Soldier Prince's Secret Baby Gift

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.

It was magnificent. But it was also very formal, and it didn’t leave her with the warmth she felt with their own Christmas tree back in London, with its decorations that had been collected year after year by her mother and every single one of them had meaning and memories. Their rather threadbare artificial Christmas tree didn’t go up until the week before Christmas; here, it was early November and already everything was in its place. Then again, she supposed, things were different with the public rooms of a palace; visitors would expect to see decorations on display this early.

Behind the beautiful garlands of fir and pine on the mantels and staircases, the rooms were richly decorated, with cream walls and lots of gold everywhere. There were huge windows, large mirrors that reflected the light back from the windows and the crystal and gold chandeliers and made the rooms seem even more massive, ceilings covered with priceless paintings, Christmas trees in every room whose decorations she suspected had been put in place with a ruler measuring the precise distance between each one, enormous exotic poinsettias gracing side tables, sweeping staircases leading into long corridors, luxurious carpets you literally sank into as you walked on them…

It was another world, one where the likes of Tia could never fit in.

And it was overwhelming.

Tia was aware that Antonio was talking to her as he ushered her up the sweeping staircase to his first-floor apartment, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. All she could see was the regal magnificence of their surroundings, and it left her feeling more and more out of place.

Finally he opened a door and indicated to her to enter.

His sitting room was much more ordinary than the rest of the palace. The furniture here didn’t look too antique and too priceless to touch, let alone sit on, and to her relief there was much less gold in evidence. There were photographs on the mantelpiece in what looked like solid gold frames, mainly of what she assumed was Antonio’s family; but there were also photographs of Antonio’s team in the army, and tears pricked her eyelids when she recognised her brother among them.

‘Let me get you that tea,’ Antonio said, ushering her into the kitchen—a sizeable room by normal standards, but thankfully smaller than the rooms she’d seen so far in the palace.

‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

‘What would you like to eat?’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not really hungry.’

He gave her a speaking look. ‘You’re pregnant. You need to eat.’