by Diana Ames
“I’ll be right there,” Anton growled. “No one is to go in that room before I get there. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sire,” the voice said shakily.
Anton slammed the phone down and jumped out of bed. He threw on the clothes he’d taken off before passing out and rushed out of his apartment. He wasn’t wasting any time. He didn’t trust the doctors and nurses to stay away from her if he was more than a few minutes. He figured a patient’s needs would outweigh his demand—even if the medical staff was terrified of him.
Anton tucked his shirt in as he dashed for medical. When he arrived, he ignored the gaping looks at his disheveled appearance and headed straight for Alondra’s room.
“Sire, please wait! Sire!” Dr. Melianos rushed up to Anton and just barely caught himself before grabbing the prince’s arm.
Anton stopped and frowned down at the hand just inches from his body.
“My apologies, sire,” he said, quickly pulling his hand back. “Please let me talk to her before you go in. I need to take out the IV line and—”
“You may do the initial interview and other medical things,” Anton all but growled at him. “But I will be present. No one, and I do mean absolutely no one, sees her or treats her without me.” Anton paused with his hand on her door handle and turned back to the doctor. “Do you have test results for me?”
“Not yet, sire,” the doctor said, “but I shall by this afternoon. I will at least have some preliminaries to know if we need to test further for closer relationships.”
Anton didn’t reply. He just turned and entered the room. He looked at the now wide-awake woman lying in the bed. She looked so much smaller without the six-inch spikes that normally decorated her hair, and she was even more pale than usual. Anyone else in her position would look terrible, like death, but for some reason, Anton was struck by her high cheekbones and deep green eyes. Irritated by the sudden tender thoughts, Anton moved to the window and presented the room with his back.
“Ms. Burkheart,” the doctor said, moving to the side of her bed, “as you might have noticed, you have a rather large IV in your arm. We had to transfuse you and inject you with a human clotting agent to get your bleeding under control.” He began fussing with her arm. “I’m going to remove this now, but then we need to have a serious conversation.”
Alondra didn’t respond. She just watched with wide eyes as he untethered her arm and skillfully removed the shunt. He used a large cotton swab to put direct pressure over the hole, and then he held her arm straight up in the air.
“Hold this here, please,” he said. “Press hard, and keep your arm elevated.”
When her left hand pressed down on the cotton, he turned to dispose of the used materials. Returning, he replaced the cotton swab with a fresh one and wrapped medical tape around her arm. He then bent her arm at the elbow and gave her a small pat.
“You were in several days ago, and some blood work was done then. We’ll go over that in a few minutes. I need to get some information that wasn’t covered during that visit.” He pulled a chair over and picked up her chart. “Now, do you have a history of any bleeding disorders?”
“No,” Alondra said, giving the doctor a puzzled look.
“Family history of bleeding disorders?”
“I don’t know.”
“Prior blood transfusions? Any issues with heavy bruising? Anemia?”
“No blood transfusions,” she told him. “I do bruise easily, but that’s because I’ve always been anemic. I take iron supplements for it before you ask. What kind of questions are these?” Alondra asked.
Anton stared out the window and listened to the doctor ask her questions. He didn’t interrupt because they were questions he wanted answers to as well. His dismay grew as she refused to give any family history and denied any blood transfusions.
“Your blood work has revealed a disorder, one that we regularly test for in each tube of blood that comes through our lab. You seem to only have a mild case, but this disease is hereditary. The puzzling thing is that it is very rare to find cases originating in the Western part of the world.”
Along with his dismay, Anton’s rage grew as well. It was just too coincidental that she had shown up in Colania with a disease found in Mediterranean bloodlines and a rare blood antigen that had been recorded only in members of the Colania royal family.
“I have a disease?” Alondra asked skeptically. “With the exception of childhood illnesses and the occasional cold, I have been healthy my entire life, and suddenly, I now have a disease. Is this some kind of joke?”
“This is no joke,” the doctor told her. “I’d like to request a copy of your medical records from the U.S., so we can determine if you’ve had any other misdiagnosed symptoms. We need to verify that this is just a mild form of the disease—”
What’s her game? Does she intend to make a play for the throne, snatch some royal wealth for herself? Maybe it’s a princess fantasy, and if she can’t seduce her way into a title, she’ll try to claim royal blood.
“Forget it,” Alondra said flatly. “I’m going home as soon as it can be arranged. No story is worth being told by some tiny country in the middle of the ocean that I have some fucking disease. The United States has the best medical care in the world, and I’ve always taken care of myself. If there was something wrong with me, they would have found it.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” the doctor said. “We run this test because thalassemia can be life-threatening in its worst form, and it is most commonly found in those of Mediterranean descent. It is actually quite common here due to our varied ancestry. In mild form, the symptoms are often misdiagnosed unless you are familiar with the disease. Your doctors at home would never have thought to look for it.”
“I’m still going home,” she said firmly. “If you’ll just get me a file with my test results—”
“You aren’t going anywhere, lady,” Anton snapped, spinning away from the window to glare at her, “until I find out just who the fuck you are!” For some reason, the thought of her leaving infuriated him more than the thought that she was trying to steal his birthright.
The doctor shot up from his chair at Anton’s angry shout and took off out of the room in terror. Alondra and Anton both rolled their eyes at his retreating form, disgusted by his cowardice.
“I am going home,” Alondra said sharply. “Your doctor is trying to say I’m diseased, and I’m going home, back to the land of sanity and normalcy.”
“You call that rat race sane?” Anton snorted.
“Have you ever even been off this island?” she asked with disbelief. “How would you know what the real world is like when you sequester yourself inside this castle?”
“I have never had a need to travel,” Anton said defensively. “My father traveled extensively, and the country suffered in his absence. I have heard stories of your wonderful New York City from him. Sane and normal were not part of his description.”
“Whatever,” Alondra said, waving a hand at him. “You can’t keep me here against my will, Prince Anton.”
“I thought we cleared this up earlier, Ms. Burkheart,” Anton said with a slight grin. “I am the crowned prince of Colania. Here, I can do anything I deem necessary”—he leaned close to her—“even detain you.”
“One phone call, and I can—”
“Just how are you going to make a phone call?” Anton said with a laugh. “You are a foreigner, here only on my grace, and you are not leaving until I get some real answers.”
“I’m not answering shit,” Alondra said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Then, prepare yourself because I’m not leaving your side until I get the answers I want.”
***
Alondra was fuming. Still weak from the blood loss and transfusion, she couldn’t pace around and throw things like she wanted. She was currently in Anton’s living room. Actually, locked in his living room would be a more apt description. He hadn’t even a
llowed her to shower and dress properly. She was still in her hospital gown and slippers.
“I want to take a shower!” she yelled out, knowing that he could hear her.
“I want answers!” he yelled back.
“Kiss my ass!” she hollered.
“Bend over,” he said, coming into the room with a tray of food. “Hungry?” He set the tray on the coffee table in front of her before taking a position beside her on the sofa.
“I didn’t know princes knew how to prepare their own lunches,” she said tauntingly before selecting a sandwich for herself.
“Princes can do a lot of things,” he threw back at her, “including tormenting pain-in-the-ass reporters.”
“And here I thought you had a special position just for that,” she retorted. “Senior Tormentor or something.”
She took a bite of the sandwich and fought to keep the moan inside. He not only knew how to prepare his own lunch, he knew how to do it well.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You want a shower and clean clothes, right?” He waited for her nod, but all he got was an are-you-serious look. “Truthfully answer one question, and I’ll let you have a shower.”
“Privately?” she asked. She remembered his earlier words about coming into the bathroom with her if he deemed it necessary, and she wasn’t going to allow a loophole in this deal of his.
“Two questions if you want privacy,” he said with a wink.
“One question for a private shower, and I’ll take it in your apartment,” she countered. Then, with a wink of her own, she added, “And I won’t scream rape to the next ten people I see.” Internally, she laughed. I can play the flirting game, too, buddy.
“Deal,” he told her. “But just so we’re clear”—he leaned in close—“you can scream rape all you want. No one will care or believe you. It’s pretty well-known that I only like virgins”—he looked her up and down—“and anyone can tell you’ve been around the block.”
Alondra felt the blood drain from her head at his accusation. His words were like a knife in the belly. She didn’t know why that cut her so deeply. It wasn’t as if she cared about what he thought of her.
“Ask your question,” she said stiffly.
***
Anton watched as Alondra’s face, already pale from the episode earlier, went stark white at his words. His eyes narrowed as the emotions flashed through her eyes, and then she quickly buried them. He knew that face. It was the one he would see in the mirror every morning. He took a few moments to process what he’d just learned from observing her reaction. He wasn’t sure he liked watching the flickering pain on her face. It seemed like his words had hurt her more than the broken nose.
“Ask your question,” she repeated through gritted teeth.
“Why did what I just said hurt you so much?” he blurted out without thinking.
“Ask a different question,” she said. “You didn’t hurt me.”
Anton sighed and ran a hand through his hair. After a few minutes, he decided to let it go. If she wants to pretend she hadn’t been hurt, who am I to insist she was? “Why did you come here?”
“I came here because this is where my boss sent me,” she told him. “Now, I want my clothes, and I want a shower.”
“Who is your boss? Why did your boss send you here? We’re barely a spec on the map.”
“Your question was asked and answered honestly,” she told him. “I want my shower.”
Anton sighed and stood up. Motioning for her to follow, he led her through his bedroom and into the bathing chamber.
“I don’t know if you should shower,” he told her. “I don’t think you can get that splint wet. You’re welcome to use the tub if you want.” He studied her closely, realizing that he might get more information by just being around her than by trying to interrogate her. “I’ll put some of my things on the bed for you until we can have yours moved up here.”
“Thank you—wait, what? Why would my things be moved up here?” she asked, slightly panicked.
“I already told you.” He grinned. “Until I know everything I want to know, I’m not leaving your side.”
CHAPTER 21
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Anton, Alondra shoved the hospital gown off her shoulders and pulled the envelope from her underwear. She said a quick prayer that these were the test results on the babies and that they were conclusive, and then she opened the envelope.
She held her breath as she pulled out the pages and unfolded them. She read the big bold letters written on the top of the first page.
DNA COMPARISON ON ADULT FEMALE A AND BABY 1.
It was all Alondra could do not to jump up and down and squeal, but she managed to hold it in, aware of the man in the next room.
She skimmed over the first page quickly, knowing she had labeled Gillian as Adult Female A. Her heart sank when she read that there was no shared DNA between Gillian and the first baby. Flipping to the next page, she saw the comparison on Adult Female B and Baby 1, and it confirmed that Mellissandra was the mother of the first baby.
Sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, she continued to read the following pages. It was official. Baby 1 belonged to Damian and Mellissandra. Alondra was disheartened to learn that she’d been duped. Part of her didn’t want to even read the rest of the pages in front of her, but she reminded herself that a reporter always gets the full story. She was glad for that now since discovering that Gillian was as delusional as everyone had said she was.
Then, Alondra turned the page.
She gasped audibly as she read the results for Baby 2. She read the pages over and over again just to make sure she understood them, and after a moment, she was convinced. Anton and Gillian were the biological parents of Baby 2.
“Alondra, are you okay?” Anton asked, coming into the bathing chamber. “I heard you—”
Alondra’s head snapped up, and she tried to shove the papers under her before Anton could see them, but it was too late.
“What are you doing? What is that?” he demanded, striding into the room.
“Get out!” she shouted. “You agreed that I could have privacy!”
***
“What were you reading?” he yelled, grabbing Alondra’s bare shoulders.
He pulled her to her feet and picked up the papers she’d tried to hide from him. Glancing down, his eyes widened when he realized what he was looking at.
“She’s not crazy, is she?” Alondra yelled. “You really had her locked up because she was in love with you?”
“She’s locked up because she fucking murdered two people in cold blood, and then she tried to murder me,” he said in a vicious low voice. “Is this why you came here? You came here to disrupt people who are trying to move on from this tragedy? To ruin the life of a child who is currently with two loving parents?”
“I came here to help an innocent woman who is getting railroaded by a corrupt monarch with too much power,” Alondra spit. “You think just because someone at some point put a crown on the head of one of your ancestors that you’re better than everyone else. You think you can do whatever you want or hurt whomever you want, and it doesn’t matter.” She swiped at the tears now flowing down her cheeks. “There are consequences to your actions though, and I came here to help a woman who was just another victim of those actions!”
Anton took a step back and narrowed his eyes on the woman who was openly sobbing now. He had a feeling this was about more than helping one woman she believed had been wronged, but he was too enraged to deal with more than the surface issue. She had found out the one thing that he, Damian, and Mellissandra had worked so diligently to keep hidden.
“And what about the child?” she yelled at him. “What’s going to happen when your son grows up and wonders why he looks more like you than his father? Or why he and his twin share absolutely no features? How can you deny your child?”
“Listen to me closely,” Anton said, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing his face
into hers. “Dominic is better off being raised as Damian’s son. He is loved and will be taught how to love. He will have a normal, happy childhood.” He shoved her away.
“Don’t you love your own son?” Alondra asked brokenly. “How can you deny him?”
“If you try to reveal this information to anyone, I will make it my sole goal to ruin you. I will follow you to the ends of the earth to make sure you never find happiness or success,” he told her coldly. “Take your bath. We had a deal, and I always keep my word. Remember that.”
***
Alondra flopped onto the bathroom floor after Anton had slammed out the door. She felt her heart breaking over again from reliving the pain of hearing her father deny her. She didn’t stop sobbing until she was completely drained of energy, and then it was just too much effort to try to run a bath or even stand up. Emotionally exhausted and physically in pain, Alondra curled into a ball on the cool tile of the bathroom floor and went to sleep.
***
Anton slammed the bathing chamber door hard enough to rattle the artwork on his bedroom walls. He paced frantically around the room, furious energy fueling him. Questions tore through his mind, and panic gripped his heart.
She fucking knows! All their hard work had gone down the drain with a few sheets of paper. Where had these tests come from? How had she gotten them? What is she going to do with the information?
Many long minutes later, Anton’s heart rate began to slow down, and his fury eased. He could take care of this. He would find out how she’d gotten this information, and he would take care of the source. If she had no proof, she couldn’t go forward to the press without ruining her career. After all, the word of a delusional convicted murderer could hardly be solid evidence.
He sat on the edge of his bed, still gripping the offending pieces of paper. His instinct told him to throw them in the fireplace, but his logic told him he might need these documents to track down the original tests.
Anton rose to his feet and listened at the door for Alondra. He heard nothing, which concerned him because of her recent medical issues. He quickly went to his wall safe and stuffed the papers inside before returning to the bathing chamber. He listened again, straining his ears for splashing water or movement of any kind.