His Pregnant Christmas Princess

by Leah Ashton

  But then he’d remembered.

  Remembered that he was broken. That he couldn’t even answer a call from his mother, and that he fully intended to have his assistant inform his family that he was having a child with a princess.

  And Ana deserved so much more than that.

  She knew it too.

  A present being passed across the table from Jasmine was a timely distraction.

  ‘Is this for me?’ Rhys asked, with some embarrassment. It hadn’t even occurred to him to get Marko or Jas a gift. ‘I have to apologise... I don’t have anything for you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Jas said. ‘Besides, it’s not really for you, anyway.’

  And, as Rhys discovered when he opened the gift, it wasn’t. It was a tiny baby’s outfit, printed with whimsical suns and fluffy rain clouds.

  ‘I have become rather obsessed with cute baby clothing,’ Jas said. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to me.’ She grinned and rubbed her large round belly. ‘I already have more than enough, besides my own shopping and the gifts the people of Vela Ada keep so generously giving us. So I grabbed the opportunity to go shopping for your baby.’

  Rhys smiled and thanked Jas, placing the package amongst the Christmas crackers and candy canes scattered across the table. Then he managed to talk with Jasmine and Marko for the rest of breakfast like a normal person—about all things unimportant and silly jokes.

  But the whole time he was counting down to when he’d see Ana again—only hours from now, for Christmas dinner.

  The prospect of seeing her was tinged with both dread and anticipation. Anticipation because it was Ana, the woman who had changed everything even if she didn’t believe it herself. Just thinking about her heated his blood, scrambled his thoughts. But he also felt dread, because now Ana knew how truly broken he was.

  She was going to look at him differently tonight. Not with heat, and spark, and undeniable connection.

  Tonight her eyes would be full of disappointment.

  Disappointment in him.

  For not being the man she’d thought he was.

  For not being the man he’d once been.

  * * *

  Queen Petra bumped her shoulder against Ana’s as they stood in front of the giant Christmas tree in the palace foyer. The royal photographer was checking the images he’d already taken on his camera, so the royal family were having a short break from posing for their annual official Christmas portrait.

  ‘Are you sure there’s not something going on between you and Mr North?’ she asked.

  King Lukas and Queen Petra had come home with Prince Filip and the Queen Dowager for the traditional royal family Christmas dinner. Lukas and Petra were fully aware of the situation, of course, but they’d met Rhys only about an hour ago. He stood to the side of one of the sweeping staircases, attempting to win over Ana’s mother, and Ana’s gaze kept darting in that direction.

  Ana managed a careless smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I like Rhys, but there’s nothing else between us.’

  Petra pursed her lips. ‘Anyone with eyes doesn’t believe that, Ana.’

  Ana blinked, stunned. Petra had always been refreshingly candid, but she hadn’t expected that comment.

  If anything, she’d been careful not to look at Rhys. She certainly hadn’t touched him, nor really even spoken to him all night. Likewise, Rhys had kept his distance from her.

  He’d been polite, and so had she, but nothing more.

  Ana imagined that was the way things would work between them from now on. For the next eighteen or so years.

  The prospect of such careful interaction for evermore was pretty awful, but what other choice did she have? That was assuming Rhys even stayed in her and their child’s life, anyway. After last night she really had no reason to assume that he would.

  Yet even now a part of her wanted to argue with herself: Rhys is a good man. He would never abandon his child.

  And to think she thought she’d learnt from the rose-coloured Petar fairy tale. Clearly not. But at least this time she’d disentangled herself early. Before it became too serious. Too complicated.

  But had she really?

  Three nights with Rhys felt a lot more meaningful than a year with her former fiancé. Than any time she’d spent with any other man.

  She gave herself a mental shake. What was she even thinking?

  On her other side Princess Jasmine cleared her throat, and Ana turned to meet her gaze.

  ‘My Slavic’s still a bit rusty,’ she said, ‘but I think I got the gist of it and I agree with Petra.’ Jas paused, then grinned. ‘Also, FYI, I really like him. Plus, he’s gorgeous, Ana. Nice choice.’

  Ana understood that the two women meant well, and were just teasing, but their words made her tense and made tears prickle.

  Stupid hormones.

  But it was more than that—and she knew it.

  ‘Ana?’

  Petra was leaning closer now.

  ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just the way he looks at you... I thought maybe...’

  ‘Our situation is complicated,’ Ana said firmly. ‘But I can assure you nothing is going on between us.’

  At least not any more.

  Ana took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, then focused her gaze once again on the photographer, ready to smile on cue.

  * * *

  Dinner was lovely. Well, the food was lovely. But with Rhys seated beside her—which made sense, as although the royal family was aware of the PR exercise the majority of palace staff were not—Ana felt as tightly coiled as a spring.

  The effort to avoid bumping knees or elbows or fingers, or even to look at Rhys, was excruciating. On top of that, she could barely remember what kind of relationship she was pretending to portray. A happy couple for the palace staff? Just friends for Petra and Jasmine?

  She definitely didn’t want to portray the very real tension between them. And she certainly didn’t want anyone to ask her what was wrong, as she was so worried the tears that had threatened during the family portrait would spring free all over her roast turkey.

  But, equally, she couldn’t pretend to be okay. She couldn’t talk to Rhys as if last night had never happened—even the idea felt impossible.

  Rhys appeared to be faring much better. Yes, she sensed he was avoiding touching or looking just as much as she was, but he was managing to participate in the conversation with his usual easy manner. In fact, he even made them all laugh as he and Marko regaled them with stories of their time training and working together.

  Maybe it was only Ana who heard the emptiness in his laugh?

  Or maybe she’d imagined it, the same way she’d imagined a connection between them that went beyond the physical.

  That had felt real and right.

  But of course she’d been totally wrong.

  Somehow no one appeared to notice Ana’s discomfort. Everyone was relaxed and merry—even Ana’s mother, who had been seated a good distance from Rhys and had eventually stopped shooting him accusatory glares.

  After Prince Filip had gone to bed they all moved to the Knights’ Hall for pršurate—spicy, citrusy doughnut balls—and eggnog.

  Conversation was boisterous, and Ana spent much of the evening talking to her mother and the Queen Dowager, and later with Petra and Jas—although this time no one asked her about Rhys.

  Rhys, of course, kept his distance.

  About halfway through Jasmine’s telling of a story about her own first Christmas at Palace Vela Ada, Jas grimaced.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Ana asked.

  Jas grinned, but it was unconvincing. ‘I probably just ate too much,’ she said. ‘I might go and sit down for a bit...’

  There was only room for two on the small antique sofa that Jas went to sit down on, so Ana left Petra to watch her
sister-in-law and went to find her mother.

  The Queen Dowager had immediately taken a liking to Vesna when the truth of Ana’s parentage had been revealed, and had always made an effort to include Vesna in royal events. But Ana’s mother wasn’t with the Queen Dowager, who was currently talking to Rhys and her sons.

  In fact, she wasn’t in the Knights’ Hall at all.

  But Ana didn’t have any time to think about that before a shriek distracted her.

  ‘Oh, my God—I just wet myself!’ Princess Jasmine said in disbelief.

  ‘No,’ Petra said quietly, ‘I think your waters have broken.’

  Marko was instantly at Jasmine’s side. ‘You’re not due for five more weeks.’

  Jasmine’s eyes were wide, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. ‘I think we need to go to the hospital,’ she said.

  * * *

  Minutes later, Ana and Rhys watched as two cars whisked Jasmine, Marko, Lukas, Petra and the Queen Dowager away.

  They stood in their coats at the top of the palace steps. They were not really helping by being out there, but Ana hadn’t been able to just sit around inside.

  Soon the palace gates had closed behind the rear lights of the cars and it was just Rhys and Ana—alone for the first time that evening.

  ‘You okay?’ Rhys asked.

  Ana realised that she was holding a hand over her still flat belly. ‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Yes. I think...’

  ‘You think?’ His gaze darted over her, as if searching for something amiss.

  Ana smiled. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just worried for Jasmine.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. ‘It’s freezing. Let’s go and wait for news inside.’

  A palace attendant opened the doors for them and took their coats, but once inside Ana turned to speak to him.

  ‘Have you seen my mother?’ she asked.

  Despite the hubbub of the past few minutes, Ana’s mother had not appeared.

  The grey-haired man’s eyebrows drew together, and he paused before answering her. ‘I believe she’s gone to see the chef about the pršurate recipe, Your Highness,’ he said.

  Ana nodded. She should have guessed. These past few visits her mother had taken to scribbling down every palace recipe she’d enjoyed.

  With the Knights’ Hall being cleaned, Rhys and Ana were guided to a smaller salon. Thanks to the magic of the palace staff the room already had a crackling fire, and yet more pastries were laid out on a low table.

  Ana immediately sat down on a red velvet chair beside the table and helped herself to a pršurate. But Rhys remained standing. He wore charcoal trousers, a crisp white shirt and no tie. He looked very handsome—but then, he always did.

  The atmosphere in the small room was a tense mix of concern for Jasmine, echoes of the previous night and—frustratingly—the electric attraction that still hummed between them. Despite everything. And now they were finally alone that snap and crackle was only amplified.

  Ana felt compelled to say something—to prove she was totally okay and ready to proceed with this new dynamic between them: two people who had had a brief relationship that was over, and who now needed to prepare to co-parent in a mature and respectful manner.

  Unsurprisingly, the perfect thing to say did not immediately present itself.

  Rhys shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers, took a few steps towards her, and then seemed to change his mind.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Ana,’ he began, ‘I—’

  But whatever he had been about to say was derailed by a loud burst of male laughter outside the salon, immediately followed by the trill of feminine giggles.

  Familiar feminine giggles.

  ‘Majka?’ Ana asked in disbelief as she leapt to her feet and took in the pair suddenly framed in the doorway.

  Her mother stood with her arm hooked around the waist of a tall, dark-haired man that Ana immediately recognised—Ivan, Prince Marko’s valet. And Ivan had his own arm wrapped around Vesna, her body pressed right up against his side.

  Ivan immediately dropped his arm and took a small step away from Ana’s mother.

  ‘Your Highness—’ he began.

  But before he could say anything further Vesna had grabbed Ivan’s hand in hers, lacing her fingers with his.

  Vesna looked up at Ivan, and in the look that passed between them, and especially in the way Ivan nodded and then smiled encouragingly, Ana could see exactly what was going on.

  ‘Ivan and I are together,’ Vesna said carefully. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, but we wanted to be sure.’

  Her mother’s face was a mix of apprehension and...joy.

  Ana couldn’t quite believe it—but she also couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her mother so happy.

  Maybe only the day Ana had become a princess. ‘I’m so happy for you, Majka,’ Ana said.

  But then a buzzing noise distracted her, and Ana watched as Rhys fished his phone out of his pocket.

  ‘It’s Marko,’ he said, looking at Ana just before he answered the call.

  Ana quickly filled her mother and Ivan in on what had happened with Jasmine, and then they all turned to Rhys for news.

  The call was brief.

  ‘Jasmine is doing well,’ Rhys said after he’d hung up. ‘She hasn’t gone into labour, but they’re keeping her in hospital—under observation and on antibiotics to prevent infection.’

  Ana let go of the breath she’d been holding.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ Ana said, just as her mother and Ivan said exactly the same thing.

  Then they all laughed, before Vesna took Ivan’s hand in hers again.

  ‘I won’t need a lift home in the palace car,’ she said to Ana.

  And with that, as a blush stole up Vesna’s neck, Ivan and Vesna exited the room.

  For a while Ana just stared at the once again empty doorway. Then, slowly, she turned to face Rhys.

  Relief and shock momentarily left her speechless.

  Her mother and Ivan? She’d never have guessed. But then, this past year had been strange and different in so many ways, and one of the worst things was how little Ana had been sharing with her mother about how she’d been feeling. About becoming a princess, about Petar—even about her pregnancy.

  But then, why should she have known about Ivan? Her mother was her own woman, and she owed Ana no explanation. Vesna deserved to be happy—more than anyone, really.

  Suddenly, Ana laughed.

  She laughed to release the tension of the day—the tension caused by her worry for Jasmine, the tension between her and Rhys, and even the tension caused by the guilt she was carrying for being a less than perfect princess for her mother—which she’d finally realised she needed to let go.

  She also laughed to release the tension of this past week—of discovering her pregnancy, of telling Rhys, of telling the royal family, of comprehending the way she was going to be judged for falling pregnant so soon after jilting Petar.

  And she laughed because just as Vesna deserved to be happy, so did Ana.

  She was looking at the man who, amidst some of the most stressful times of her life, had made her laugh, made her feel strong, made her feel beautiful—and made her feel in ways she never had before. She couldn’t regret meeting him, and she couldn’t even regret these past few days, even as her heart hurt because she knew they’d never have anything more.

  There was no romantic future between them.

  Ana knew that now.

  But, despite everything, she knew he still wanted her. She knew his attraction for her, and hers for him, was unchanged.

  She could see the complications in his gaze. Had he seen what she was thinking in hers?

  She could almost hear what he was going to say. Something designed to keep her at arm’s length. He knew now tha
t Ana wanted more from him, and she knew that he didn’t want to hurt her.

  But she didn’t want Rhys to be considerate. She didn’t want his pity.

  ‘Don’t think tonight, Rhys, please,’ she said. ‘I just want tonight. Nothing more.’

  Right now, she needed Rhys. She needed to feel strong and beautiful and wanted—all the things she always felt with Rhys. She needed this man who had been a constant in the madness of the past month of her life, because she knew he could give her tonight.

  She stepped towards him, giving him every opportunity to step back, to say something, to tell her no.

  But he did none of those things.

  Instead he met her halfway.

  And when they kissed, as always, everything felt right.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  RHYS WOKE TO the sound of Ana getting dressed.

  She stood at the end of his bed, lit only by the light she’d switched on in his en suite bathroom. As he watched, she stepped into her red dress, pulled it up over her stockings, and then slid the long sleeves over her arms. She twisted to do up the zip at the back, but despite her best efforts couldn’t quite reach it, so the dress made soft swishing sounds as she twisted to and fro, her occasional low Slavic curses not appearing to help at all.

  ‘Need a hand?’ Rhys asked.

  Ana startled. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I thought you were sleeping.’

  ‘Nope,’ he said unnecessarily as he sat up in bed, the sheets gathered about his waist.

  Ana studied him for a moment, then seemed to make a decision and walked over to present her back to him.

  The zip began low, so the dress gaped open and he had a view of lace underwear, her stockings and the lovely olive skin of her back, her spine a shadowy curve in the muted light.

  Everything in him wanted to reach for her, to tug her gently so she was beside him on his bed, close enough that he could kiss his way along the same path the zip would travel.