by Leah Ashton
Ana waved her apology away. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. She crouched down again, to be at Ajla’s eye level. ‘I’m still the same person,’ she said to the little girl. ‘Becoming a princess hasn’t changed who I am.’
But Ajla was clearly unconvinced, and by now there was a short queue of children, waiting—hoping—for photos too.
As Ana posed with the girls and boys, it was impossible not to compare the nondescript woman who’d been in that newspaper article and the woman who now had children staring at her adoringly.
Was she still the same person she’d been a year ago?
When she’d walked into the library today, she’d wanted desperately to be Ana Tomasich again. But now, as she smiled a real smile—not her princess smile—she wondered... Did she really want to give all this up?
Not the adulation she was receiving from these beautiful children—she still felt a bit uncomfortable being seen as special just because of an accident of birth—but the rest of what came with her title.
For example, just beyond the children’s corner here in the library there was a new display stand for talking books. A similar stand was in every library on the island—thanks to her. It was a small thing. Just a start. But to have the means to make a difference in that way was a gift. A privilege.
And beyond that display stand—in the non-fiction section, shelved almost exactly as they had been twenty years ago—was a row of books about the Vela Ada royal family. Ana couldn’t see those books from here, of course, but she knew they were there. And she also knew that some day soon—if not already—new books in that section would include her name on their pages. Her name. Ana Tomasich—Princess Ana of Vela Ada.
She’d finally found the belonging she’d searched for in those history books all those years ago in the foyer of Palace Vela Ada, only days ago. Found the part of her she hadn’t even fully realised she’d been missing—the other half of her heritage. No matter what her father had done, she was a part of the royal family now. It was part of who she was.
So, no. She wouldn’t change any of this. She didn’t want to go back to her old life. And she’d been wrong when she’d told Ajla she was the same person she’d always been.
Oh, she was still Ana Tomasich—she always would be. But this past year had changed her. For all her missteps and mistakes, she’d grown into her new identity—into her new reality.
She had wondered, as she’d run away from her wedding only weeks ago, if her title would ever sit comfortably on her shoulders. But now, as she laughed and posed in the library—always aware of Rhys watching her with his electric gaze—she realised it was no longer about her title: if she should have accepted it, if it would ever fit.
Now it was just who she was: Princess Ana of Vela Ada.
After all the children had left and once again it was Rhys and Ana alone—the library now almost empty—Ana looked up at Rhys and smiled.
And for the first time in a year, she had absolutely no doubts. She knew who she was, she knew where she belonged—and she knew what she wanted.
Rhys North. For however long it lasted.
* * *
Something had happened at the library. When they’d arrived, Ana had been nervous and unsure beside him—but when they’d left, she’d been the Ana he’d become familiar with. The Ana who was all spark and quiet determination.
He’d been watching her all day, unable to let his gaze drift far from her. In her tailored dress and perfectly coiffed hair she’d looked one hundred per cent royal—and the way she’d interacted with the patrons of the library had been one hundred per cent pure princess. Had she finally realised? That she was a princess, and worthy of the title she’d told him she didn’t think she deserved?
He itched to talk to her about it now, as they drove through narrow, winding lanes to a small town a short distance outside of the capital city.
It was dark outside—it was late, of course, given they were driving to Midnight Mass. Ana sat silently beside him, although they had been talking before. They’d been talking all afternoon, actually. After they’d left the library and met with Mirjana at the palace for another briefing, and while having dinner with Prince Marko and Princess Jasmine. They’d had a great day, really, talking easily and enjoying each other’s company.
But it had been determinedly light. No discussion about his obvious fright that morning, and likewise no questions about what Rhys thought had changed at the library.
But then, maybe he’d imagined it anyway.
Ana reached out then, her fingertips brushing against the outside of his thigh, and his skin was suddenly hot beneath the wool of his suit. He halted her hand, gripping it in his and meeting her gaze before briefly darting his eyes to the driver and the bodyguard in the front seat.
They were both looking straight ahead, but he was sure if he did what he wanted to do—which was to drag Ana onto his lap—he’d very quickly have their attention.
‘Ana—’ he said, but it was more a rough plea than an admonishment.
He wanted nothing more than to have her hands on his body, and his on hers—but this was not the place, and he was barely able to control himself around her as it was.
It had been like this since they’d left the library. Subtle and not so subtle touches, with Ana leading the way. Her hand on his arm, his hips, his legs, and once—memorably—on his butt...
Only when no one could see, but it was driving him insane.
‘We’re about to go to church, Ana,’ he said.
She grinned. ‘But then we’ll go home.’
Somehow he kept himself together as they arrived at the small church, located close to Ana’s grandparents’ place. Ana’s attendance there had been kept secret, and they entered the church at the last possible moment, nodding a greeting to Vesna and her parents as they took their places beside them in the back pew.
After mass, Christmas carollers greeted the crowd that spilled outside, each singer holding a candle that flickered in the moonlight.
Ana spoke in Slavic as she introduced him to her grandparents, so he had no idea what she said. But they smiled at him and wished him a merry Christmas in the little English they knew.
It was officially Christmas now, Rhys realised, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to put his arm around Ana and draw her close against his side.
She looked up at him, and when she did everything else faded away—the sound of the carollers, the many people taking photos of them, even Ana’s family.
‘Merry Christmas, Rhys,’ she said.
‘Merry Christmas, Ana,’ he replied.
And as he spoke, he realised they weren’t just meaningless words, said only because they were expected. Christmas wasn’t going to be just another day this year.
A sensation he’d thought he’d never experience again at Christmas had sneaked up on him—unexpected, but not unwelcome. But it was unquestionably what he was feeling as he looked at Ana amongst the carols and the candlelight.
Joy.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
HOW HAD SHE possibly lasted so long without kissing Rhys?
It felt like days, not hours.
The moment Ana’s front door had closed behind them she was in his arms, and he was kissing her before they’d even taken off their coats and scarves.
His mouth was hot and intent and incredible against hers, and his hands as they shoved off her outer layers of clothing were strong and electric against her skin.
Somehow they were upstairs, and then in her bedroom, on her bed, finally with no clothes at all, and his weight was heavy and delicious and exactly what she needed above her...inside her.
Later, she woke to go to the bathroom, and then, wrapped in a silk dressing gown, she ventured out into the living room to turn off forgotten lights. She collected their clothes as she went, eventually making her way downstai
rs and retrieving their discarded coats.
She hung them in the small closet in the foyer, and as she did so the familiar sound of a vibrating phone emanated from the pocket of Rhys’s navy blue coat.
She fished it out...turned it over in her hand to see who was calling.
It had rung out before she could even wonder if she should answer, and the screen changed from a ringing phone to a notification.
Five missed calls. Mum.
Instantly Ana was rushing up the stairs and back to her room—although she paused for a moment as she sat on the edge of the bed, remembering Rhys’s reaction that morning.
She didn’t really want to shake him awake and cause that awful look of grief and horror in his eyes again. But what if his mother was calling about an emergency? Five missed calls meant something. Someone only called that often if they had to get in touch.
So she laid her hand on his shoulder and pushed gently. ‘Rhys,’ she said, soft but firm. ‘Wake up, dragi moj.’
The Slavic endearment—my dear one—had just slipped out, but Ana didn’t have time to worry about that as Rhys jerked awake.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said urgently. He was already sitting up, his muscles tense. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘But I found your phone when I was tidying up our clothes. Your mother is trying to call you. She’s called five times,’ she said carefully. ‘It must be something important.’
Or something wrong.
She so hoped it wasn’t. Rhys had already been through so much...
But rather than look concerned, Rhys let his whole body relax. In fact, he fell back against the pillows, his face a picture of relief.
‘No,’ Rhys said, ‘nothing’s wrong.’ He grinned at her, reaching for her hand. ‘Come back to bed.’
Ana shook her hand free. ‘How do you know nothing’s wrong?’ she said. ‘She’s called five times.’
‘She’s only called a few times today,’ he said. ‘The other calls are from yesterday.’
But now his whole demeanour had changed. He rubbed at his forehead as Ana sat stiffly on the edge of the mattress. Suddenly all she could think about was that box full of unopened envelopes in his pantry in Castelrotto.
‘Were you planning on calling her back?’ Ana said.
Rhys met her gaze, and his eyes didn’t waver. ‘No,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ Ana said. ‘What if something’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Rhys repeated. And before she could ask again how he knew that, he added, ‘Because if there was, she would’ve called my assistant. I had her provide her details to my family years ago.’
‘You had her provide her details?’
Rhys shrugged, but it was far from a casual movement. ‘Living like that has been the only way I’ve been able to cope, Ana,’ he said. ‘I told you—’
Ana shook her head as she stood up, backing away from him.
‘I saw the letters, Rhys,’ she said. ‘In your kitchen. I didn’t mean to—I knocked them off a shelf accidentally, and I didn’t know what they meant until later.’ She swallowed. ‘I didn’t realise they meant you’d abandoned your family until the night we had dinner. And then I was stupid enough to believe you when you told me you hadn’t abandoned them at all.’
Rhys leapt to his feet, crossing the short distance between them until he stood close enough for Ana to touch him. Although of course she didn’t.
‘It was my way of surviving,’ he said, his voice low and harsh.
Something Rhys had said echoed in Ana’s memory: ‘If my anxiety becomes a problem, I’ll deal with it properly this time. Not go hide on a mountain.’
‘How hard have you tried over the past five years to find a way to cope—to grieve—that didn’t mean hurting the people you love?’
He was angry now. ‘You don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think I would’ve found another way if I could? Do you think it’s been easy to isolate myself from the family I had left? If there was any other option that didn’t paralyse me with panic, don’t you think I would have taken it? That I’d have grabbed it with both hands and run all the way back to Melbourne with it?’
Ana crossed her arms in front of her body. Rhys was naked, and she watched as he took deep breaths, his chest rising and falling in rapid movements.
‘So you’ve been seeing a doctor who can help you?’ she asked. But she already knew the answer.
He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it spiked all over the place. ‘No,’ he said flatly.
‘The other night,’ Ana began, ‘when you told me why you’ve been living the way you have, I didn’t really get what it meant. I mean, I understood what it meant for you—and, Rhys, I get that you did what you needed to do to get through each day. I get it... I understand it. But last night I didn’t put myself in your mother’s shoes. I didn’t imagine how it would feel to call your son, to write to your son, to want your son in your life—and get nothing back.’
Ana couldn’t look at him now, so she hugged herself, staring at the little Christmas tree she’d set up in the corner of her room. Its lights were blurry through the tears she fought to contain.
‘The thing is, Rhys, now that I’ve put myself in her shoes—well, it feels pretty familiar. And you know what it feels like? Rejection. And Vrag knows I’m familiar enough with that.’
Rhys reached out for her, but she stopped the movement with a glare.
‘I meant what I told you last night,’ Rhys said. ‘I’ve changed. I want more than just to cope now. Since I met you, Ana, everything’s changed.’
Ana nodded. ‘How?’ she prompted. ‘How have things changed? What steps are you taking so that your relationships aren’t destroyed by your anxiety, Rhys? Your relationships with your family, with your child, with...’ She almost didn’t say it, but in the end she had to. ‘Your relationship with me.’
His gaze locked on hers. ‘My relationship with you?’
The time was long past for Ana to protect herself from being hurt, from being burned. She nodded. And as she did, she saw something in his gaze. Hope? Fear? Despair?
She had no idea, because he locked it all away before she could interpret it.
His voice was steadier when he spoke again. Without the rawness of before. ‘I haven’t had an attack in years, Ana. I do have it under control.’
But he didn’t. Ana knew that now.
Still, she felt compelled to confirm it—to underline it in ink: ‘Have you told your family I’m pregnant?’ she asked.
His eyes widened. ‘Of course not,’ he said.
Of course not.
Ana nodded. ‘You haven’t told them anything about me—that’s why your mother is calling you a lot recently. She’s probably seen the news reports and wants to know what on earth is going on. But you won’t answer her calls.’
Rhys didn’t have to nod—didn’t have to say a thing.
Ana closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath. She’d been so stupid. So very, very stupid. To get caught up in lust and attraction and in believing meaningless words about how she’d changed him.
‘I think you should leave, Rhys,’ she said quietly.
‘Ana,’ he said fiercely, ‘I will be there for our child. I will be a good father. I promise you that.’
Oh, she so wanted to believe him.
‘For our child’s sake, I’m going to take you at your word—for now.’
And if Rhys ever hurt their child...if he abandoned their child the way he’d abandoned his family...the way her father had abandoned her...
She’d never forgive him.
And she’d never forgive herself.
She had no choice but to give him a chance to do the right thing. She had to give her child a chance at having a father.
But she did have a choice when it came t
o her own relationship with Rhys.
She was supposed to be living in the moment with him—it was what they’d agreed, after all—but she’d been lying to herself. Right from the start—from the moment he’d touched her—she’d just kept on wanting more. More of Rhys. More from Rhys.
He’d told her from the outset that he wasn’t capable of being her Prince. She’d told him she didn’t want one, and she still didn’t.
She didn’t want a prince.
She wanted Rhys.
But not like this.
More than anything, Ana wanted to be loved.
But Rhys’s love consisted of unopened envelopes, ignored invitations and phone calls that went unanswered.
That wasn’t the type of love she wanted in her life.
But—significantly—Rhys wasn’t even offering her that. He wasn’t reassuring her that he’d be there for her, that he’d be a good partner. His relationship with her wasn’t even on his radar.
Because they didn’t have one.
‘I think you should leave, Rhys,’ Ana repeated softly.
As she watched, Rhys dressed quietly.
Then, without another word to her, he was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOT VERY MANY hours and hardly any sleep later, Rhys sat at Prince Marko and Princess Jasmine’s dining table, in a room that would rival a department store window for its sheer volume of tinsel and baubles. Christmas carols played in the background as palace staff served a sumptuous Christmas morning feast, and Rhys drank a lot of coffee in a futile attempt to shift his fog of exhaustion.
Although Rhys knew it wasn’t really a lack of sleep that weighed him down. Far heavier were the memories of last night—memories of Ana’s shock and disappointment.
Her hurt.
And also what that hurt meant. He knew Ana’s priority was their child, but it was more than that—she’d even said it: their relationship.
For a moment—a fleeting moment—the same joy he’d felt outside the church as he’d looked at Ana amongst the carollers had bloomed, even bigger than before. Because in that moment he’d imagined what it might be like to be loved by Ana. Maybe for that fleeting second he’d even seen it in her gaze.