Soldier Prince's Secret Baby Gift

by Kate Hardy

  Guilt flooded through Antonio. In a way, he’d abandoned Tia twice, now—the first time after he’d told her that her brother had been killed, because he hadn’t known how to deal with it; then he’d been called back to work, and after that his father had died and he’d been busy with official duties. The second time had been that night in London following the charity gala, when they’d ended up comforting each other in bed. Tia had vanished early the next morning before he’d awoken, leaving him a note explaining that she was due at work.

  Which had pretty much let him off the hook.

  Part of him had felt relieved, because it meant he didn’t have to unpick his feelings and deal with them; but part of him had felt guilty about sleeping with his best friend’s little sister. It had been mutual comfort, but he still felt responsible. And he’d planned to call her to see if there was anything he could do to help her mother. He wasn’t that much of a cad, no matter that the media liked to call him a playboy who would never settle down. The only true bit about the media’s claims was that he didn’t want to settle down; he kept his love affairs short and very discreet. And he always made it very clear that he wasn’t offering his girlfriends a future. That the relationship was just for now, not for ever.

  But, as he’d been about to call Tia, that morning, his mother had called him with the news about Gabriella and her potential claim to the throne. Queen Maria had needed her youngest son to come home to discuss the situation with her and help her to plan what they should do next; and it would all have to be done confidentially because she hadn’t wanted to put the extra pressure on Luca, who they both thought had quite enough on his plate ruling the country. All thoughts of Tia had flown out of his head and he’d gone straight back to Casavalle without getting in touch with her.

  Antonio and the Queen had been close to working out how to deal with the situation about Gabriella when Princess Meribel dropped her bombshell and Luca’s wedding was cancelled. Everything had gone haywire after that, and in the last month Antonio felt as if he’d barely had a moment to breathe.

  ‘She’s telephoned the palace a few times,’ Miles said, ‘but I didn’t expect her to turn up here.’

  Tia had called a few times? Why? ‘Why didn’t you put her through?’ Antonio asked.

  Miles winced. ‘I didn’t want to repeat the mistake I made with Gabriella’s letter to Queen Maria.’

  Gabriella’s letter. The bombshell that had made it through to the Queen because it was marked ‘Personal and Confidential’. Luca had been quite hard on the palace secretary about it, and Miles had been extremely vigilant about which messages made it through to the family ever since.

  But Antonio was the youngest child, and he was pretty sure he was more approachable than his father had been—or even his elder brother. And surely Miles had known him for long enough to realise that Antonio wouldn’t go all cold and icy on him if he made a mistake? Things happened unexpectedly; you just had to deal with them efficiently and effectively as they came up.

  ‘And now she’s here, wanting to see you,’ Miles continued.

  Antonio smiled, wanting to reassure the secretary. ‘That’s fine. As I said, I worked with her brother. He was a good friend. I can spare a few minutes to talk to her. Where is she?’

  ‘In my office,’ Miles said. ‘But, sir, before you go to meet her, you need to know that she’s making some quite outlandish claims. She says she’s six months pregnant—and she says the baby is yours.’

  ‘She what?’ Antonio felt as if someone had just winded him.

  ‘She’s pregnant. Very pregnant.’ Miles winced. ‘You can see the baby moving in her stomach.’

  Antonio counted back in his head. May. They’d slept together in May.

  And now it was November.

  Six months.

  Antonio was pretty sure that this wasn’t a situation like his brother’s, where Princess Meribel had been at the point of possibly passing off another man’s baby as Luca’s. Nathan had been proud of his little sister, proud of her independence and her loyalty and her resourcefulness. Antonio believed that Tia wouldn’t lie about something like this.

  Plus the timing fitted exactly.

  ‘But of course the baby can’t be yours,’ Miles said.

  Oh, yes, it could.

  Six months.

  Tia must’ve known she was pregnant for at least three of those months, probably more. Why on earth hadn’t she said anything to him before?

  Then again, Miles had said she’d called a few times but he hadn’t put her through. Clearly Tia had tried to talk to him and she’d been gently put aside by the palace secretary.

  ‘How long has she been trying to get in touch with me?’ Antonio asked.

  ‘A few weeks,’ Miles admitted.

  So she must’ve tried to tell him almost as soon as she knew about the baby, then. If Miles had been stonewalling her for weeks, coming here must’ve been the last resort for her because she’d had no other way to get in touch with him—apart from going to the media and causing his family maximum embarrassment, and that just didn’t fit with what he knew of Nathan’s little sister.

  ‘I spoke to Prince Luca about it,’ Miles continued, ‘and he agreed it was most likely she’d seen your photograph in a magazine, decided she was in love with you and made up a story to—’

  ‘Hang on. Luca knew about this?’ Antonio cut in.

  ‘That she’d called you. Not about the baby.’ Miles squirmed. ‘I only found out about that today, when I saw her. The bump is, um, quite noticeable.’

  Antonio groaned. ‘We’ll discuss this later. Luca, too. But I need to see her. Now.’

  ‘You mean she’s telling the truth, sir?’

  ‘Yes,’ Antonio said grimly, the guilt he felt at sleeping with his friend’s little sister intensifying by the second. Not only had he slept with her, he’d made her pregnant. ‘The timing matches up, so I’m pretty sure the baby’s mine.’ And he sprinted out of the room towards Miles’s office.

  * * *

  Tia felt sick—and it was nothing to do with her pregnancy and everything to do with the situation. What had she been thinking, coming here? Now Miles Montague had left her in his office, her surroundings sank in. She was in a palace—a palace, for pity’s sake. People like her didn’t go to palaces, not unless they were visiting a stately home or museum while on holiday. This was surreal.

  And just how was Antonio going to react to the news? With shock? Dismay? Horror? She’d told herself all the way here that his reaction didn’t matter, that she’d deliver the news and walk away—but it did matter, now she was here. And a tiny, very foolish part of her couldn’t help hoping that he’d be thrilled to see her and would sweep her into his arms...

  Of course that wasn’t going to happen. She was six months pregnant, and he certainly wouldn’t try to lift her. And this was his territory. He’d be every inch the cold, snooty Prince who’d told her that her brother had been killed.

  Right on cue, Antonio strolled into the room, all cool and calm and unruffled. He didn’t even bat an eyelash or look remotely shocked; just as she’d guessed, he was totally cold. And that tiny, daft bit of her that had been hoping for the impossible simply shrivelled and died.

  Worst of all, the flare of attraction she’d felt towards him was still there. Stronger, if anything, now she knew what it felt like to spend the night in his arms. Even seeing him made her heart feel as if it was doing a somersault.

  How stupid was she? He was a prince and she was a waitress. The stories about Cinderella, Snow White, and Beauty and the Beast were just that: fairy stories to entertain children. This was real life; and her life was about as opposite from Antonio’s as it was possible to get. They didn’t have a future together.

  ‘Good to see you, Tia,’ he said.

  Was it? His face was so unreadable, she didn’t have a clue.

&nbs
p; ‘I trust Miles has offered you some refreshment?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ And she’d refused. All she’d wanted was to see Antonio, deliver her message and leave so she could catch her plane home. Now she was here, she really wanted to leave.

  He looked at the clear desk in front of her and frowned. ‘I’ll organise some tea. That is, assuming you can drink tea?’

  She knew what he was referring to; but she was well past the morning sickness stage. ‘Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not staying.’

  He said nothing, simply tipped his head slightly to one side to indicate that he was listening to whatever she had to say. He looked every inch a prince, and incredibly remote and forbidding.

  She lifted her chin. ‘I just came to let you know the situation.’

  ‘That you’re six months pregnant, according to Miles. You could have—’

  Told him? OK, so she’d waited a month, not wanting to talk to the Playboy Prince. But for the six weeks since her mother had persuaded her to talk to him, she’d been trying, and it stung that he was making her feel as if she was the bad guy. ‘I tried,’ she cut in quietly. ‘I rang the palace. More than once, actually. But I didn’t want to leave a message about this. I wanted to tell you myself. Mr Montague wouldn’t put me through to you when I called. In case you’d lost my number, I left it again. But, as you didn’t call me back, I assumed he didn’t tell you that I’d called.’

  She didn’t have a clue about how he was reacting to this. Was he shocked, angry, horrified? This man had inscrutability down to a fine art.

  ‘It meant that coming to tell you in person was my only option. So now you know.’

  He hadn’t made a single move towards her. That night in London... Well, obviously Antonio had drawn a line under that, a long time ago. They both had. Neither of them had expected consequences. Although she’d left him that note, and a tiny bit of her had hoped that he’d call her, she hadn’t really expected him to do anything. That night was what it was. A one-night stand.

  Then the reality of it hit her. She’d assumed that Miles Montague hadn’t passed on the message. Maybe he had given Prince Antonio the message, but the Prince simply hadn’t wanted to return her call. How could she have been so stupid?

  She clearly wasn’t wanted here, and neither was the baby.

  Though she’d expected Antonio not to want to know, she’d had time to get used to the idea of being a single mum. She’d cope. Coping was what she’d done every day since Nathan had left to join the army and she’d become her mother’s sole carer at the age of thirteen. She’d find a way to juggle motherhood, a job and continuing to care for her mum. Giovanni and Vittoria, her bosses at the café, were kind and sympathetic. It would be fine.

  She suppressed the memories that had rushed into her head when Antonio had walked into the room—the surge of desire, the memory of the way his skin had felt against hers, his strength combined with surprising gentleness. Although this man was the father of her baby, she had to remember that first and foremost he was a prince—and her feelings towards him were completely inappropriate, as well as completely unwanted by him.

  She didn’t even know what to call him.

  Your Royal Highness? Prince Antonio?

  Considering that they’d spent the night together...

  It was all too much for her. She didn’t want to stay in this cold, formal palace a minute longer than she had to. She wanted to leave. Now. ‘Excuse me. I have a flight to catch.’ She stood up, gathered her coat under her arm and turned away.

  Antonio reached out and touched her shoulder, gently making her turn to face him again. ‘Tia. Please stay. We need to talk.’

  Even though there was soft cotton between his skin and hers, the contact was enough to stir up old memories, making her skin tingle. Which was completely inappropriate, and it made her feel so out of sorts that she snapped, ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

  His gaze flicked down to her bump and up to her face again. ‘I rather think there is.’

  ‘Look, I’m not expecting anything from you. I haven’t come here looking for financial support or anything like that. I’m not planning to sell an exclusive to the gossip columns. I just thought you had a right to know about the baby’s existence, that’s all.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry that the palace made it difficult for you to get in touch with me.’

  So was she. But, when she thought about it, she could kind of understand it. ‘You’re a prince. For all they knew, I could’ve been some crazed stalker.’

  ‘You’re the sister of my best friend,’ Antonio said.

  And the mother of his child. Though he hadn’t said as much.

  ‘And yet again I owe you an apology. I seem to be making a habit of not contacting you.’

  He could say that again.

  He’d done it twice now. She wasn’t setting herself up for a third mistake, where Antonio Valenti was concerned. How did the saying go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

  She’d been quite enough of a fool. Though at least he wasn’t offering some flimsy excuse. On the other hand, a simple ‘sorry’ might have been nice. He’d said he owed her an apology, but he hadn’t actually given her an apology, had he?

  ‘Tia, please stay. I’m still in the middle of processing the fact that I’m going to be a father,’ he said. ‘And we have a lot to talk about. But, first, I’m going to organise that cup of tea. And you’ve come all the way from London, so I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat.’

  ‘I had a sandwich on the plane.’ Half a sandwich. It had made her feel sick. Or maybe that had been nerves at the idea of coming here to tell Antonio about the baby.

  ‘Airline food,’ Antonio said, ‘isn’t the most wonderful.’

  ‘I don’t want to bother your kitchen staff.’

  He smiled. ‘You won’t be bothering them. Come to my apartment. I’ll make you a mug of tea and a sandwich myself. Or pasta.’ He spread his hands. ‘Or whatever it is you’d like to eat.’

  She blinked at him, trying to take it in. He was offering to make her some food? Seriously? ‘But princes don’t cook.’

  ‘They do if they’re in the army,’ he said. ‘If they want their team to respect them, they take their turn doing everything. And I mean everything. I’ve done my share of cleaning duties, too.’

  ‘Oh.’ She really hadn’t expected that. Even though he’d made her a mug of tea himself, that night in London.

  ‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘And I’ll carry your bags.’

  ‘I don’t have any luggage. I have a seat on the late flight back to London via Rome, tonight,’ she said. ‘I only came to tell you about the baby. I wasn’t planning to stay.’

  ‘Don’t go. Please.’ He blew out a breath. ‘We really do have a lot to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve followed the news about Casavalle, but an awful lot has been going on here. It’s wall-to-wall scandal sheet stuff. The media is going to take one look at you, rub their hands with glee and start digging for more scandal.’

  She hadn’t thought of that. ‘But they don’t know why I’m here.’

  ‘They’ll speculate. It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not. They’ll suggest whatever gives them the most readers. They’ll talk to anyone who knows you and dredge up any hint of scandal. Your mother is going to be a sitting target for them. From now until at least when the baby’s born, you’re all going to need my protection,’ he continued. ‘Which includes the help of Miles Montague. And, as you know, almost nothing gets through Miles. Even when sometimes it should.’

  There was a rap on the office door.

  ‘Yes,’ Antonio said.

  The palace secretary himself opened the door to his office. ‘Sir? Miss Phillips? Is everything all right?’ he asked, looking concerned.

  ‘It will be,’
Antonio said. ‘Miles, I’ll brief you properly later. But for now this isn’t to be discussed anywhere or with anyone—and that includes my mother, Luca and Gabriella.’

  There was a slight note of warning in his tone, and the older man flushed as he walked over to his desk. ‘Of course, sir.’

  Antonio sighed. ‘I’ll talk to them when I’m ready,’ he said, and this time his voice was a little gentler. ‘If anyone needs me urgently in the next hour or so, we’ll be in my apartment. But I’d appreciate it if you could stall anyone if possible, Miles. Tia and I really need to talk in private and without interruptions.’

  ‘Of course. If you need anything...’

  Antonio patted his shoulder. ‘You’re there. I know. And I’m grateful for that.’

  Miles nodded, then looked at Tia, his expression awkward. ‘I apologise, Miss Phillips, for earlier. When you called the office, and when you first came here.’

  It had upset her, but she could understand why he’d acted that way. ‘You were doing your job,’ she said. ‘Protecting the Prince.’

  ‘And Tia’s going to be under your protection now, too,’ Antonio said. ‘I’ll brief you shortly. Tia, come with me.’ He looked at her and added swiftly, ‘Please.’

  Good. Because she wasn’t Antonio’s subject or his employee, and she wasn’t going to let him order her about.

  The palace had seemed daunting enough from the outside: a massive white stone building with towers and turrets and spires and huge windows; a long driveway lined with enormous Norway spruces covered alternately with blue and white lights; and huge entrance doors at the top of the sweeping granite steps. Tia had found the interior even more daunting, with the enormous foyer that felt more like a cathedral space, with a Christmas tree that had to be a good forty feet tall; the angel on top was close to touching the ceiling, and it was beautifully decorated with what looked like priceless one-of-a-kind baubles, one of which seemed to be in a special display. Crowds actually came in to the palace to see the tree, which was how Tia had managed to slip in and ask to see the palace secretary in the first place.