care less what strangers thought of him, or of her.

  In that moment, as Rhys looked at her, Ana felt as if all that Rhys cared about was the fact she knew he was here, beside her. Both literally and...more.

  We’re in this together.

  For the first time she actually believed it. They weren’t simply words said to reassure, they were real. A fact.

  What did Rhys keep saying? That they were an us now.

  Right now she didn’t care about defining what that meant. All that mattered was that it was true, and that Rhys was beside her.

  And then they were with the kids, and the small group of children cross-legged on the floor stared at Ana as if... Well, as if she was a princess.

  Anita introduced Ana to the children, and then Ana was in charge—getting Rhys to help open the boxes of medenjaci and then distributing the undecorated cookies to the children.

  She’d organised for a table to be set up with decorating supplies—royal icing, edible glitter and chocolate pearls, all in a myriad of colours—and before she knew it she was helping the girls and boys decorate their cookies, and they were telling her all about what they hoped to get for Christmas.

  She couldn’t help but get caught up in their excitement, even though she realised now that she’d naively expected today to be just like it had always been—as if she was still a librarian and could decorate Christmas cookies with pink icing without the library’s patrons snapping photos of her with their smartphones.

  But that didn’t matter—not really.

  She was
having fun, and the kids were too.

  Later, with the creatively decorated biscuits carefully wrapped up for each child to take home, the librarians distributed the remainder of the cookies she’d made to everyone else in the library. These were the medenjaci she’d decorated with Rhys, although he’d been relegated to the positioning of chocolate pearls.

  This left Rhys and Ana alone beneath the chains of paper angels that hung from the ceiling, and beside a table full of shoeboxes containing Plasticine nativity scenes.

  ‘What are these?’ Rhys asked, walking to the plates that covered a wide windowsill.

  ‘Pšenica,’ Ana said. ‘We did it for the first time last year. It’s just wheat in saucers, but the tradition is that the taller your wheat by Christmas, the luckier you’ll be the following year.’

  Rhys grinned. ‘Can you use fertiliser?’

  Ana laughed. ‘Now, why didn’t I think of that last Christmas?’

  ‘Oprostite?’

  The soft excuse me came from a young girl aged eight or nine, standing beside her mother only a few metres away. In her hands, the girl clutched her decorated biscuits.

  Ana smiled and beckoned her over.

  ‘Can my mother take a photo of me with you?’ the girl asked shyly.

  ‘Of course!’ Ana said, and Rhys stepped aside as Ana knelt beside the girl and smiled for her mother’s phone camera.

  ‘Thank you,’ the girl’s mother said a few minutes later. ‘Ajla still has that newspaper article from last year on her wall. You’ve made her Christmas with this new photo.’

  It took Ana a moment to work out what the woman was talking about—but then she remembered. In early December last year—before she had become a princess—Ana had been photographed with some children at the library for an article about their upcoming Christmas craft workshops. Ajla must have been one of those children.

  ‘But you weren’t really a princess back then,’ Ajla said, any trace of her original reticence gone, ‘so my friend Lara said it didn’t count. But now I have a photo with a real princess. I can’t wait to show her.’

  The other woman’s cheeks turned a heated pink. ‘Ajla!’ she said sharply. ‘I’m so sorry, Your Highness—’