Prince's Son of Scandal

by Dani Collins

  He kissed her as though it was the last one they would ever share. He couldn’t bear the thought that it might be.

  “Sir—”

  He straightened abruptly, feeling the loss like he was torn away by a tornado, hating that he was forever doing what must be done.

  Trella covered her mouth with her wired hand, eyes blinking above her white fingers. She kept her grip on his fingers until she was forced to let go.

  “Sir, there’s an observation room for students. Let me show you.”

  A nurse showed him to a small room with a window. Beyond, he saw Trella nod at the anesthesiologist before her face was covered with a mask. Her doctor motioned gloved hands to the team then everyone moved into place so all he saw were backs clad in scrubs.

  “It shouldn’t take long,” the nurse said. “If you feel lightheaded, there’s a chair.”

  He ignored her, all his attention on the surgery.

  “They’re waiting for confirmation she’s out,” the nurse said. “There they go.”

  They began to move in a controlled, efficient way and the nurse was right. In a very short time, the doctor was handing a tiny, naked infant to the nurse standing by with a towel. The nurse angled the baby to the window, showing him it was a boy.

  The anguish in the small face at being separated from his mother pierced Xavier unexpectedly. He felt ridiculously helpless, wishing he could comfort the boy.

  “We’ve been preparing for a premature birth. He’s small, but that attempt to cry is a good sign. That’s the pediatrician who’s taking him. He’ll run tests and place the Prince in an incubator then come speak to you. You’ll probably be able to hold him. Your son, I mean,” she said with a wry attempt at humor. “Not the pediatrician.”

  Son. Xavier nodded and texted Trella’s family, including his grandmother.

  A boy.

  It seemed such an inadequate few letters for the magnitude of what was happening to him. He had a child. A son.

  His phone buzzed with returned texts from Trella’s siblings, congratulating him and asking after her.

  He glanced up and something had changed. The team around Trella had snapped into frantic action. The anesthesiologist was clearly alarmed and the surgeon’s movements became agitated. Through the glass, he heard raised voices issue sharp commands.

  “What happened?” Xavier slapped his hand to the window, even as his gaze looked for the door to enter the room.

  “Sir, I—” The nurse made as if to close the curtain.

  “Find out what’s happening.”

  “Of course.” She hurried away.

  He pressed his forehead to the cold glass, terror snaking to squeeze his heart. He strangled on the one word he managed to whisper.

  “Bella.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TRELLA CAME TO in a blurred awareness of voices and stark white. Even Xavier looked carved from pale marble, his blue eyes translucent as antique glass. Bottle blue, she wanted to call it. She should use that shade in next season’s collection.

  Why was he leaning over her like that? So close and grim?

  “Baby?” She tried to say, but there was no sound. Her voice had evaporated.

  “Fine. Really well, considering how small he is.” He backed off as a nurse picked up her wrist, but his eyes stayed locked on her.

  He. “A boy?” That came out in a raspy whisper.

  “Yes.”

  She blinked heavy eyelids and tried to smile. “Sadiq.”

  “What?”

  “He saved me.” She was becoming aware that she was stoned. Recreational drugs weren’t her thing, but she’d been prescribed so many pharmaceuticals to quell her panic attacks that she knew what this foggy haze was. She hated it and fought to think through it. “I wouldn’t be here without him.”

  “Dr. Lagundo saved you,” he snapped.

  “Why are you mad?” She frowned, startled to find the nurse was still beside her, fussing with her arm. Whatever she did hurt, but distantly. “Can I see him?”

  “Soon.” The nurse seemed familiar. Her smile was nice, but Trella couldn’t recall her name.

  She hated drugs. Hated being dopey and disassociated. She ought to be upset as Xavier’s remark belatedly penetrated. “I almost died?”

  “There were some tense moments,” the nurse said. “Your doctor will tell you more. I’ll let her know you’re awake.”

  She left and Xavier came back to her side, mouth pinched.

  “Are you angry that I pulled through?”

  “What? No! Why would you think that?”

  She tried to think through a brain made of cotton balls. “You don’t like me. You’re mad about the baby.”

  “None of that is true.” He loomed over her again, very intimidating. If she wasn’t so spaced-out, she would think he sounded tortured. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  Was he holding her hand? Something cupped her fingers in warmth. It was nice. She liked the gentle stroke across the back of her hand.

  “But it would have been easier for you.” She was briefly thankful for the drugs because despair didn’t overtake her. “I make things harder. I don’t mean to. My family forgives me because... I don’t know. They love me, I guess. But you don’t, so it’s okay if you wish I had died.”

  “Stop saying that. What would Tyrol do without you?”

  “Who’s Tyrol?”

  “Our son.”

  She frowned. “I expected a girl.”

  “I texted you the name a couple days ago.” He sounded disgruntled. Maybe self-conscious. “You said you liked it.”

  “When? I hate drugs. They make me so stupid. Is it Tuesday or Wednesday?”

  “Wednesday. I texted on Monday and asked what you thought of Tyrol or Trentino.” He seemed to be petting her arm, combing his fingers into the gaps between hers. “They’re family names. You said you liked Tyrol. We’re not naming him Sadiq.”

  “But picture your grandmother’s face if we did.”

  He choked out a laugh, turning his face away, shoulders shaking. “You’re funny when you’re high, I’ll say that much.”

  “You should laugh more.”

  He looked back at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Regret maybe, but something like appreciation?

  She closed her eyes against his sorcery.

  “Did you know, bella? Is that why you said those things before you went in?”

  “I don’t get into trouble on purpose,” she grumbled, ignoring the number of times Ramon had accused her of doing exactly that. “And I don’t apologize when I do. It makes people feel good when they help me. My whole medical team is feeling super heroic right now.”

  He let out another incredulous laugh. “That is some seriously backward logic. Exactly how ripped are you?”

  “Admit it. This morning you were ambivalent about having a son. Now you’re grateful. You’re welcome for the clarity.”

  Stunned comprehension seemed to blank his face, but she didn’t gloat.

  “I want to see him.” She weakly squeezed the hand that gripped hers. “Is he beautiful? Does he look like you?”

  “He looks mad.” His voice wasn’t quite steady. More emotion shifted across his profile, things she couldn’t interpret. Concern? “He wants you.”

  It’s the drugs, she warned herself, even as her heart turned over with sweetness that he might feel something on their son’s behalf. Don’t start seeing things that aren’t there.

  She didn’t doubt he’d been worried on some level when he thought she would die. He wasn’t a monster, but he had made it abundantly clear that his heart was beyond reach. He was capable of kindness, but that was the limit.

  His phone buzzed. “That’s your family. I’ll let them
know you’re awake. Smile.” He held up his phone to take her photo.

  She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “Tell them we named him Sadiq.”

  “That’s the friend whose wedding you attended earlier this year, isn’t it? His wife would object, wouldn’t she?” He tapped the screen.

  “She would stab me in the eye. That’s why it’s funny.”

  “I’ll tell them his name is Tyrol.” He leaned down to press a kiss between her brows. “I like your eyes the way they are.”

  “Xavier?” She touched the side of his head, keeping him from straightening. “It’s really confusing when you’re nice to me.”

  His thumb traced near the corner of her mouth. “I never said I didn’t like you, bella. You do make things hard. All of this is hard. But I am grateful for our son.”

  And me?

  His eyes were an endless blue that only grew more intense the further she fell into them, but even in her muddy-minded state, she knew better than to ask.

  And he didn’t say.

  CHAPTER NINE

  XAVIER LEFT FOR Australia ten days later.

  Trella and Tyrol were released from the hospital and went directly to her family’s compound in southern Spain. Her brother was in residence with his four-month-old twin girls. Her mother was there, along with a team of nannies and servants and guards. Xavier could not have arranged better, safer care for either of them.

  Trella had bounced back from near-death with startling cheer, pouring such tenderness and joy over their son Xavier almost thought it was fake; it was so far removed from anything he had ever experienced himself. Her words from pre-op kept echoing in his head. Our child needs to know what love is.

  Did he? Because the limited feelings Xavier had allowed himself to feel toward her had amplified his fear when her surgery had gone sideways. This level of concern for someone wasn’t comfortable. Was he a bad parent for setting up his son to love and possibly to lose?

  He needed distance as a buffer against becoming more deeply invested in both of them so he went to Australia as scheduled. He hated every single one of the thirty days he was gone, which only underscored why the separation was necessary, he supposed.

  It didn’t help that things went exactly as he had warned his grandmother they would. He answered the same question so many times he muddled his lines at one point.

  “The plan was tripped last year.”

  The blond newscaster tittered.

  “The trip was planned,” he corrected, yanking his mind back from Spain to Adelaide and the trade talks he’d been in. “The early birth made it possible for me to travel as scheduled. I was on the brink of canceling, which would have been a shame.”

  Several handshake deals were already moving toward more formal agreements. His adherence to duty was producing much-needed results.

  “But you must miss him!”

  “Technology is a wonderful thing. We check in often. He’s thriving and Trella is recovering. That’s the most important thing.” He flicked a glance at one of his handlers, silently conveying that if they didn’t swerve back to topic, this interview was over.

  The newscaster took the hint. “We wish them well. About your meeting with the state representative today...”

  Did he miss his son, Xavier wondered later? If such an emotion had never been acknowledged, internally or externally, did it register with anyone if it somehow manifested today?

  How could he miss the boy? Tyrol was an infant who wanted to suckle and sleep. Trella was adept at keeping Xavier apprised of their son’s progress, such as it was. She texted often, telling him about a gain of an ounce or other small milestones. She sent him photos—probably half a dozen a day. A more pragmatic man would say one was plenty, but Xavier found himself studying each one, fascinated by tiny eyelashes and miniature fingernails. The boy’s eyes looked like his own, but his mouth was definitely Trella’s.

  One grim night, Xavier let himself recall that for a few moments, this boy’s resemblance to his mother had been all that might have been left of her. The despondency that had engulfed him at the thought had had him placing a video call to her.

  She had been surprised since she usually initiated the calls if she happened to be nursing and the time was right on his end. She had asked him about his day, which he didn’t care to talk about, and he had listened to whatever she volunteered, silently mocking himself for being riveted by small talk about her family and a few shower gifts.

  There shouldn’t have been any holes of curiosity or unmet sense of obligation within him. His wife and child were well. He was getting on with his life exactly as he should.

  So why did he nearly go through the roof when he woke to a fresh message from her?

  Ramon and Izzy are getting married! The wedding is at the end of the month, in Madrid. We decamp to the family mansion the day before I’m due to return to Elazar. I’ll extend our stay until after the ceremony since it’s only an extra weekend.

  On the surface, it was a perfectly reasonable assumption. Moving her and Tyrol with the rest of the staff to Elazar for a few days so she could turn around and go back was a needless expense. Royal detractors would have a field day. She was nursing, so she couldn’t leave Tyrol in Elazar while she attended the wedding. Xavier had no reasonable basis to refuse her request.

  Nevertheless, the only word that came to mind was, No. He didn’t analyze it, he only knew he would not go back to the palace and wait for her.

  * * *

  As the youngest, Trella sometimes thought she had received all the leftover DNA after her siblings had taken the best of it. Henri had their father’s sense and logic. He was stubborn, yes, but she was outright obstinate. Ramon had their mother’s passion and determination, but Trella was an opinionated hothead. Gili scooped up all the sensitivity and generosity while Trella selfishly stole all the attention with her nervous breakdowns.

  None of them were small-minded or jealous, but Trella—the baby who was spoiled and deferred to all the time—was drowning in envy of all of them.

  Why couldn’t she have a partner in parenting like Henri had with Cinnia? Why couldn’t she have a big wedding that had everyone buzzing with excitement, like Ramon was planning with Isidora? Why couldn’t she have a husband who not only couldn’t keep his hands off her, like Kasim with Gili, but refused to have any other woman by his side as he took the throne of his country?

  Why did she have so much negative self-talk eating away at her self-esteem? They didn’t. They were all better and smarter than that.

  She was the broken one.

  With her arms braced on the side of the pool, she gave desultory kicks behind her while watching Cinnia hand off a freshly fed Rosalina to Henri.

  “I’ll put her down and work through siesta. You’ll finish your lunch then rest before we travel?”

  “I will,” Cinnia promised, smirking at Henri’s overprotectiveness before he erased it with a tender kiss. “Thank you, darling.” She gave her wrap dress a final straighten and turned back to the salad she’d been picking at while nursing.

  Henri glanced at Tyrol, asleep in the cot in the shade. “Do you want me to take him up? You should sleep before we leave, too.”

  The flight was an hour and Trella was five weeks postpartum, but her scare during delivery had set them all back to watching her like she was made of spun glass.

  “I’ll take him when Cinnia goes up. The weather won’t be as warm in Elazar. I want to enjoy the pool while I can.”

  “I’m going to miss you when you go back to Elazar,” Cinnia said as Henri left.

  “I know. This has been really nice.”

  Quite by accident, Cinnia had been the first to know Trella was pregnant, when she had been hiding her own pregnancy from Henri. They had become very close in those early months and sha
ring these weeks of new motherhood had deepened their sister-like bond.

  “Is it going to be okay living there, do you think?” The simple question was the reason Trella loved Cinnia. Her sister-in-law invited confidence but didn’t intrude.

  Trella sighed, daunted enough by the future to admit, “I have no idea. I feel good. Physically, I mean. And stable, mentally. But I’m here. That always helps.”

  “At least I knew Henri when I was in your shoes.” Cinnia had been Henri’s mistress for years before her pregnancy tore them apart and drew them back together. “It must be hard, having a baby and still being at the getting-to-know-you stage. You two haven’t had a proper chance, have you?”

  “No.” Two nights and daily hospital visits that she’d said she didn’t need.

  She had, though. She’d soaked up his duty visits like sunshine, trying not to read into the kiss they’d shared when they wed. He’d seemed to be pretending it hadn’t happened, sticking to chatting very generally about whatever meeting he’d been in or whatever political scandal was trending.

  When he’d gone through her sketchbook, she’d felt very vulnerable, especially when he found the one she’d done of them. Why had she thought it was a good idea to give it to him? He’d probably thrown it out, but she had longed so badly for him to feel something about their wedding day.

  He’d looked...touched? Whatever the softening in his face had been, it had caused her to moon so obviously, he’d flinched and looked away.

  She was such an idiot. He was probably feeling put-upon. When they did connect over the tablet, he had seemed remote. He wasn’t impatient, but she had the sense his prevailing mood was resignation.

  She was trying to resign herself as well. Years of therapy had taught her to focus on one small piece of the future at a time. When he had crushed her soul with his news that their marriage would be temporary, she hadn’t tried to imagine what her life would look like after their divorce. She had focused on making it to term with her pregnancy.

  Once Tyrol had arrived, she’d come here, where she’d been able to focus on Tyrol and her recovery. Returning to Elazar and her looming divorce wasn’t something she was ready to contemplate. She didn’t even know how to handle the two and a half months left in their brief marriage!