The Prince's Pregnant Mistress

“How often do you get a shower at thirty thousand feet? I thought that if I didn’t at least give it a try, I would be seriously failing in the luxury stakes.”

“Well, you will have ample opportunity to use the facilities again. Even if I upgrade jets, it will still have a shower.”

“You’re assuming that I will be making use of your jet in the future.”

“Of course, you’re marrying me. Pretending otherwise is ridiculous.” He grabbed hold of her elbow, leading her from the plane, carefully helping her down the steps. “Now, come get in the car.”

She sputtered, “Just because you say nothing else makes sense does not mean that nothing else makes sense.”

He opened the door to the car, gesturing for her to get in. She shot him a deadly glare, then complied. He got in beside her, slamming the door shut. “You seem to be misunderstanding,” he said, feeling very much like he was speaking a different language. Because Bailey seemed to persist in misunderstanding him. “I am the ruler of Santa Firenze. No one in my family has produced an illegitimate child. Not one. No one in my family has ever been divorced. We are a hallowed and storied lineage. I am offering you a chance to become part of it. The fact that you have rejected me is outrageous on so many levels I cannot even begin to list them all.”

“By all means,” she said, leaning back in her seat. “List them. If you have time.”

“It isn’t that long of a drive to the castle.”

She blinked. “Castle?”

“What part of prince are you having trouble comprehending? I speak very good English, though Italian is my first language. You, however, are making me question my linguistic skills.”

“I would hate to be the cause of you questioning your linguistics. I’m sure that they’re fantastic.”

“They can’t be overly fantastic, because you do not seem to understand anything of what I am telling you.” There was no point arguing.

She would understand the moment his family home came into view. It was the jewel of Santa Firenze. Settled in the middle of the Alps, overlooking one of the deepest and bluest lakes in Europe, craggy peaks rising up around it. She would understand then. What he was offering. Understand what a gift he was presenting her with.

As the car made its way down the narrow, winding two-lane road, Bailey insisted on shifting constantly in her seat and letting out long, huffy sighs.

“Your distress is noted,” he said.

“Not overly. You keep accusing me of not understanding, and yet I think you’re the one who has not fully taken on board that I am not happy about this.”

“I am offering you marriage. Legitimacy for your child, an end to your financial concerns.”

“About that,” she snapped. “Where was your offer to end my financial concerns when I was working double shifts at that horrible restaurant? As I was killing myself to get through college, and you were presenting yourself as a businessman there on your company’s dime?”

“Would you have accepted my offer of financial assistance?”

Her face went blank then, her mouth settling into a stubborn line. “Yes,” she said.

“You’re a terrible liar. You would not have accepted. Not from Raphael the businessman. And you seem to like Raphael the prince a lot less.”

“That’s because the first time I met Raphael the prince was when he was breaking up with me at midnight after what I had thought was a very romantic date. Only then you threw me out into the snow.”

“I wanted a clean break. I felt it was better for both of us.”

“Don’t try to convince me that you lost any sleep over any of that.”

He had. She had no idea. He had lost countless hours of sleep, lying there hard and aching, wanting something that only she could give to him. She had cast a spell over him from the moment he had first seen her, and he had never been able to explain it. He only knew that she affected him in a way no other woman ever had. And it had nothing to do with skill.

He could remember the first time she had knelt down before him and taken him into her mouth. The way that she had tasted him, with shy, timid strokes of her tongue, how she had taken him in as deep as she could, her every movement uncertain. It was not her skill that enticed, but her sincerity. Her intense dedication to him. He was a man who had always felt a certain level of worship was his due, but it meant so much more coming from such a willing supplicant, rather than a trained one.

So yes, he had lost sleep. He’d had no desire to touch another woman, and, in fact, that had worked to his advantage, since he had purposed that he would not until his wedding night with Allegra. In that time he had attempted to drum up some kind of enthusiasm for the woman he was engaged to. But he had found none. Allegra was beautiful, with golden skin and dark, shimmering curls.

But he had craved the pale, flaxen-haired beauty of Bailey.

It was all vaguely ridiculous. He was fantasizing about a university student named Bailey. Princess Bailey.

But that was the thing with honor. It was supposed to matter even if it was hard. A truly strong oak didn’t bend in the wind, and neither could the ruler of Santa Firenze.

As a boy, when he’d hurt himself, his father had not allowed his mother or the servants to comfort him. It had been up to him to breathe through the pain and carry on. That, his father had told him once, was how a man learned to soldier on in all things. If you could do it with a cut, you would do it with an emotional wound, too.

When he was older, his father had told him it applied to other physical aches, as well. A man might want a certain woman, might burn for her, but if there was potential a dalliance would harm the country, that craving—like all other harmful desires—had to be cast aside.

The prince of Santa Firenze could have whatever his heart desired. And that was why his heart, soul and sense of honor had to be made strong.

Raphael knew that he was strong. Had been, utterly and completely all his life.

Until her.

It was truly ridiculous. But here they were. And she, somehow, felt like she was in a position to play hardball.

The limo wound itself around the last curve, and, finally, the stately palace gates came into view. Wrought iron and scrolling, the family crest emblazoned upon them. They parted for the car as if by magic, and the limo rolled through a lane lined with hedges until they reached the magnificent courtyard in front of the palace.

The ground was overlaid with brick. A giant fountain dominated the center. At its top was a golden statue and there were many others fashioned from marble all around, representing the great leaders of his country. His very bloodline carved into stone in front of this hallowed castle that had housed generations.

He looked over at her and was satisfied to see that, finally, she had the decency to look impressed. She was staring up at the castle, at its turrets, with ivy climbing up the side and the blue-and-white flags of his country waving in the breeze from the very top of the shining palace.

“This is my home,” he said, stating the obvious for dramatic effect. “And when you are my wife, it will be your home. When our child is born, it will be his home. Do you still think you should raise him in an apartment in Colorado with your roommate?”

“I... I had no idea.”

“It is not my fault you don’t pay attention to current affairs. Or perhaps it is my fault, for keeping my country financially sound and free of most of the conflicts that happen in the world. We have very few reasons to be in the news because the citizens are happy, the coffers are full and we have no national security crises or natural disasters to speak of.”

“Is this Narnia?”

“If it were, then a breath would turn all of the statues back to flesh. However, it is the real world. And they are only stone.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “Then all I would have to do is walk back to the wardrobe and I could be free of you.”

She was mutinous. And he had never dealt with mutiny before. Like his father before him, he’d made Santa Firenze his life. Nothing had ever come before it. And as such, no one in his country had ever had cause for complaint.

“You don’t actually want to be free of me,” he said. How could she? “You’re putting up a fight because you have an idea of what your life should be. I would argue that you are putting up a fight additionally because you have an idea of what consequences you should suffer for your sins.”

“My sins?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, “your sins. You think you should be punished for this. Because you allowed yourself to get pregnant. And now you must pay penance. The sad, single mother, waiting tables, having been abandoned by her lover. It’s a very nice narrative, but it is not a situation you find yourself in. You have a man willing to step up and take responsibility. More than a man, you have a prince. Saying anything but an emphatic yes is a waste of your resources.”

She looked up at the palace, her eyes wide, her lips parted slightly. He was struck in that moment by the fullness of her beauty. Just as he had been the first time he’d seen her. And now she was carrying his child. She would be his wife.