Vittoria wrinkled her nose. ‘Not exactly.’
‘Why not?’
‘There wasn’t any point. It was a fling. It’s over.’
‘But?’ Izzy asked gently.
‘He did send me an email with the password to the private gallery, and two photographs. A red rose, first, and then a bluebell.’
‘A red rose and a bluebell? What’s that supposed to mean?’ Izzy asked.
‘I don’t know. I sent him a picture of a seashell.’
Izzy shook her head. ‘Oh, my God. You’re as bad as each other. Just talk to each other and stop playing games. It sounds to me as if you’ve both made all these big speeches about not having a future together, and you’ve both painted yourself into a corner, and neither of you knows what to say now. I bet you’re both waiting for the other to make the next move. Stop letting pride or whatever get in the way. Go and see him. Talk. Be honest.’
‘What if he doesn’t feel the same way?’
‘Then we’ll deal with it. I’ve got your back. If he doesn’t love you, though, he’s an idiot and he doesn’t deserve you.’
The indignant look on her sister’s face made Vittoria smile. ‘I love you, Iz. Thank you.’
But, all the same, she worried.
How was Liam going to react? She didn’t have a clue. She didn’t really know him that well. Those moments of connection between them in England had taken her breath away; but would they be enough to sustain a relationship, especially one that would be lived out in the very public world of the San Rocello royal family?
There was only one way to find out.
She definitely wasn’t going to tell him the news by text, by phone or even by video call. This was something that needed to be said face to face. She needed to see his reaction, to know how he really felt.
It took Vittoria a while to find the right words—until after Izzy had gone back to London—but she kept her text simple.
Need to talk to you about something face to face. Where/when are you available in the next week?
And now the ball was in his court.
* * *
Need to talk to you about something face to face. Where/when are you available in the next week?
Liam looked at the text and frowned.
What did Vittoria need to talk to him about? And why did it have to be face to face? Had someone found out about their fling and it was going to cause a scandal? But neither of them was dating anyone else, and he knew she’d decided to stand up to her family about the arranged marriage issue. So, even if their fling had been leaked, he couldn’t see what the problem was.
He texted back.
Is everything all right?
Of course. Is there a window in your diary?
She sounded cool, calm, collected and extremely businesslike.
Not the woman behind the tiara who’d melted into his arms. Not the woman whose smile was like sunshine. Not the woman whose eyes reminded him of spring bluebells.
A window in his diary, indeed. Anyone would think this was a business meeting. Though, if it was—if she wanted him to take some other portraits—surely she would’ve given him an idea about the brief?
Which meant this had to be personal. And it stung that she was being so formal with him. They’d spent the night together, woken in each other’s arms. Had it really meant so little to her? OK, they’d agreed to regard it as a fling and they’d said goodbye. But he’d wondered if there was a way of finding a compromise. Surely it hadn’t been completely one-sided?
He thought about it some more.
He hadn’t heard anything through Saoirse or Izzy, both of whom were planning to go up to Edinburgh tomorrow to see an art exhibition. He hadn’t seen any rumours in the news.
So what exactly did the future Queen of San Rocello want with him?
There was only one way to find out. He checked his diary.
Have location shoots in London Mon/Wed/Fri. Planned dark room sessions Tuesday and Thursday. Can work round those.
Tuesday works for me. I’ll book a meeting room at a hotel and let you know the venue.
This definitely sounded like business; he’d been deluding himself that it might be personal. There hadn’t been a hint of warmth in her texts. No kiss used as punctuation at the end of a message. No more flirting by photograph—she still hadn’t replied to his bluebell. The soft, sweet, slightly shy woman he’d spent time with on the coast had turned back into an efficient machine. The Winter Queen.
And that hurt.
Well, he could be a machine, too.
Meeting room good for me. Let me know location and time.
He didn’t add a kiss to soften the message or make it less impersonal.
But he was out of sorts for the rest of the day. Brooding. Wondering what she wanted from him—and whether he was prepared to deal with the formal princess, rather than the woman he’d escaped to the seaside with.
And on Tuesday he’d find out what she wanted.
CHAPTER EIGHT
A BUSINESS MEETING.
What did you wear to a business meeting with a princess? Liam wondered.
He’d worn a suit to the palace when he’d gone to shoot Vittoria’s official portrait; he’d worn faded jeans when he’d taken her to the beach and kissed her. Neither extreme felt right for this. And Vittoria still hadn’t given him a clue what this was about, even though he’d asked her explicitly if there was a brief or anything in particular he needed to bring to the meeting. Subtle questioning of Izzy hadn’t given him any more information.
So maybe he’d simply go as his professional self. The confident and competent portrait photographer whose outfit on a shoot made him practically invisible. Black designer jeans, a silky black long-sleeved top, black shoes. And he took his laptop and compact camera with him, just in case.
The hotel she’d chosen was near a Tube station. He left himself extra time to get there, in case of delays, but everything ran on schedule. There was a big difference between arriving a couple of minutes early for a meeting in order not to waste any time, and turning up so early that you appeared desperate and hampered yourself in any negotiations. So he found the nearest coffee shop, bought a double espresso, set an alarm on his phone to make sure he didn’t lose track of time and end up being late, and settled down in a corner to work on some post-production stuff on his laptop.
When his phone vibrated to warn him it was time to leave, he made his way to the hotel where the receptionist gave him directions to the meeting room. He rapped on the door and walked in. It was an anonymous room with cream-coloured walls, a corporate blue carpet, a rectangular oak table with eight executive office chairs, and a large screen which was obviously for use with a laptop and presentation software.
Vittoria was sitting at the head of the table with a glass of water in front of her, Giorgio to one side. His heart actually skipped a beat at seeing her again.
‘Thank you for coming, Mr MacCarthy.’ Her voice and her expression were both inscrutable.
She could honestly be this formal, this cool with him, after the night they’d shared together? After waking up with him, with her expression all soft and sensual?
The pleasure he’d felt at seeing her drained away, and his skin suddenly felt too tight. OK, so maybe it had been unrealistic to expect her to fall into his arms—they’d agreed that night was a one-off. But he had expected some warmth from her. He didn’t understand why she was freezing him out. Why was he even here?
‘You’re welcome, Vostra Altezza Reale.’ He used the formal phrase deliberately, pushing back at the woman who was clearly in full regal mode. Your Royal Highness.
‘May I order you some coffee? Something cold?’
The coldest thing in the room, he thought, was Vittoria herself. Polite and utterly inscrutable. And he still didn’t know why she’d asked him
to meet her. ‘I’m fine, thank you, ma’am.’
She gave a small signal to Giorgio, who left the room.
This was starting to feel a little surreal. Why would she ask her security detail to give them privacy? She trusted Giorgio literally with her life; surely it wouldn’t matter if he heard any confidential business matters?
‘What did you want to discuss?’ he asked. And why had she been so insistent on this meeting being face to face?
‘How are you?’ she asked, not answering his question.
Frustrated. Churned up. Feeling as if something was about to drop on his head from a great height. So, instead of giving her an anodyne answer and asking an equally polite but meaningless question, he took the direct route. ‘Right now I’m very much in the dark about why you wanted to see me. Isn’t this something that we could’ve talked about over the phone or a video call?’
‘No.’
Then he noticed how pale she looked, and frowned. She’d asked him how he was, but he hadn’t asked her how she was. And, although her make-up was flawless and someone who barely knew her would just think she was being regal, on closer inspection he thought she looked tense. Upset. And it took the fight out of him, because now all he wanted to do was hold her close. Protect her. Tell her that whatever was wrong, he’d be by her side and he’d help her get through whatever it was. ‘Are you all right, Vittoria?’ he asked gently, completely forgetting protocol.
‘I...’ She dragged in a breath. ‘Sit down, Liam. Please.’
Now he was worried.
Was she ill? Seriously ill? Terminally ill?
Was she going to ask him and Saoirse to help her prepare Izzy for some terrible news?
He sat down and forced himself to breathe. And he waited for her to fill the silence—to tell him what she wanted.
* * *
Seeing Liam again made Vittoria’s heart do a backflip. He was dressed as a professional photographer, all in black so it would make him practically invisible at a shoot and he could blend into any background.
Except he was far from being invisible to her. She was acutely aware of him.
Those beautiful eyes.
That gorgeous mouth.
The hands that had held her close, cherished her.
And now she was going to have to tell him her news. She still had no idea how he’d react, though in her head she’d gone over every possible reaction he might have and worked out how to respond. Shock. Anger. Dismay.
The only reaction she hadn’t bothered to think about was delight, because she already knew he wasn’t going to be delighted about this. If you’d made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to settle down and have a family, then obviously you weren’t going to be too thrilled at the idea of becoming a parent.
‘I wanted to tell you in person,’ she said, ‘because I think you have the right to know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant.’
* * *
What?
Liam stared at her in shock, trying to process what she’d just told him.
It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
Pregnant?
She couldn’t possibly be.
‘You’re pregnant,’ he said, just to check that he’d heard her correctly.
She said nothing, simply inclined her head. And he couldn’t see Vittoria behind her mask. All he could see was the princess, coolly telling him that they’d accidentally made a baby when they’d spent that night together.
He certainly didn’t think it was anyone else’s baby. But he still couldn’t quite get his head round this. ‘We were careful. We used condoms.’
‘There’s always a tiny, tiny chance that contraception won’t work.’ She spread her hands. ‘Unfortunately, we were that chance.’
He shook his head, trying to clear it. He’d resisted every girlfriend who wanted him to settle down and raise a family; the way he saw it, he’d already done that with Saoirse. Now was the time when he’d wanted to focus on his career. He was clear about his goals and he knew how to get there. He was putting the work in.
But Vittoria was pregnant.
With his baby.
And that changed everything.
He could be selfish. Walk away. Stick to his original plans and focus on his career.
But if he did that, he’d lose his self-respect.
Which meant there was only one choice.
He was about to open his mouth and ask her if she was sure, if she’d done a pregnancy test—but of course Vittoria di Sarda would’ve done a test. She wouldn’t be sitting here if the test hadn’t been positive.
Now he thought he understood why she’d asked Giorgio for privacy. Not to protect her, but to protect him when she delivered news that she knew would shock him to the core.
She was pregnant.
With his baby.
The words repeated over and over in his head.
What did he do now? What did he say? Did she want to keep the baby? Did she want him to bring the baby up with her?
I wanted to tell you in person because I think you have the right to know.
That didn’t give him a clue about her feelings or what she wanted. Was she telling him that this was a royal baby so, although he had the right to know of the baby’s existence, she didn’t plan to acknowledge him as the father? Or was she being proud, expecting him to reject her and being cool with him so she could protect her heart?
He had no idea.
And what did he want?
He’d worked hard to build his career, from the very lowest rung. He wouldn’t be able to fit that round supporting Vittoria in her royal duties; he’d have to give it up. Move away from London, away from his sister. And that was assuming her family would even accept him as her partner, which he doubted very much. Vittoria’s mother and grandmother wanted her to marry the son of a Spanish duke, so it was pretty obvious how they’d react to the idea of her settling down with someone without a single drop of blue blood in his veins.
He didn’t have a clue what to say.
All he knew was that Vittoria was pregnant with his baby.
And that he’d never, ever shirk his responsibilities.
‘Obviously I’ll do the right thing,’ he said. ‘I’ll stand by you.’
* * *
Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t let the hormones take over, Vittoria warned herself.
She knew that Liam didn’t want to settle down and bring up a family. He’d told her why, that night when they’d talked under the stars. The night they’d really connected. The night they’d made the baby. Over the last few days, since she’d tried to work out how he’d react, she’d expected him to walk away.
Though it wasn’t until he’d spoken that Vittoria realised what she’d wanted him to say. Deep down, she’d wanted him to tell her that he’d changed his mind about having a family—that he loved her, that he wanted to bring up their baby with her. Make a family with her.
What he’d actually said was that he’d do the right thing. That he’d stand by her.
That, if anything, was worse than the arranged marriage her mother and grandmother had been planning before she’d met Liam. Because it meant his decision to stay with her was all about duty and nothing to do with love.
He’d been here before, parenting his younger sister; and he’d been very clear that he’d walked away from university and his own chances because he’d loved his sister. He found Vittoria physically attractive—the baby, she thought wryly, was proof of that—but he didn’t love her.
And that was the deciding factor.
She wouldn’t settle for anything less than love. So she’d give him what he’d said he wanted. Freedom to pursue his career.
‘There’s no need to “stand by me”, as you put it. It’s the twenty-first century,’ she said crisply. ‘I’m perfectly capab
le of raising this baby alone. I have the resources.’ Not that money could ever take the place of love, but she wouldn’t be struggling financially and could afford to pay for the kind of nanny who’d bring joy into a child’s life while Vittoria was working. Izzy would stand by her. And eventually her mother and her grandparents would come around.
And she’d do it all without Liam beside her.
Hurt that Liam clearly saw her and the baby only as a duty, she hit back in the only way she knew how. With coolness. ‘You don’t need to be involved in the slightest.’
* * *
‘You don’t need to be involved in the slightest.’
The words felt like a physical blow.
Was Vittoria saying she didn’t want Liam to be involved? That she didn’t think he was good enough to be the father of a prince or princess?
Together, they’d created a life. They had responsibilities—to each other and to their child. Did she really think he’d walk away from that? Did she really believe he was that selfish?
Well, she could think again. No way was his child going to be brought up by a string of nannies in a distant corner of the palace where they wouldn’t be seen or heard by the royal family, the way he was pretty sure Vittoria had been brought up. His child would be loved—the way he and Saoirse had been loved, during the few years they’d had their parents.
He folded his arms. ‘I’m sure we can come to some kind of custody arrangement.’
She looked shocked, then. ‘You want custody of the baby?’
‘This baby’s mine as well as yours,’ he pointed out. ‘I didn’t dump my sister in a boarding school because it would’ve been more convenient for me to do so, and I’m certainly not planning to do that with my child. So I suggest our child spends weekdays with me in London, and weekends and some school holidays with you. I’m sure any lawyer would agree with me, because clearly you’ll have royal duties to fulfil—which means you won’t be around for much of the time.’
‘You want custody,’ she repeated, as if she couldn’t quite believe what he’d said.
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