by Lucy Monroe
“You know?” What did he know?
His gaze drifted to her stomach and then back to hers.
The dread of certainty filled her. But there was no way he could know she was pregnant. “Either tell me why you’re here, or have your drink and leave.”
“The baby.”
“How?” she demanded as any hope she’d felt got crushed under the reality of truth. Again.
He wasn’t here because he missed her too much to stay away. He wasn’t here for her at all.
“Demyan.”
“Demyan what? Bribed my doctor for information? But why would he?” None of this made any sense.
“He assigned typical post-relationship surveillance.”
“You had me followed?” she asked, sick at the thought of strangers watching her.
She’d never foreseen this particular complication to dating a prince. Particularly when they’d taken such care to keep their relationship out of the eyes of the media. She’d never even considered Maks would be the source of such invasive actions.
She should have, but she’d been blind to a lot about her time with Maks.
“I did not, though I should have. When were you going to tell me? Or did you plan to get revenge by not telling me at all?”
“What a stupid question. At what point during our time together did I ever give you the impression I thought it was acceptable to make children pay for the poor choices of their parents?”
*
The question hung between them like a gauntlet thrown down and Maks knew he had no place picking it up.
She was right. This woman was not motivated by revenge or negative feelings.
The fact she had any sort of a relationship at all as an adult with parents who had shamefully neglected her as a child was testament to the fact Gillian’s heart was more forgiving, not to mention tolerant, than most.
“I am sorry. That was uncalled for,” he admitted, though apologizing was not his forte and never had been. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Once I had gotten through the first trimester.”
“Surely you realize the sooner I knew and appropriate action could be taken, the better.”
“Appropriate action?” she asked, her expression completely closed to him for once.
“Marriage.” What else could they do?
“I see.”
She did not seem in the least excited at the prospect, though he was certain she had wanted nothing more than his proposal ten weeks ago.
Armed with the knowledge that she had not realized it was their last night together, he’d had time…much too much time…to go over that last night and the following morning in his head. The conclusions he had drawn were not all pleasant. Nor did they paint him in the best of lights from her perspective.
He comprehended that.
It almost made her action of calling for security that final morning understandable. Not entirely so, but almost. Such precipitous behavior would not be acceptable going forward, however.
No doubt his mother would explain things of that nature to a woman she would groom to take the position of queen one day.
At present, there was enough on the table for discussion without focusing on past behavior.
“You are taking a lot for granted, aren’t you?” she asked before he said anything else, or responded overtly to her noncommittal I see.
“My child will be heir to the throne of Volyarus.” Surely she understood that.
Gillian’s bright blue eyes lit with challenge. “Even a girl?”
“Yes. The monarchy passes to the oldest child of the monarch, male or female does not matter.”
“How progressive.”
“Not really. Many monarchies have no masculine stipulation for title bequeathal.”
“Really? I didn’t know.” She dropped the popcorn she’d picked up back into the bowl and pushed her milk glass two inches to the right.
Maks admitted, “My father’s generation could have stood to be more progressive.”
“What do you mean?” Gillian asked.
“The business and political roles have always been shared amidst the siblings of the ruling family. My father was not open to having his sister’s help in running Yurkovich Tanner.”
“Oh.” Clearly Gillian had expected him to say something else.
“His attitude toward provision of an heir is also archaic.” His father had married his mother for the sole sake of children, because the woman he loved could not provide them.
They had ended up with a single child and no accord.
“Yes, it is.”
Even though he’d voiced the criticism himself, having Gillian agree so quickly pricked at Maks’s pride and sense of familial loyalty. However, he refrained from making excuses for his father.
“You look tired.” She looked completely exhausted.
“I am.”
“What is the matter?”
“Nothing. Apparently it’s a normal part of pregnancy.”
He did not like that answer at all. He needed information on pregnancy from someone with specialized knowledge. That was clear.
“There is as much as a twenty percent chance this pregnancy will not be viable.” She spoke in a monotone, so at first her words did not sink in. “That number goes down to three percent once the baby makes it past twelve weeks.”
The imperative to consult with an expert grew astronomically. “What? Why is the risk so high?”
“Apparently miscarriage is a lot more common than you’d expect.” The casual tone of her words was belied by the tense line of Gillian’s shoulders.
“My child will not miscarry.”
Gillian shook her head, her expression mocking. “You don’t have much to say about it.”
“I do not believe that. There must be something we can do.”
“I’m doing it. I take a highly soluble prenatal vitamin and folic acid. I’ve switched my exercise regime to one approved for pregnant women. I’ve given up caffeine and alcohol, though my doctor says I can indulge in both in small quantities. I do nothing to put undue stress on my womb.” Determination darkened her blue eyes.
“You want this child.” The jury was still very much out on whether or not she wanted him, but Maks had no doubts Gillian wanted their child.
“More than you could possibly understand. I plan to be an exemplary mother.”
“Your grandmother set a high standard to follow.” And Gillian’s mother had shown his former lover just exactly what she did not want to be as a parent.
An almost smile curved Gillian’s lips and she warmed infinitesimally toward him. “Yes, Nana did.”
“She must be excited about the baby.” It bothered him that someone else knew about their child before he had.
He recognized the reaction as unreasonable, but that did not diminish his feeling of disappointment.
“I have not told her.”
That shocked him. Gillian told her grandmother everything. She’d been willing to keep their dating out of the public eye, but not her family’s. He had met her grandparents and gone through a grilling unlike anything he’d experienced before as a Crown Prince.
Neither of the older Harrises had treated him like royalty and he’d actually enjoyed it.
Gillian had even met his own mother on a few social occasions as well.
So, why keep the news of the baby from her grandmother? Because Gillian wasn’t married?
“I don’t think your grandmother would judge you for getting pregnant before the wedding, Gillian.”
“She’s more old-fashioned than you realize. Who do you think pushed the issue of my parents marrying to legitimize my birth?”
Which might well make her grandmother his best ally. He filed that bit of information away for later use if need be.
“I’m not telling anyone about the baby until I’ve made it past my twelfth week,” Gillian offered in explanation.
She was taking the possibility of miscarriage very seriously. “You ne
ed to stop thinking in this negative way.”
“I’m not thinking negatively. I’m being realistic.”
He did not agree. “Realistic is you are pregnant and we must determine how best to react to that truth.”
Gillian’s general air of tired pessimism morphed into anger faster than he could track.
She glared fiercely. “I’m reacting to it just fine.”
For the entire eight months they had dated, he’d been convinced of Gillian’s practical nature. However, that final night had shown a romantic streak he should have guessed at from the beginning.
She earned her living predominately doing photography for the covers of romance novels. Gillian was far too good at it not to be at least a closet romantic, no matter how well she tried to hide it.
Maks knew he wasn’t the most aware man on the planet when it came to interpersonal relationships, particularly those with women. He was a stellar diplomat and had no superior among his contemporaries in business savvy. However, past liaisons had proven those skills did not extend into the realm of lovers.
None of his former liaisons remained in the “friend” category, something Demyan found highly amusing.
And still, Maks had the unexpected and unquestionable revelation that only one thing would suffice in the present circumstances. It had precipitated making a stop at Tiffany’s on the way to Gillian’s apartment.
Pulling the pale aqua blue box from his pocket, he dropped to his knee in front of his pajama clad ex-lover. “Will you marry me, Gillian Harris?”
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE STARED AT him and then at the ring box like it might snap open at any moment to reveal angry wasps rather than a very expensive engagement ring worthy of not just any princess, but the woman who would bear that title for Volyarus.
“You brought a ring.” She sounded dazed by the fact and not at all happy.
“You deserve all the trimmings, but you would not appreciate them after the way our last time together ended.” Kneeling before her felt awkward; he was glad it was not a position he would be in again anytime soon.
What was romantic about this?
“You are right. The trimmings would be wasted after your honesty ten weeks ago.”
There was no good response to that, so he didn’t make one.
Opening the box, he revealed the large square cut diamond with yellow diamonds to either side of it. Set in platinum, all the stones were of unparalleled clarity. “Marry me, Gillian.”
“It’s a beautiful ring.” She gave it a brief glance and then looked away, as if she could not bear to see it.
He did not understand why. Didn’t women like jewelry? His mother certainly did. Though she insisted on nothing ostentatious, she expected significant gifts each year on the anniversary of her marriage to his father.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
Her bow-shaped lips twisted in a moue of disagreement. “If I were one of the astonishingly beautiful people, you would not have been interested in me.”
It was true. He might have bedded her, but he would not have dated Gillian if she was a woman who drew media attention merely from her looks alone. That did not mean, however, that she was not lovely.
“I have never missed a woman after our liaison ended.” She deserved the admission, though he didn’t like making it.
“You didn’t do a lot of dating before me.”
It was true, but he had been in two almost-serious relationships. Neither had ended well. Both had reinforced an important truth: love only compromised duty.
“I missed you,” he reiterated in case she missed the point the first time.
She tucked her body into the corner of the couch, her feet up on the cushions, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Am I supposed to be impressed? You dumped me.”
It had been the expedient action, but if he reminded her of that salient fact, he did not think it would do him any favors in the present. “I have since regretted my decision.”
“When you found out I am pregnant.”
He could not deny it, so he remained silent. Though he had been unhappy about the decision before that, he had not allowed himself to regret it.
She sighed, glanced at the ring and then looked away again. “I’m not committing to anything until I’ve made it past my first trimester.”
“That is not acceptable.”
“Nine weeks ago, you made it very clear you did not want to marry me unless I could provide heirs for the throne. If I miscarry, the situation will be the same as before with the identical low chance of me conceiving again.” The pain that knowledge caused her bled into her tone, but her expression showed none of it.
He had no way of knowing if that pain came from the knowledge conception was not a given for her, or that they would have little future if she could not do so.
Even so, his first instincts were to disagree with her dictate.
He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, acutely aware of the tiny move she made farther into her corner. “Every day we wait to announce our forthcoming marriage is a day in which someone in the press may stumble across your condition and then we’ll be the center of a media storm.”
“Unless they’re also bribing doctors, no one is going to find out about my condition, Maks.”
“Demyan did not bribe your doctor.”
“Then how did he find out?”
“I don’t think you really want to know.”
“I do.”
“A hacker.”
“You had my medical records hacked?” she asked in shock-laced anger.
“Demyan—”
“Right, it was your cousin. Not you.”
“Nevertheless, we would be foolish to assume no one else could find out. There are doctor’s appointments—”
“I don’t have another one until my twelve-week mark,” she said, interrupting him a second time.
He just looked at her. She knew, maybe even better than him, how easily the press got hold of information people believed locked in the strongest vault.
“You work very hard to stay out of the limelight, don’t you?”
“Volyarus is best served by its monarchy maintaining a low profile in the media.”
“Why?”
“With the interest of the press comes the interest of the world, an interest that can quickly morph into political agendas and twisted perceptions. Volyarus has thrived as a little-known country with strategic location coupled with significant natural resources.”
Some might think that because of the name, Volyarus was a country of Russian descent, but they would be wrong. Very wrong. Volyarus was a shortened version of a Ukrainian saying that meant freedom from Russia.
His antecedent had been a Hetman in Ukraine before Russia overtook the country. Seeing what the future held, he and a group of nobles and laborers had left Ukraine to settle on the island in the Baltic Sea that became Volyarus.
While Ukrainian was only spoken sporadically by the many living in Ukraine today, because of the Russian control for so many years, it was still the official and most prevalent language of Volyarus.
Citizens were required to be proficient in at least one other language before finishing the equivalent of high school in the U.S.A. Maks himself spoke four fluently and three additional languages with enough proficiency to travel without an interpreter.
And yet he found communicating with this woman an incredible challenge.
“Everything in your life is about Volyarus, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He would not apologize for that fact, nor would he change it.
He was born to a duty few could comprehend, but a burden he had never resented. His place in the world was immutable, but then he’d never wanted to change it.
“Even more reason not to put the country in the limelight with a failed engagement landing on the tail of a miscarriage.”
“I would not break our engagement if you miscarried.” Though he should. It was the only course of action that made
sense.
However, no one could deny the fact she’d gotten pregnant after one time making love without a condom.
They were clearly compatible chemically and even if she were to lose this baby, though he was sure she was not going to, she would become pregnant again.
Besides, it wasn’t an engagement they’d be breaking, but a marriage. The only politically expedient action in the circumstances was an elopement followed by a reception of extreme pomp.
His mother would be thrilled to plan it. She liked Gillian, had made her approval of the choice clear. She wouldn’t be as happy about the timing of the pregnancy, but his mother was not the type of woman to bemoan what could not be changed.
The queen of Volyarus would expect an immediate elopement however.
He didn’t bring any of this up, however. There would be time enough to convince Gillian to marry him immediately once she agreed to marry him at all.
“You’re assuming I’ll agree to marry you,” she said as if reading his mind.
He dropped the ring in her lap and stood. “What choice do either of us have?”
“Lovely.”
He didn’t respond to her sarcasm. Perhaps it hadn’t been elegantly phrased, but it was the truth.
“Even if I didn’t want to marry you, I would.” He gave gratitude that he did in fact like the idea of marriage to his lovely blonde.
“Even better.”
He swore. He was usually much better at diplomacy, though once again his lack in the interpersonal arena was reaching out to bite him on the ass.
Maks prowled the room, stopping in front of the drinks cabinet. Not about to pour another whiskey when his first one remained practically untouched, he spun away. She could argue all she liked, the fact remained she carried the heir to the Volyarus throne. Gillian had to marry him.
“And you wouldn’t be considering this course of action otherwise.” No bitterness laced her tone. Just flat acceptance.
Still, he knew that fact did not make her happy.
He turned to face her. “Does it really matter? The baby you carry is nothing short of a miracle. Our miracle.”
“Yes.”
“So, you will marry me.”
“Yes, the baby is a miracle, but yes, it matters,” she clarified, her lovely features set in determined lines. “I’m not making any commitments for another two weeks. You can argue until your throat is raw with it, but I won’t be changing my mind on that fact.”