by Leslie North
Amy raised her eyebrows, and he saw a flash of the woman she had been when she came back to the hotel with him from the gala that night. “Secret passageways? So the royals of old could sneak around and get themselves into trouble behind closed doors?”
“Yes. The royals of old,” he emphasized, giving her a wink.
She laughed out loud.
“In all seriousness, the team thought it best that you be placed closer to me for the duration. Especially since you’ll be staying until the referendum.” Secretly, Artur wasn’t sure she would stay that long, but he wished that was the firm plan. Despite the train wreck of the meeting earlier, when his inner circle had blithely agreed with her ridiculous plan to turn his life into their own version of a dating show, the thought of having her nearby made him feel...at home. Yes, that was it. Though, on second thought, that didn’t make much sense.
Amy wore a thoughtful expression. “It’s a good plan. In terms of logistics, this will make planning the tour much easier. And Kostya said the anti-royalist media might harass me if I was staying at a hotel but coming and going from the palace every day.”
Artur didn’t much care what Kostya had said, and in fact, the rooms weren’t the reason he’d come here to talk to her at all. “I had an amendment to your proposal from earlier.”
Amy raised her eyebrows. “Do tell. I’m open to all input, especially from the man at the center of it all.” The smile she gave him was a genuine one. “That might have sounded a little sarcastic, but I meant it.”
He came to sit across the table from her in a chair that turned out to be more comfortable than it looked. “It came to me during my workout that there’s an easier solution than planning dates for me with half the women in the country.”
Amy leaned back, resting her hands atop the curve of her bump. She ran her fingers down over the fabric of her dress, and the movement was somehow completely casual and completely intimate at once. It almost made him want to look away, but looking away from her was harder than seeing that little gesture. And why was it so difficult?
“What’s that?”
“If you want to make me more respectable by settling me with a woman, why not you? Marrying you would make abundant sense in the context of your plan,” he added. Why was his heart beating so hard? It wasn’t as if he was pledging his undying love. This was a business arrangement. A solution to an irritating problem she had presented.
Amy was still watching him, her brow furrowed as if he’d started speaking in his native Stolvenia.
“You’re respectable, attractive, and the mother of my child.” It seemed best to fill the silence. “Wouldn’t marrying you play well in the press? We could even take our honeymoon on the tour and combine the two events for maximum press coverage and goodwill.”
Amy sat up straighter. “So you’re not opposed to the idea of the tour.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you suggested it. I’d never have thought to take a tour of the country otherwise.” He relaxed into the chair, resting one arm on an armrest. Now was the point in the conversation where Amy would reject him—he was sure of that. But all of the thoughts he’d had in the garden and the gym had been focused on getting him out of all those dates. The tour—that was a hell of an idea, and he wanted to travel the country with Amy. It was the small talk and the empty flirtation with a series of strangers, all while news cameras tracked their every word, that Artur simply couldn’t bear.
“It’s not the worst proposal I’ve ever had,” Amy said, after what seemed like an eternity. She smiled ruefully. “There was one D-list celebrity who got down on one knee after a New Year’s event. He was so drunk he could hardly balance himself.”
The thought of anyone making light of a proposal like that made his skin crawl, though Artur couldn’t put his finger on why. He shouldn’t care this much about some stranger drunkenly stumbling through a half-hearted proposal. Still, he managed one of his most winning smiles. “This should be the best proposal you’ve ever had.” Amy laughed, a low sound that sent pleasure humming through his veins. “I’m offering you the full benefits of becoming part of the royal family. Connections, wealth...the best of everything for our child. Why not marry me, honestly?”
Amy shrugged one shoulder, still grinning. “Love?”
He sat up, shaking his head. “Oh no, that’s not part of it at all. I don’t love you. But why should that stop us?”
Amy snorted. “You think that little of love?”
He resisted the urge to get up and pace around the room. “It’s not that I...discount the idea of love entirely, but I have other obligations that come first. I wasn’t certain that love was the point of this anyway. Surely you didn’t expect me to fall in love with some random woman on your matchmaking tour, did you?”
Was her face a little redder, or was he imagining it? She looked beautiful with a little blush in her cheeks and a grin on her face, even if it was meant to cover up some deeper feeling.
“No, I guess not.” Amy ran her hands over her bump again, then folded them neatly in her lap. “I don’t love you either,” she said, as if she were running down an agenda at yet another meeting. “But someday I might love someone.” There was a hope in her voice that broke his heart. Artur shifted in his seat under the weight of that feeling.
As much as he wanted to go around to the cabriole and sit next to her and fold her in his arms, he settled for a casual shrug. “Marry me in the meantime, then. When you find the love of your life, we can get a divorce. By then, my image will be turned around, the monarchy will be secure. And until then, you and our child will have everything you could desire. It’s not such a terrible option, is it?”
She sat up straight, her hand now seeming protective on her belly. “I have a better option, Artur. Myself.” Amy lifted her chin. “I have a great job. I could give this child of ours an amazing life. I don’t need to marry into the royal family for the benefits package, I promise.”
It stung that she wouldn’t even consider the proposal, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. No one really wanted to be tied to him for the long haul. “It’s not a bad package, though. It comes with dental.”
Amy laughed, the mood lightening. “The baby won’t have teeth for the foreseeable future.”
He took a breath, trying to release some of the tension that had built behind his breastbone. “How is the baby doing, by the way?”
She looked down at her bump. “By all accounts, everything is proceeding according to plan.”
“I’m sure you’ve had a million appointments.”
“Oh, about...five, I’d say. The last one before I left was the anatomy ultrasound.”
“Anatomy ultrasound?” This sounded worrying—did her doctor think there was a problem?
“It’s totally routine.” Amy looked back at him through her eyelashes. “They take a look to make sure everything’s developing correctly. And sometimes, if the baby cooperates, they can tell you the sex.”
Now Artur’s heart threatened to leap out of his chest. “Well? Did that baby of ours cooperate?”
From nowhere, tears gathered in the corners of Amy’s eyes, but still she laughed. “Do you really want to know?”
“Oh, I think so.” His tone was casual, but Artur had never wanted to know anything as much as he wanted to know this. He couldn’t even explain why.
“It’s a girl,” she said, and a smile like a sunrise broke over Amy’s face. She sat up again, brushing at the corners of her eyes with subtle flicks. “Anyway, I bet she’s as excited to see the country as I am.”
“I hope you like it.” The words came heavily from his throat. “It might not seem like it, but I’m very proud of what we have to offer in Stolvenia.”
“You never know,” Amy said. “You might still find a woman out there who really strikes your fancy.”
You strike my fancy, Artur thought, but words stayed silent on the tip of his tongue.
“I doubt it,” he said with a laugh that sounded genui
ne to him but didn’t feel real in the slightest. “But I’ll still go on the nationwide tour. You couldn’t keep me in the palace if finding me a bride is what’s on the agenda.”
6
Sasha bustled around the room, taking out one top after another, holding them each up for Amy’s approval.
“Yes to the blue, no to the peach.” Where had she gotten the peach top, anyway? Amy couldn’t remember. It was late, almost ten, and her eyes burned. Sasha had wanted to take care of the packing herself, but Amy didn’t want to get out into the middle of Stolvenia and find that she didn’t like any of the clothing combinations that had come with her. But as the suitcase filled, something else nagged at her mind.
“That should be plenty, don’t you think?” The two women peered down at Amy’s suitcase, then Sasha gave a satisfied nod and flipped the cover shut. They’d be on the road for three weeks, which meant that Amy had to pack fairly heavily, but she’d tried to keep it pared down as much as possible. The last thing Artur needed was to have their entourage photographed dragging in ten suitcases for the publicist.
“I’ll get my toiletries together. Then I think we’re good to go.”
“I’ll be off then, Ms. Branch.”
“Amy,” she told Sasha with a grin. “If it’s a protocol thing—”
“We have to follow lots of protocols in the royal household, and it’s an honor.” Sasha’s eyes twinkled when she said this.
“In here, at least, call me Amy.”
“Goodnight, Amy. Let me know in the morning if there’s anything else you’ve decided to bring.”
The morning. They hadn’t scheduled too many meetings for the next day, since planning for the trip was mostly done, to Amy’s enormous relief.
Planning might have been a large part of Amy’s job, but it was still exhausting nonetheless.
Despite the enormous yawn that escaped her, she lingered in the main room of her suite a little longer. In the privacy of her thoughts, it was easier to admit that she was hoping Artur might knock on the door.
The conversation the past week had seemed so...charged. Not just the proposal, but the discussion of love. Maybe she wasn’t in love with him, but something in her core lit up at the sight of him. His gaze on her felt warm and precious somehow.
Amy brushed her hands over the slight curve of her belly. It could be the hormones making her feel a little giddy whenever he walked in the room.
“You’re tired,” she said out loud to herself. “Go to bed.”
As soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out. The dreams came on fast and furious—Artur reaching back for her in a field of flowers, stretching out on the grass beneath him, his hand on her belly—
The alarm burst into a final and pleasant dream after what seemed like no time at all, and Amy jolted upright in bed, slapping at her phone until the sound stopped.
Artur, Artur, Artur. He’d been in her head all night.
Amy threw her legs over the side of the bed and headed for the shower. Once she was clean, with fresh makeup and her hair in a twist at the back of her head, she went out to look for something to wear.
There were no official meetings today with the large group, so Amy pulled her favorite pair of jeans from the drawer. The drawers themselves looked a little empty after the packing spree. Good thing she’d left herself these. It had been a little while since she’d worn them, and she looked forward to working in complete comfort today.
Right up until the moment when the zipper stuck.
“Oh, come on.” She had half her attention on the drawer in front of her, mentally sorting through the remaining tops, and she tugged harder at the stubborn zipper. It still didn’t give. She pulled it down to the very bottom of the track and tried again. It wouldn’t move more than an inch.
Amy moved in front of the mirror and looked at the offending zipper.
Oh crap.
It wasn’t the zipper—it was her. Her belly was finally in the way. They were her loosest, most forgiving jeans—the ones with the very most stretch—but they had reached their limit.
Amy tugged the jeans back down her legs, noticing only now that they had seemed a little tight when she’d pulled them up. She’d meant to go shopping. In the rush of the planning, she’d completely forgotten. And now what? She had a couple of skirts that fit. She’d bought those right before she left for Stolvenia. But the rest of them—oh no. She hadn’t even tried them on since touching down at the palace.
Why had her jeans decided to betray her like this overnight? This was not according to plan.
Why had her bump popped like this in only one night? This was not according to plan.
She paced in front of the mirror. Would any of the clothes in the suitcase fit her? The clothes she’d bought for the trip weren’t strictly maternity wear—mostly just clothes with extra give. The two or three maternity items she did have were in the laundry. Because of course they were.
That was how Sasha found her fifteen minutes later, pantsless and pacing, wearing her underwear and a black tank top.
“What is it, Ms. Branch?”
“None of my clothes fit.” She gestured to the jeans in a heap on the floor. “They’re too tight.”
Sasha was at the suitcase in an instant, opening it and pulling things out. “All right. Let’s solve this.”
“How are we going to solve this?”
“First things first: we need to figure out what you can wear.”
It didn’t take long.
Inside of twenty minutes, Amy and Sasha had gone through everything in the room and Sasha had brought Amy a robe to tie over her tank top.
Sasha looked at the clothes spread over the bed. “That leaves you...five outfits.”
“That’s not enough for a three-week trip. And I wouldn’t even count the yoga pants.” They’d been a last-minute addition to her suitcase on the off-chance they had a gym at the palace.
“Why the long faces?” Amy whirled around at the sound of Artur’s voice to find him leaning against the doorway, looking every bit as hot as he had when she’d first seen him at the gala. His clothes fit. Boy, did they ever.
“I’m having a bit of a...wardrobe crisis.”
He strolled into the room. “What’s the crisis?”
Amy turned to the side, highlighting her bump. “None of the clothes fit.”
Artur laughed. “That’s not a crisis. That’s only a matter of logistics.”
“Oh? Are you a logistics expert now?” Amy kept her tone light, but her heart beat fast. Was it because of Artur’s presence in the room or the fact that they had very limited time to buy her an entire new wardrobe before leaving on their trip?
“I have many talents,” he said. Even Sasha turned pink at that and turned away. Artur cleared his throat and straightened up. “I can get you some things right away. And don’t worry about the bill.” He waved a hand in the air. “I’ll get it.”
“No, no.” Amy looked at the meager pile on the bed. “That’s too much. The public can’t know about our connection when the point of the tour is for you to meet other...citizens of Stolvenia. If you outfit me for the trip, that’ll look like—”
He stepped toward her and placed a kind hand on her shoulder. “How will anyone know who bought your clothes?” She breathed him in, her heart responding with a flutter to the smile spread across his face. “I’ll send out for a few things. All you need to do is meet me in my rooms for dinner.”
“Dinner?”
Sasha was making herself scarce. “Come by at eight. It’ll be dinner and a show.” Artur leaned closer until his breath brushed the shell of her ear. “Don’t be late.”
Nothing. The city around the palace had nothing.
After Artur left her room, Amy sat down to work. But she’d been too efficient. All the details for their departure were set, and she found herself with a yawning pocket of time before dinner at eight. So she’d gone into the city center to try and find some maternity clothes on her own.
<
br /> Not a single store had anything worthwhile.
She ended up in a sleeveless black dress she’d brought with her that just barely still fit, walking to Artur’s rooms with her heart in her throat. It was only dinner, and yet...
The show.
What was the show going to be about?
It was times like this when she couldn’t get their night in New York City out of her head. And she needed to, because Amy’s top agenda item for the evening was to sell Artur on the idea of finding a girlfriend during the tour. Artur had firmly vetoed the idea of pre-arranged dates for him at every tour stop, but Amy had a few ideas up her sleeve for how to get around that.
It could be a long shot, given that he’d planned some kind of show for her, but she’d already hired a matchmaker and started vetting the women. Not that Artur needed to know that.
She knocked on the gleaming mahogany doors to Artur’s suite and took a deep breath.
The door opened.
“Hello, Ms. Branch.”
God, Artur was attractive.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then held out his arm and ushered her in.
“Hi,” she said, all her other words sticking in her throat.
One step into the room, and she was speechless.
Amy felt her mouth hanging open and snapped her lips shut, but she couldn’t help it. This was amazing.
She’d never seen Artur’s suite before, but she was reasonably sure that, before tonight, it hadn’t been a high-end boutique with racks of clothing and outfits already paired on mannequins. And all of it was maternity.
“I—how—”
“I have my ways,” Artur said with a delicious laugh. “Take all the time you need to shop.”
A woman stepped forward and Amy noticed her for the first time. “I’m Josia, your stylist. Is there anything you were looking for in particular?”
“All of it,” Amy whispered. “But—” She tried to get ahold of herself. “Work clothes, mainly, but—”
“But you’re going to be in the public eye, on a goodwill tour. It can’t all be business suits.” Josia led her toward the first rack, and Amy was lost.