Pregnant!: Prince and Future...Dad? / Expecting! / Millionaire Cop & Mum-To-Be

‘‘You didn’t let me finish.’’ Her lips felt swollen, tender. Hot. She had to resist the urge to raise a hand and touch them. ‘‘I was going to say we’d go to dinner, if you’d like.’’

‘‘Dinner.’’ It clearly was not what he’d had in mind.

‘‘Yes, dinner. We’ll talk. We’ll…enjoy each other’s company.’’

‘‘I’m all for enjoyment, in any form.’’

‘‘It’s a date, then—say seven-thirty, my house?’’

‘‘I’ll be there.’’

She felt his heart beating under her hand. And it was crazy, but she could have stood there forever, with Finn, in her mother’s driveway, surrounded by warm summer darkness, beneath the old oak tree. ‘‘I…well, I guess there are things to be said for relentless pursuit.’’

He caught one of her hands and kissed the tops of her knuckles, causing them to tingle in a heady, lovely way. ‘‘I assure you, my darling, I have only begun to assail the walls around your stubborn heart.’’

Chapter Eight

Liv’s cell phone rang as she was pulling in beneath the carport at the back of her borrowed house on T Street. She dug the thing out of her purse and flipped it open.

The number in the display was to Simon’s cell.

For a moment of which she was not the least bit proud, she considered not answering. Then, thoroughly disgusted with herself, she pushed the talk button and put the phone to her ear.

‘‘Liv?’’

‘‘Hi.’’

‘‘At last, I caught you.’’ He sounded…she couldn’t tell. Worried? Suspicious? Maybe he had read about her and Finn in the tabloids.

‘‘Liv? Are you there?’’

‘‘Right here. And it’s been pretty crazy, since I got back. I should have called you, I know, but I…’’ She what? There was no excuse for not having called him. She finished lamely, ‘‘Well, it’s been such a zoo….’’

‘‘Where are you now?’’

‘‘I just got home—to the T Street house?’’ She pressed her fingers to her lips. It seemed as if she could still feel the hot pressure of Finn’s mouth there. Fifteen minutes ago, in her mother’s driveway, with Finn’s arms around her, she’d felt pretty good about everything. She was finally taking charge, dealing with the mess she’d made in a way that everyone involved—meaning herself and her family and Finn and the baby that might or might not be coming—could accept.

Simon hadn’t figured in the equation. She hadn’t so much as considered him. Which made her feel like something very low—a snail, a slug—something that crawls along the ground and leaves a slime trail.

‘‘Liv, are you all right?’’

‘‘Fine. Really. And where has the future senator dragged you off to this week?’’

‘‘Right here,’’ he said, and again named the hotel he’d mentioned in his phone message yesterday. ‘‘Remember, the rally today?’’

‘‘Oh. Yes. The rally. Of course.’’ The one she’d promised to attend. ‘‘I’m sorry, Simon. As I said, it’s just been—’’

‘‘Never mind,’’ he said glumly. ‘‘It’s okay.’’

They both knew it wasn’t. She asked, too brightly, ‘‘How did it go?’’

‘‘Great.’’

‘‘Well. Hey. Okay.’’

‘‘We’re leaving for Salinas tomorrow. He’s got a speech Wednesday, the UFW branch there. I was hoping, maybe, I could see you tonight.’’

‘‘Ah,’’ she said, as if that were an answer.

He asked nervously, ‘‘Where have you been, anyway?’’

‘‘Dinner. At Mom’s.’’ It was the truth, just not all of it. Oh, she despised herself more by the minute.

‘‘Well,’’ he said, all glumness again. ‘‘It is late. I’m sure you’re tired.’’

No more excuses, she lectured herself. She had to stop putting this off. ‘‘Why don’t you come over.’’

‘‘Right now?’’

‘‘Yes.’’

‘‘Good,’’ he said, suddenly firm. ‘‘I think I should. I think we need to talk.’’

Simon appeared at the door ten minutes later. Liv saw the paper rolled in his fist and knew he’d been reading about her supposed engagement to Finn.

‘‘The World Tattler,’’ he said, and tried to smile. ‘‘Hot off the presses.’’

The World Tattler was jam-packed with photos of her and Finn at the airport yesterday. The story included the obligatory rehash of the old, sad tale of how her mother, an American heiress of Gullandrian descent, had traveled to the land of her forefathers and met Osrik Thorson, the soon-to-be king. After a whirlwind fairy-tale courtship, they’d wed; she’d borne him five children—two sons and triplet daughters—and then left him, taking the three tiny princesses to raise as Americans. The deaths of Liv’s brothers received mention under the heading, Tragedy Upon Tragedy. And then there was the bit about Elli and Hauk: The Princess And Her Warrior Groom.

And last but not least, the intrepid Tattler staff had managed to dig up a few pictures of Finn escorting past girlfriends. The caption read, Former Flames Of The Playboy Prince. Liv couldn’t help noting that the women were all gorgeous, much better looking than she. One was a fairly well known Danish actress with absolutely spectacular breasts. All the women seemed to glow from within, as if they’d found true love at last.

‘‘Charming,’’ Liv said with a scowl.

‘‘Liv, what is going on?’’ Simon looked at her as if she’d stabbed him to the heart. ‘‘Are you marrying this guy?’’

‘‘No.’’

‘‘But—’’

‘‘Simon.’’

‘‘Yes?’’ He looked at her desperately, longing for her to explain.

There was nothing to explain. In fact, there was only one thing to say. ‘‘I’m sorry, Simon. I’ve behaved badly. Things are…suddenly all turned around in my life. I asked you here to tell you I won’t be seeing you anymore.’’

‘‘You mean you’re in love with this guy?’’

‘‘No.’’ She said it far too quickly, as if she had to deny it to herself, which was crazy. Of course, she wasn’t in love with Finn. She was…kind of nuts about him, okay. A little bit out of her head when he was around. It was purely physical, and she was ashamed to admit her own—oh, what to call it—her purely sexual weakness? But as to her heart? It wasn’t involved.