by Annie O'Neil
Perhaps one of the reasons she found it difficult to make friends was because she’d become too used to protecting her privacy. Too quick to push people away before they could do the same to her. She’d never let previous boyfriends come to her flat, let alone the palace, always finding one excuse or another to keep them at arm’s length. Oliver had yet to come to her little cottage on the clinic’s grounds.
Her new reality dug its fingers in. If she wanted this marriage to work, she was going to have to find a way to trust Oliver. The palace was clearly on board. Oliver was obviously over the moon about becoming a father. So what else did she need?
Love.
It was what she’d ached for her entire life. Someone to lean on through thick and thin, and not to fear the moment when they stepped away.
She looked at Oliver as he excused himself to sign a couple of papers before they left the hospital. He was kind. Smart. Funny. He definitely fancied her. And he could read her mind. If there was anyone in the world she could fall in love with, he would be a top candidate.
So why wasn’t she head over heels right now?
Fear.
Bone-deep terror that he was only marrying her out of duty, for the chance to have an heir for his own family seat, that one day the palace would do to him what it had done to her mother—drive him away, never to return.
Before she could let the ever-increasing mountain of fears consume her, he finished his paperwork, came over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘So? What do you think? Shall we head over to your side of the island tonight?’
Crikey. He really could read minds.
She gave a slightly over-enthusiastic nod and said, ‘Sounds good.’
‘You look thrilled, but you don’t sound thrilled,’ Oliver observed with an easy laugh.
She elbowed him and tried to tease away her nerves with a white lie. ‘How will we explain everything in the morning?’
‘Well...’ He tapped his chin, as if he was giving the matter some serious thought. ‘We could tell them I’m actually working for the Karolinskan Secret Service and I’m part of your new Nocturnal Protection Team.’
She laughed. The tight knot of worry in her chest loosened. She could do this. They could do this.
The arrival of a brightly coloured shuttle bus caught her eye. It was the free shuttle The Island Clinic provided to bring nurses and doctors and other staff the forty-minute ride between facilities.
As they were without a vehicle, she pointed towards the bus and said, ‘Shall we take my horse and carriage? It’s got to be home by midnight.’
‘With pleasure.’
As if he’d done it a thousand times, he reached for her hand. Her initial instinct was to tug it away. Keep what was happening between them private. But the press release and photos of them as a ‘happy couple’ would be out the next morning...
So she gave his hand a squeeze and together they boarded the bus.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘THIS TILAPIA IS AMAZING.’
Lia nodded, her mouth dancing with the myriad of flavours in yet another success from The Island Clinic restaurant. ‘Not a bad place to get takeaway, is it?’
Oliver nodded his agreement, took another bite, then asked, ‘Do you never eat in the restaurant?’
She shook her head. ‘No’.
His eyes widened. ‘Why not? Don’t you like eating with your friends?’
Well, this was awkward. She didn’t really have any.
She tried for a jokey response. ‘You know how it is...trying to fight a reputation for being a picky princess.’
‘What?’ he said with mock shock. ‘You were lying about the peas the other day?’
She quirked her head to the side, not connecting the dots.
‘The other day,’ he said, trying to jog her memory. ‘You made a comment about the peas underneath your mattresses.’
Before she could answer, he put his fork down on the gorgeous wood table situated in the private garden behind her house.
‘Lia,’ he said. ‘I will never know exactly what your childhood was like, but I do know what it’s like to grow up having everyone expect you to act a certain way.’
A welcome surge of connection sent a warmth through her. How did he always know the perfect thing to say?
‘It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Trying to behave one way to counter what you think everyone is saying about you.’
‘It’s why I moved here,’ he admitted cheerfully. ‘It’s been bliss being plain old Dr Bainbridge.’
She scrunched her nose. ‘But you’re not plain old Dr Bainbridge, are you?’
‘To my patients I am,’ he said. ‘And to my friends. There really aren’t very many people who think of me as the future Duke of Banford—except perhaps my parents and maybe some cousins.’ He sat back in his chair and gave her a decidedly wicked smile. ‘I hope you think of me as something slightly less formal than Dr Bainbridge.’
‘Only slightly?’ she teased.
‘Dramatically,’ he conceded, and then, more thoughtfully, ‘Seriously, Lia. Apart from the obvious—you, me and the baby—I don’t want you to think about me as a duke or even a doctor. I want you to think of me as the man you met at the gala.’
‘Gosh,’ she sighed. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is for people to think of me as a doctor.’
‘From what I hear round the clinic, you’ve got exactly what you wanted.’
The words weren’t meant to wound her, but they did.
He was right. Here at the clinic Dr Amelia Trelleburg, neurosurgeon, was the only side of herself she’d ever let people see. Meticulous, serious, solely focused on her work.
She’d been thrilled to be hand-picked by the clinic’s founder, Dr Nate Edwards. He’d brought in specialists from around the world and had created an egalitarian environment where no one peacocked or demanded special treatment. They were all here to pour their energies into their shared passion: healing people. And she loved it.
She’d thought that was all that would ever be needed from her—her skills. But three years in she saw that all she’d succeeded in doing was compartmentalising herself. Locking herself away during her non-working hours so that she never had to risk being rejected. Except, of course, for that one night of lust-filled bliss with Oliver.
The truth exploded inside her like a healing tonic. She was the only one standing in the way of receiving the love she so desperately craved.
She looked at Oliver, so kind and generous. Patient. The man was made of patience. And she’d be a fool to test its outer limits.
Right. She could do this. She could be honest. Open. Share private stuff.
She put down her fork and looked him in the eye, forcing herself to think of the ‘Amelia trivia’ she’d only ever imagined telling her husband.
‘Did you know I trained with the military but my family refused to let me serve?’
He nodded.
That wasn’t exactly a huge revelation, so she added. ‘I was furious at first. So angry I actually considered cutting and dying my hair and going off to battle in disguise.’
He smiled at the thought. ‘Did you have the disguise planned?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘It was a pretty short-lived rebellion.’
It had been minutes, really. Seconds... She’d given in quite quickly. Too quickly for someone who claimed to want control of her own life.
‘What changed?’ Oliver asked, steering her away from darker thoughts.
‘I found neurosurgery.’
‘That hadn’t been your chosen field?’
‘Not initially. It was combat medicine.’
‘That explains your incredible first-aid run bag.’ He smiled and gave her a fist-bump.
She giggled with childlike delight. No one fist-bumped princesses. She could see herself getting into this sharing and caring thing. W
ith Oliver, anyway.
And that’s the whole point, you numbskull. He’s your safe place.
‘What is it about neurosurgery that you love?’ he asked.
‘Giving someone back the power to make their own decisions,’ she answered without a moment’s hesitation.
Helping people at their most vulnerable—when their crucial decision-making ‘machine’ was faulty—was an incredible honour. The people who trusted her to perform surgery on them humbled her on a daily basis. If she could build on this...invest the same amount of trust in Oliver as her patients invested in her...they would be invincible.
Their eyes met and locked, and in that moment Lia felt nothing but possibility blossom between the pair of them. Her hand swept to her stomach, and when she looked up she saw his eyes had followed the movement.
‘Want to touch?’
He reached across and she put his hand on her belly, resting her hand over his.
They shared the moment in silence and then, naturally, their hands slid apart and they both sat back in their chairs.
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Why did you pick paediatrics?’
His expression sobered, then lightened with the thoughtfulness she’d seen in him before. ‘A bit like you, I think. I wanted to give children a sense of safety in a place that can be scary. Like boarding school.’
Lia shuddered. ‘Bleurgh. I hated boarding school. Didn’t you?’
He shook his head. ‘No. Total opposite.’
He gave her a look that said, I’m going to share something with you that I don’t tell most people.
‘It was so much easier for me to be away from my parents than with them. I love them, because they’re my parents, but they do not love being parents—and, as a result, they don’t really know how to love me.’
Lia sucked in a sharp breath. How awful. It was a different scenario from her own.
Oliver gave her arm a squeeze, as if she was the one who needed consoling and said, ‘I don’t know why, but I never took it personally. My parents lack...’ He looked out into the starlit sky beyond the palms fringing the garden, as if it would provide him with the perfect word. ‘They lack the comfort that should come from loving someone. Being loved. It’s as if they think loving me would make them vulnerable. Weak... So, believe me, I thought boarding school was great. It wasn’t just a home away from home. It was home. And as I grew older I always saw it as my job to make sure the littler kids felt welcome, too. Not everyone wanted to be away from home as much as I did, but there were a lot of kindred spirits there.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Honestly.’ Oliver’s expression was genuine. ‘I really was better off there.’
Lia had absolutely no idea how he could have emerged from such a cold upbringing as warm and kind as he was. Her parents’ marriage had been an unmitigated disaster, but somewhere in there—way back when—she knew it had been founded on love.
When interference from the palace had eventually torn them apart, her father had been drained of any fight he’d once had. And with that loss any love he’d had for Lia had also drained away. She almost literally felt the room turn icy whenever she entered one and saw him there.
A sudden insight into how painful her parents’ marital breakdown must have been for her father came to her. Perhaps he hadn’t sent Lia to boarding school because he’d hated her. Maybe he’d pushed her away because she’d reminded him of the man he’d used to be.
A rush of affection for her father strained against her heart. Thanks to Oliver’s birthright, Lia was going to have a palace-sanctioned chance to have the family her father never could. She wondered if reaching out to him might be the right thing to do, or if her happiness would only make him angrier.
Lia put the idea to Oliver.
He thought for a moment, as she was learning he always did, then said, ‘As long as you feel you’re strong enough for the possibility that he might not want the same thing you do, I’d say it’s worth the risk. And remember you’ve got me in your corner.’
He did a little boxing move to back the comment up.
‘I wish I’d met you years ago,’ she blurted.
Something passed through Oliver’s eyes that she couldn’t identify. A similar wish? Or something brighter that spoke to their shared future.
‘That would’ve been nice,’ he said finally.
‘I’m sorry your parents didn’t make you feel happy at home,’ she continued, wanting him to know that she got it. She understood the pain. ‘I think it’s amazing that you made lemonade out of lemons. I wish I could’ve done the same. I’d give anything to have a second chance to try and fix it.’
‘Hey...’ Oliver soothed. ‘We all have different sets of clay to work with, and you did what you could with yours. What happened between your parents had nothing to do with you. It’s important to look at the positive things in your life. It seems to me you’re pretty happy here. You’ve got your boat. You obviously love your work. You’ve got me.’ He grinned, then turned serious. ‘Don’t wish away the things you do have for things that are out of your control.’
He was right, of course. But common sense was not a fix for a little girl’s dreams of a happy childhood.
‘I am grateful for everything I have. Truly. I know so many people have it much worse than me. But...there are a couple of things I still wish for,’ she said, in a small voice she barely recognised.
‘Like what?’
‘I wish that we could’ve got engaged the normal way, for one.’ She shot him an apologetic smile.
‘What’s “normal” these days?’ Oliver countered. ‘Do you know how many people hunger for exactly what you have? The media at your fingertips... A job at an exclusive clinic... A palace to go home to for the holidays...’
She barked out a laugh, remembering the long list of public appearances that her holidays required. They were more like working holidays than actual breaks. ‘If only they knew the reality.’
‘Oh, c’mon.’ He nudged her toe with his. ‘Even though it didn’t get a storybook start, life with me isn’t going to be that awful. I promise.’
She grinned at him. As far as arranged marriages went...he was right. ‘I suppose you’re not so bad. Insofar as blokes who live in a treehouse go.’
‘Hey! That’s our family home you’re speaking about,’ Oliver protested, his broad smile betraying the pride he felt in his home.
The comment jarred. They hadn’t discussed that.
She was about to say she actually preferred the guaranteed privacy of the clinic’s grounds, but he looked so contented. So peaceful about the future that had been foisted on him. Which did beg the question...
‘If I’d told you I was pregnant and I wasn’t a princess...would you still want to marry me?’
‘With every fibre of my being,’ Oliver replied without hesitation. ‘That’s our child you’re carrying. So I’m in. All the way. And listen, seriously...if you don’t like the treehouse we’ll live somewhere else. If you’ve had enough of St Victoria, we’ll find another island. If you don’t—’
‘No! Stop!’ Lia protested, giggles forming like champagne bubbles in her throat. ‘I think the treehouse is a perfect place to raise a baby.’
He gave her a silly side-eye. ‘It’s not exactly traditional. The palace might not approve.’
‘Oh, they’ll hate it,’ she said, still smiling.
‘In which case...’ Oliver got out of his chair, knelt in the grass in front of her and dug into his pocket. He looked down at the small box he held in his hand then said, ‘Princess Amelia of Karolinska...?’
‘Yes...’ she answered warily.
He dipped his eyes, then lifted his gaze so that all she could see was his gorgeous face, open and honest.
‘Will you do me the honour of moving in to my not-very-royal residence on
ce we are wed?’
Every fibre of Lia’s being was caught in the brilliant flare of Oliver’s smile—so much so that she barely noticed the beautiful ring he was slipping on to her finger. When she saw it, her heart melted even more. It was beautiful. An eternity ring. Something that in its colours symbolised her country, their child and, she hoped, the future they would share together. It sang of hope and promise. Joy. Something she’d never equated with marriage.
‘Yes,’ she said, leaning in for a kiss. ‘Yes, please.’
Dinner forgotten, their kisses quickly intensified, leading them to the bedroom, where they discovered a new level of tenderness, a higher plane of ecstasy and a deeper vein of unity.
Later, as they lay in one another’s arms, Lia snuggled in close to Oliver’s embrace. It was amazing to think this wasn’t just a one-off. It was her new reality. She was engaged to Oliver. They were going to have a child. They were going to be a family.
The only thing they had to do was make sure the palace’s interference was part of their lives only up until they wed. After that she wanted things to be just as they were now.
Her phone pinged with a text.
The palace.
She threw it into the bedside table drawer. Tonight the palace could wait.
* * *
‘I see your new fan is back.’
Lia’s long-time surgical scrub nurse Grace—a wonderful local woman, with just about the driest sense of humour she’d ever come across—flicked her eyes up to the viewing gallery where, front and centre, Oliver sat mid-way through eating his lunch.
He waved and smiled. Her heart skipped a beat, then recommenced with a newer, happier cadence.
‘Fiancé, you mean,’ she parried, pleased that she’d managed a vaguely casual tone.
Grace’s eyebrows rose.
Fair enough. They hadn’t exactly been giggling together by the water cooler over her change in status. Going from a total loner to being engaged to someone she hadn’t so much as mentioned deserved the odd Are you sure about this? look.
The truth was, she hadn’t even put in her vacation form to Nate—which was a bit stupid, since the palace had changed its mind about the wedding taking place in St Victoria and now wanted it to be in Karolinska, in a ‘small private ceremony’ in the palace gardens.