Claiming His Pregnant Princess

by Annie O'Neil

  “Would you like to go, Beatrice? Get a taste of mountain living?”

  “I’ve been to quite a few festas,” she answered noncommittally, giving an indecipherable shake of the head. Then added, “When I was younger.”

  It wasn’t a yes. But it wasn’t a no. From the impatience building on Teo’s face it was obvious he was taking it personally.

  Okay. Bull. Horns. Time to seize them and make a decision.

  “All right, I’ll go.”

  Jamie and Beatrice spoke simultaneously, turning to one another in wide-eyed horror, then just as quickly recovering with an about-face to Teo and swiftly pasted on smiles.

  Teo shot wary looks from one to the other. “I’m going to head off, but I guess I’ll see you both in the square?”

  “The piazza—yes.” Beatrice nodded, as if she’d been the one to suggest going to the Midsummer Festa in the first place. “I haven’t had cherry crostata in years. Just the time of year for it.”

  Her voice might have sounded enthusiastic, but she didn’t make even a hint of a move.

  Nor did Jamie.

  Again Teo’s eyes flicked from one to the other. “So...” he drawled in his lazy Australian accent. “Are either of you planning on going to this brilliant festival anytime in the near future? Or are you going to wait until you can sneak in under the cover of darkness?”

  Jamie laughed. Too heartily.

  His guffaw sounded about as genuine as Beatrice’s giggle.

  Not one bit.

  Trills of genuine laughter sounded on the streets beyond them. Then came the sound of an orchestra tuning up for the musical entertainment. An opera diva giving an initial run at her higher range.

  Strangely, the collection of sounds and the general buzz of excitement reminded him of a night when the two of them had scraped together their small incomes and plumped for a getaway in Blackpool.

  The classic seaside resort in Britain might not have been to everyone’s taste—particularly a princess raised with all the finer things in life within hand’s reach—but Beatrice had loved it. The over-the-top light displays. The dance halls. The bright pink candy floss.

  The memory hit a spot he had once thought he would never be able to return to without a wave of acrimony following in its wake.

  They might never be lovers again, but he had really meant it when he’d called a truce. Tonight he would simply be putting his theory to the test: bygones should be bygones.

  “Right, Dr. Jesolo. Let’s not keep poor Dr. Brandisi waiting any longer. He’s obviously desperate to join his wife.”

  “Girlfriend,” Teo corrected. “She’s not made an honest man of me yet. Although—” he glanced at his watch “—the wedding’s got to be by the end of the summer. The baby’s due in October, and I want my child to have happily married parents when he’s born.”

  Beside him, Jamie felt Bea stiffen. No great surprise when the words happily and married were bandied about, he supposed. Proof that money couldn’t buy you happiness. Teo obviously had bundles of the latter, but not much money.

  An idea popped into his head.

  “How about at Ferragosto?”

  “Aw, mate!” Teo feigned a few boxing jabs at Jamie. “That’s brilliant. Alessandra will go nuts for that idea. A wedding and a festival for the price of one! What’s not to love?”

  Beatrice abruptly turned away. Wedding talk was probably not high on her agenda. A protective urge to steer the conversation in another direction took hold of him.

  “Right!” Jamie clapped his hands, then rubbed them together. “Everyone’s at their stations and ready for the next shift. I’m with Teo. Let’s get a move on.”

  Jamie turned to Beatrice, his arm crooked, and a genuine smile began to form on his lips as she tentatively tucked her fingers around his elbow. He gave the tips of her fingers a pat. More akin to one a grandfather might give a granddaughter than a slighted ex-lover to a woman, but they were meant to be friends. And friends didn’t caress, stroke or give one another unexpected passionate kisses that reawakened every part of the masculinity he hadn’t tapped into in heaven knew how long...

  “To the square?”

  Beatrice nodded, her cheeks streaked with just a hint of a blush.

  A hint of pride took hold in his chest. Though he knew it was best to keep things neutral, he couldn’t help but enjoy having made an impact. Knowing he could still bring a touch of pink to those high, aristocratic cheekbones of hers.

  “You’re looking pretty as a picture tonight, Beatrice.”

  He meant it, too. Her short-cut hair accentuated the clean line of her jaw, and her dark brown eyes, always inquisitive, absorbed the flower displays already on show at the periphery of the square they were fast approaching. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips when they passed a pasticceria, its windows bursting with delectable pastries.

  He didn’t realize he was humming until Beatrice pulled back a little, her fingers still linked into the crook of his arm, and gave him a sidelong look.

  He hadn’t hummed since...

  He knew exactly how long it had been.

  “I’m still the same old me,” Jamie said, when her expression remained bemused.

  “Hmm...” Her lips tightened, then pushed into a moue before doing the little wiggly thing he’d used to be so familiar with. The telltale sign that she wasn’t entirely sure of something.

  “C’mon, Beatrice.” He lowered his voice so Teo, who was talking away on his phone, wouldn’t hear them. “Let’s make the best of a—” He stopped, trying to find the best words.

  “A bad situation?” Beatrice filled in the words he’d been about to say.

  “An awkward one,” Jamie parried.

  She wasn’t going to get away with making this harder than it already was. He’d endured more than enough angst on his own. Reliving those dark, lonely hours he’d fought and survived in front of her...? Not a chance in hell.

  “Well—” she gave a quick laugh “—that’s probably more accurate. But I have to confess I’m still reeling a bit.” She changed the tone of her voice to mimic a film star of yesteryear. “Of all the clinics in all of Italy...” She trailed off, her dark eyes darting anywhere but up at his face.

  A hit of defensiveness welled up within him. He had arrived here first. Well, not in Italy, but at the clinic.

  “A clinic geared toward tourists was a good fit for me.” All things considered.

  “But an Italian clinic? I still haven’t quite managed to figure out why they hired you.”

  “Thanks very much!” He feigned being affronted, knowing it wasn’t what she meant. Even so, it felt a bit like she was drawing a line in the sand.

  England—his turf. Italy—hers.

  Well, too bad. It didn’t work that way.

  She laughed again, this time pulling her hand out of his arm to hold her hands up in protest. Though her hand hadn’t been there long, his arm felt instantly cool at its absence.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. You know I think you’re an amazing doctor.”

  Their gazes connected and he saw that she meant it. It would have been so easy to attach more meaning to the compliment. More sentiment. But that time had passed.

  “I just meant I thought they would hire a fluent Italian speaker for the post.”

  “They did. Or near enough.”

  She turned to him, eyes wide with astonishment. “I didn’t know that.”

  “There are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

  He swallowed the bitter words that might have followed. Some men might have done their very best to close off every last detail of a lover who’d chosen another path, but he had found it impossible. Their lives had been too interwoven. Beatrice’s love of her home country had become as much a part of him as his
Northern English heritage.

  What was spring without stuffed zucchini flowers? Or winter without chestnuts? Scents, sights, smells—they had all vividly shifted when Beatrice had swept into his life like a refreshing spring breeze. Turning dull, dark England into a brighter landscape, only to plunge into darkness again when she left.

  After a year of trying to block everything out but work, and then losing the young patient he’d grown far too close to, he’d needed that light again. And the closest he’d been able to get to rekindling that light had been to go to Italy.

  “For starters,” he began, by way of a gentler explanation, “you left your copy of The Silver Spoon behind.”

  “I thought you hated cooking!”

  “Not anymore.”

  “But when we were together—” She stopped.

  He wondered if she’d actually go there. Try to take him on a trip down memory lane neither of them seemed well equipped for. They’d effectively lived together during the second year they’d been together. Not officially—she’d still had her own apartment—but he doubted her roommate had ever seen her there. He couldn’t remember a night when they hadn’t fallen asleep, woven into each other’s arms.

  “I guess a lot of things have changed,” Beatrice said finally. “Ah, va bene! Look at all the people!”

  And just as quickly as they’d been held together by the invisible strands of the past, the strings had snapped with a hit of reality.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BEATRICE KNEW IT was feeble to duck out of the important conversation they should be having, but guiltily welcomed the approaching festa.

  Exploring the past was too close to asking for a different future. One with Jamie in it. And she knew she couldn’t go there. No matter how much it hurt, she’d have to pretend she was happy as could be with their collegial truce. There couldn’t be anything more. She would never be able to forgive herself for what she’d done to him. The lies. The betrayal. If even the tiniest part of her thought Jamie could love her again...

  She scrunched her eyes tight until she saw stars.

  When she opened them again she saw an entirely different world from the quiet cobbled lanes they’d been walking through. Before them swirled a riot of color, music, laughter and scents that all but exploded in front of them when they rounded the corner into the teeming piazza.

  “Looks like we’ve lost Teo to the crowds.”

  “Hunting down his fiancée, no doubt,” Jamie said, scanning the sea of heads.

  At six feet two inches, he was able to see across the top of most of the crowd. She’d always loved his height. Taken comfort in the fact that when she’d needed a hug he’d been able to rest his chin on top of her head, holding her close enough for her to hear the beat of his heart.

  A shiver went through her—as if she’d just been in his embrace and then stepped away.

  “Are you all right?” Jamie was already taking off his light linen jacket. “Here—put this on.”

  Without waiting for an answer he draped the coat over her shoulders.

  How can you be so chivalrous?

  The gesture was both cruel and kind. Kind because that was Jamie, through and through. Cruel in its vivid reminder of what she wouldn’t have when her baby was born. Someone to look out for her. To care if she was hot or cold. Frightened or tired.

  Another tremble juddered through her, despite the relative warmth of the night, though experience told her the high altitude would set a chill into the air soon enough. She tugged the lapels of his jacket over her shoulders and dipped her head to receive a deep hit of the scents she knew she’d never forget. Ink. Pine. Cotton.

  Her shoulders shook against the fabric. The sorrow she’d carried with her all these years was being released in unforgiving waves, and icy tremors reminded her of the day she’d let such a good man go.

  “Do you mind if we head over to the fire pits for a minute?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jamie raised his arm as if he was about to drape it over her shoulders, as he would have when they’d been together. Then, his arm half-aloft, eyes blinking himself back to the present, he remembered otherwise and let it drop to his side.

  Beatrice was half-tempted to slip her arms into the sleeves of Jamie’s jacket and grab hold of his hand. It was how they’d first realized they’d felt the same way for each other. A surreptitious moment of holding hands in a crowd.

  It had been a busy night in Jamie’s village. It was actually more of a town, but it had a warm, strong sense of community. Unlike tonight, it had been properly cold—wintry, even. She’d been all zipped up in a thick parka, with a wooly hat on her head designed in some silly holiday theme. A Christmas pudding? She couldn’t remember, but she knew it had made Jamie’s green eyes light up every time he had turned to her.

  “What was that thing we went to?” She didn’t look up at him, but could tell he’d turned to look at her. “The one where I wore the funny hat?”

  He laughed before he answered. A soft faraway laugh, hinting at the genuine warmth they’d shared.

  “Bonfire Night. Remember, remember...”

  “The fifth of November,” she finished for him when he left off with a slight lift to his voice.

  It came back to her now, in a wash of distinct memories. Much like this evening, people had filled the historic English town—all thick slabs of stone and austere houses lit up by an enormous pyre in the very center of the square. Music had echoed off the walls and the scents of mulled wine and frying doughnuts had permeated the air. Fairy lights had twinkled from just about anything that was stationary—even some members of the brass band.

  But more than any of those things Beatrice remembered Jamie insisting she leave the hospital after a forty-eight-hour shift to come out and enjoy the spectacle. They hadn’t kissed. They might not even have hugged. She knew her cheeks had flushed regularly when he’d looked at her, and on the rare occasions when their hands had brushed against each other’s...it had been heavenly. Like fairy dust sparkles lighting her up from the inside.

  “Do you remember when you were almost speared by those two lads wrestling in Viking helmets?”

  “How could I forget?” Bea smiled at the memory for, as frightening as it had been, Jamie had scooped her out of the way, lifting her up and swinging her out of reach of the one-pint-too-many brawlers as if she’d been made of air. Heaven knew she’d felt as if she were walking on air for the rest of the night.

  Against her better judgment she let her fingers drop from their too-tight hold on the lapels of Jamie’s jacket and let her hands swing alongside her as they strolled past the detailed flower displays. Thousands of buds and petals were arranged in intricate designs. Some religious, others nods to the Midsummer Festa’s pagan origins. Either way, they were beautiful.

  “It was the first time I ever had a sparkler.”

  Jamie stopped and stared at her, mouth agape in disbelief. “What? At the ripe old age of—what were you then—twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six,” she corrected.

  “You always did look young for your age.” He winked in an obvious bid to let her know he was teasing.

  Trust Jamie to retain his sense of humor in the situation. If she’d been in his shoes? Ugh. She didn’t know if she could have done it. Swiped the slate clean and tried to work together. She could see he really was trying, and knowing that made her feel even worse.

  There has to be a day when the guilt ends. When I can make my peace with him.

  Her eyes shot up to the sky, barely visible for all the light in the piazza, and she swallowed down the prayer, trying to make it a living, breathing part of her.

  If she were going to raise her child she would have to find an inner peace.

  “First time with a sparkler...” He shook his head again in wonder. �
��And there was me thinking you couldn’t do anything new for a princess.”

  Bea’s hopeful mood evaporated in an instant. She shot quick panicked looks around, fearful in case anyone had overheard, forgetting for a moment that nearly everyone within earshot wouldn’t have the slightest clue who she was. The world’s gossip magazine readers were looking for a brunette long-haired woman, grief stricken after those sensational altar revelations. Not a short-haired platinum blonde snuggling into her boyfriend’s linen jacket.

  Well, not boyfriend... But to an outsider up until about three seconds ago it might have looked that way.

  “Too close to the bone with the princess comment?” Jamie asked, his expression unreadable.

  No doubt it was a means of protecting his own feelings. Proof she couldn’t help but hurt him when all he’d done was make a lighthearted comment.

  Get over yourself! Prove to him you’re the woman he once thought you were. Not the princess.

  She held up two fingers and pinched them together to signify that, yes, unwittingly or not, his comment had stung a little bit.

  “You know I never thought of myself that way.”

  She tried to shrug the moment away, but only ended up fighting the sharp sting of tears gathering high in her throat. She quickly turned away, feigning interest in a small stall selling exquisite posies of wildflowers.

  “Signor!” She could hear the vendor appealing to Jamie. “Buy your beautiful woman a small bouquet. Va bene. It is midsummer. Without flowers in her hand, she is naked!”

  Bea chanced a glance at Jamie, relieved to see he that was laughing. Trust an Italian to insist a woman was naked without flowers. Especially when he was walking with his ex-girlfriend and didn’t know she was pregnant from an anonymous donor.

  He didn’t owe her anything. Least of all...

  Wait... Was he...?

  “Per favore, solo uno mazzetto. To bring a smile to her face again.”

  There he was again. Indefatigable. The sympathetic, generous man she’d fallen in love with.