Soldier Prince's Secret Baby Gift

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.

‘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.