Prince's Pregnant Princess

by Ana Adams

  “Mmrghhmm.” He shifted again, long eyelashes falling against his cheek.

  She grinned. Now was the time to start teasing him. Get him up for their fun day ahead. As she opened her mouth to whisper in his ear, a knock sounded on the door.

  She jolted, and Niccolo cracked open an eye. He turned slightly toward the door, shouting something in Italian. A feminine voice responded in sing-song Italian, followed by, “We have so much to teach her!”

  It had to be Patrice. Niccolo turned to her, eyes bleary. “It’s my mother.”

  “Good morning.” She kissed the tip of his nose.

  “Good morning.” He smiled a little, nuzzling the valley of her breasts. “She wants to spend some time with you this morning. What do you think?”

  “Sure. Sounds fun.” Some one-on-one time with the mother wouldn’t hurt…maybe she could learn a thing or two about the family, the insider scoop, or some embarrassing teenager stories about Niccolo.

  “Let us get ready, Mother,” Niccolo shouted toward the door, then turned back to her again, eyes drifting shut. “Just five more minutes holding you. Then you can go.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” She grinned, letting him bury his face in her breasts, loving the way it seemed like he couldn’t get enough of her. This type of adoration, of unavoidable attraction that acted more like magnets than two separate people…this was what she had envisioned with her imaginary partner. Giddy highs tempered by serious lows, both of which they’d experienced—and survived.

  Could Niccolo really be the one? Excitement shuddered through her, toying more and more with this idea. They’d agreed to take it slow, one step at a time. There was a lot that they had to experience, and process, and conquer.

  But one thing was for certain: Niccolo would have been hers from the start if only he hadn’t been her boss. The connection between them sizzled at a dangerous level, and this unexpected baby might be the only thing to overcome the obstacle of their jobs.

  An hour later, after a shower and a quick breakfast with Patrice and Niccolo, Georgia followed Patrice down a wide, opulent hallway. Marble-coated side tables dotted the sides of the hall, boasting every manner of interesting adornment: wrought iron mermaids twisting into the air, wooden globes with wildly inaccurate outlines of the countries, thick vases bearing exotic plants. Their steps clicked softly against the parquet floor and Patrice gestured to the walls as they walked.

  “These halls have housed every Savoy since 1731,” she said, her voice hushed and reverent. “We are an ancient family, one full of royal blood, of outstanding achievements.”

  Georgia gulped as they strolled by enormous portraits in gilded frames, haunting faces in oil paints from times long, long ago.

  “These are our ancestors,” Patrice continued, her thick accent lending a movie-like quality to her words. Each portrait bore a small framed explanation beneath it; she’d never seen a home double as a museum, but then again, her family didn’t reach back to the Middle Ages. Hell, barely anyone she knew in Brooklyn had lived in the same spot for more than three years.

  “Wow,” was all she could say, struggling to take in as much as she could about each daunting, dour face. Somewhere in the 1800s, the men began to resemble Niccolo a bit more.

  “If you marry my son,” Patrice said, hands clasped behind her back, “your portrait will also be on this wall.” She gestured to their right, where the last portraits in line featured her and her husband Manolo. Their artistic renditions were eerily accurate, yet keeping in line with the oil tradition.

  “But,” Patrice’s voice came out firm, edged with something. “If you do marry my son…” She paused, turning to her, the hint of a smile on her face, “That means you will become the princess.”

  Georgia’s mouth hung open. Imagining being a princess was one thing. Getting a princess lecture from the Queen of Naples was entirely different. It felt like every pair of eyes in the portraits were trained on them, waiting for her reaction.

  “I know this must be very new and challenging to take in,” Patrice said, resuming her slow stroll. “Which is why I am here to help you. To guide you. To let you know what is expected of you.”

  “Expected?”

  Patrice nodded. “Oh yes. There are a good deal of…how shall we say it?…requirements.” When Georgia didn’t respond, she added, “It’s part of the royal bloodline, you see. The loyalty to the traditions.”

  Georgia nodded, her belly scrunching with anticipation. Requirements sounded restrictive and scary. Maybe this was why everyone looked so dour in their family portrait…even Patrice herself looked stern and unforgiving in the oil rendition.

  And maybe up close, she had a certain hard edge about her. Behind the beautiful façade, there was something stiff and refined. Maybe that was a lifetime of royalty at work.

  “What requirements are there?” She was scared to even ask.

  “Nothing terribly excruciating,” Patrice said, waving her hand as though dismissing it. “Your wardrobe will be provided for you, as there is a strict caliber of presentation. What girl doesn’t love a provided wardrobe, am I right?” Patrice leaned in, eyes sparkling. “It’s imperative that we represent the family in the best light possible. What seems fun and lighthearted behind these walls often only stays behind these walls. You’ve seen firsthand what a bright bunch we are—but in public, there’s another story to be told.”

  Georgia nodded, scrunching her brow. “That makes sense.”

  “Furthermore, now that you’ve started with number one, there is a minimum of four.” She gestured to Georgia’s belly. “Again, I assume there will be no complaints with that fun activity, but spare me the details. He’s my son, after all.”

  Georgia froze, her hand traveling to her low belly. She had to have four?

  “Most days will be dictated by Niccolo as well.” She sniffed, continuing down the row of portraits, back the way they’d come from. “Your days will be structured, planned, and arranged according to how you will support him. That will be your primary role, of course. We must support our men.”

  Georgia’s belly knotted into a dense nut. She nodded. “Right. Of course.”

  Patrice smiled over at her, lifting a brow. “Any questions for me?”

  “Oh…you know…” Georgia fumbled for something, anything, that didn’t result in a scream and running away. “I think you’ve explained things quite well.” She wouldn’t add that she and Niccolo weren’t even engaged yet. Apparently the family had missed the “take things one step at a time” part of the memo, and after this exposé, Georgia doubted she would be able to stick around for the proposal.

  Because if what Patrice described was her royal life, it also sounded a lot like being a dutiful, silent baby machine.

  And Georgia had not fought her entire career only to watch it fizzle away into spousal servitude.

  Patrice’s words continued making slow, stealthy swirls inside her body, leaving uncomfortable footprints. Niccolo’s mother was trying to be helpful, to begin her indoctrination—no, no, it wasn’t that, but her education, rather—as a potential part of their beloved and traditional family.

  She had to respect the rules, or get out.

  And if Niccolo was looking for whoever his mother had described, Georgia was not it. She would never be…and maybe Niccolo had been shielding this unsavory truth from her now that she was pregnant, calling into question just who Niccolo really was…and what he might want from her.

  Nothing made sense. The pieces didn’t fit together anymore. Everything felt tumbled and strewn, like someone had come up to the puzzle and shoved the half-finished image to the floor.

  Because if Niccolo could ever want the woman that Patrice described…then he didn’t know Georgia at all, not even a bit.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dinner rolled around. Niccolo hadn’t seen Georgia since the morning. His mother and sisters had yanked her away on a surprise shopping trip shortly after breakfast, and they’d been wanderin
g Napoli until only moments before dinner. They strolled into the dining room, flushed and smiling, and Niccolo stood to greet them.

  “My lovely,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of Georgia’s head. She squeezed him quickly and then sat down in the seat next to him, unfolding her napkin. Niccolo settled in next to her, squeezing her knee under the table.

  While the rest of his family chattered noisily, he leaned in close to Georgia. “How was it? Did they bore you with local gossip?”

  Georgia laughed a little and shook her head. “No. It was fine. We had a good time.”

  He nodded, watching the side of her face for a clue. Something in her sounded stilted, another side effect of their fast closeness over the past months. “What was your favorite part?”

  She tilted her head, fingering the polished stems of her silverware. “They showed me a great market. And your mom bought me the most beautiful shawl.”

  Niccolo nodded. Typical of his mother to start immediately at winning over the potential daughter-in-law. “Excellent.”

  Someone tapped at the side of their glass and the voices quieted. Manolo raised his glass and made a quick toast in Italian, which he then repeated in English: To the good fortune and the love. Niccolo and Georgia clinked glasses, his smile straining as he sought to make eye contact with her. She avoided his gaze, taking a tiny sip of her water-filled flute, smoothing her napkin over her lap.

  Something was definitely up.

  Niccolo listened in to the conversations around him while the attendants made their rounds serving the soup. After a bit, he turned back to Georgia.

  “Anything else interesting from your day?”

  She shrugged, eyes on her plate. “Not really. I mean, Italy itself is interesting enough, but…”

  “But?”

  She pursed her lips, shifting in her seat. “But nothing.”

  Niccolo wanted to pry without causing a scene. “Georgia, is something wrong?”

  Her gaze flicked up to meet his, guilt swirling there. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I don’t know.” Niccolo took a measured sip of his wine. “I can feel it.”

  She fidgeted beside him, straightening in her seat. “No, it’s just…I’ve had a long day. A fun day, but long.”

  He nodded, gnawing at the inside of his lip. The gaggle of his mother and sisters tired even him. “Of course. I’m sorry, I-…I want you to enjoy yourself. Would you tell me if something was wrong?”

  She nodded, squeezing his hand under the table, glancing at him for the briefest of seconds. “I promise.”

  Dinner rolled by casually enough. Niccolo couldn’t entirely let go of the idea that something gnawed at Georgia, but his family distracted them in conversation and jokes that made it hard for him to assess her. Once dessert was done and plates were being cleared, Georgia squeezed his arm.

  “I think I’m going to go up,” she said, nibbling on her lip. “I’m ready to lie down.”

  “Let me join you.”

  She opened her mouth like she might protest, but didn’t say anything more. They said quick goodbyes to everyone at the table and walked out of the noisy dining room into the quiet hallway, their steps echoing.

  “I can imagine you’re tired,” Niccolo said, trying to jumpstart some of the ease that had always been between them until tonight. “The women in this family are notorious for talking nonstop.”

  Georgia smiled a little, climbing the stairwell slowly. “They’re all very lovely women, really.”

  Niccolo reached for her hand, which she allowed stiffly. He paused outside of the bedroom door, gripping her by the sides of the arms.

  “Bambina.” He searched her face, trying to uncover the source of this strange tension, which danced just at the edge of sight.

  She didn’t hold his gaze for long. “I’m tired, Niccolo. I’d like to go lie down.” She pushed past him, heading straight for the bed, slipping her shoes off before plopping back onto the comforter. Niccolo sat at her side tentatively, unsure what to say next.

  After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Do you need anything?”

  She sighed, draping an arm over her face. She didn’t respond immediately. “I think I should go home tomorrow.”

  He creased a brow, replaying her words a few times in his head to make sure he’d heard them correctly. So his intuition hadn’t been wrong at all. He turned to her, placing an arm on her leg, but she didn’t move her arm to look at him.

  “Why do you want to go back so soon?”

  “I need some time to think.”

  He tugged at her arm, but she kept it in place. “Look at me, Georgia.”

  “Niccolo, I just want to be alone.” She moved her arm but turned onto her side, curling into a ball. “This is fucking overwhelming, okay? All of this.”

  He stroked her arm but she scooted away from him. Words escaped him; he stared in disbelief, wondering what could have caused the abrupt one-eighty.

  “Did something happen today?” He fought to keep his voice even despite the desperation that made paralysis flood through him. “I thought you were enjoying yourself, that you—”

  “You said one step at a time.” Her voice came out wavering and low. “I want to go home.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, fisting the comforter in his hand. “Okay. I understand. I’ll set you up with a return flight for tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

  She nodded but didn’t say anything more. Niccolo leaned over to her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She tensed beneath him but didn’t scoot away, at least. He stood to leave, his gaze heavy on her, questions streaking through him like meteorites in the void.

  “Do you want me to sleep somewhere else?” The question hurt to ask, but it seemed appropriate to offer her, at least while she took her time to think.

  “Do whatever you want. You’re the prince.” Her words were rimmed with knives and he stared at her back for a few moments, trying to figure out where in the hell that comment had stemmed from.

  “Georgia, I—”

  “I just want to be alone, Niccolo. Please respect that.”

  He deflated, a terse sigh escaping him. Niccolo let himself out of the room quietly, fighting the urge to pepper her with questions, to demand that she explain herself, and instead set off for the study, where he could sip whiskey and stew in silence.

  They’d both agreed to take it one step at a time. He himself had suggested it. And though he’d expected the transition into meeting his family to be trying, at least…he hadn’t imagined this from her.

  Give her the space she needs. She’ll be fine.

  He repeated this to himself like a mantra, but even hours later, he still wasn’t convinced.

  The next morning Niccolo awoke with a start on the chaise lounge in the study. His father Manolo was there, shuffling through some papers on a desk nearby.

  “Already sleeping apart?” His droll voice would have been humorous if it wasn’t so irritating.

  “She didn’t feel well last night,” Niccolo said, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. He stretched a bit, then jolted to check his phone. He’d informed the private jet pilot of the itinerary change the night before but hadn’t received confirmation of the change. At almost eight a.m., Georgia would be leaving in only an hour.

  “Your mother said they had a lovely day together.” Manolo sniffed, fiddling with his watch. “Maybe it’s the foreign food? You know American stomachs are weak.”

  Niccolo sighed and stood, feeling unsettled and grimy from sleeping in his clothes overnight. “I don’t know. There’s been an emergency back home, and she’ll be returning early.”

  “Oh?” Concern crossed his father’s face. “What sort of emergency?”

  “I’ll explain later. I have to attend to the details right now.” Niccolo rushed out of the room, racing through the halls to reach their bedroom. He knocked lightly on the door before pushing inside. Georgia stood in front of the bed, folding some clothes into her small suitcase. />
  He wilted at the sight. “So you still want to leave.”

  She nodded, not meeting his gaze. “I need some time to think.”

  He paced the side of the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Can’t you think here?” Something about her leaving screamed ‘bad idea’ at him—like if she left with his child, he might never get them back.

  “No.” Her tone was icy. “I need my space.”

  “Okay. I understand. One step at a time. And if this is the step you need…” Disappointment buffeted him. Things had been going so well. This abrupt curveball seemed somehow sinister, like she’d been plotting to deceive him the entire time.

  “It is.” She closed her suitcase and locked it, coming over to him. Her gaze was neutral as she looked at him, like she was reviewing paperwork in the office. “Just let me figure some things out.”

  He couldn’t fight the exasperated sigh. “Figure out what?”

  Her brow creased, and the fire returned to her. “Like if I want to sign my life away or not! Jesus, is this so hard for you to understand? I just want to go, Niccolo. Just leave me alone about it.” She yanked her suitcase off the bed, nostrils flaring. “Now where can I go catch a flight?”

  Niccolo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me finalize the arrangements. I’ll call the driver.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed as he swiped through his phone, struggling to focus through the confusion and anger. Nothing made sense. Sign away her life. Was that really how she saw children, or marriage? Maybe she was doubting even carrying the child to term…which would be an even bigger blow, especially after announcing it to his entire family.

  But he’d get nowhere with her here. He ordered a driver to meet them at the house and then sent an alert to the pilot.

  Pocketing the phone, he said, “The car will be here soon. If you can manage to suffer through another twenty minutes with me.”