SUSAN MEIER - Royal Babies - Claiming His Secret Royal Heir / Pregnant with a Royal Baby! / Secret Child, Royal Scandal

Heat touched the angle of her cheekbones as she acknowledged the truth of his words. ‘I know. I’m not sure what you want to do. I don’t know what you want him to call you. Dad? Daddy? Papa?’

In truth he didn’t know either, and that increased his panic. Sunita stepped towards him, and the compassion in her eyes added fuel to the panic-induced anger.

‘But remember, he is only fourteen months old—I don’t think he understands the concept of having a dad.’

The words were a stark reminder of her deception.

‘Amil doesn’t understand or you don’t?’

The harshness of his voice propelled her backwards, and he was glad of it when he saw the compassion vanish from her expression.

‘Both of us. Give me a break, Frederick. Until yesterday it was just Amil and me. Now here you are, and you want to marry me and make Amil the Crown Prince. It’s a lot to take in.’

For an instant he empathised, heard the catch in her voice under the anger. But this was no time for empathy or sympathy. Now all that mattered was the knowledge of what was at stake.

‘Then take it in fast, Sunita. You chose to hide Amil from me and now you need to deal with the consequences of that decision. Most people wouldn’t think they were so bad. I am the one who has missed out on the first fourteen months of my son’s life. My son. I am Amil’s father and you need to deal with it.’

There was silence, broken only by the sound of Amil grizzling, his eyes wide and anxious as he looked up at Sunita.

Oh, hell. Guilt twisted his chest. What was wrong with him? This was his first outing with Amil and he’d allowed it to come to this. Shades of his own father, indeed.

He squatted down beside the baby. ‘I’m sorry, Amil. Daddy’s sorry.’ Standing up, he gestured to the Old Woman’s Shoe. ‘You take him up. I’ll wait here with the buggy. I’ve upset him enough—I don’t want to compound my error.’

Sunita hesitated, but then Amil’s grizzling turned to tears and she nodded assent.

‘OK.’ Leaning down, she unbuckled Amil and took him out. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s try some walking.’

Frederick watched their progress and determination solidified inside him. He might be messing this up big-time, but he would not concede defeat. At the very least he would give his son the chance to be a prince. Their outing to the Hanging Gardens might be a disaster, but going to Goa wouldn’t be.

By the end of their time there Sunita would agree to marry him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SUNITA LOOKED ACROSS the expanse of the royal jet to where Frederick sat. There was no trace of the man she’d glimpsed mere hours ago in the Hanging Gardens—a man who had exhibited a depth of pain and frustration that had made her think long and hard.

Another glance—he still looked cool, regal and remote, and she couldn’t read any emotion or discern what thoughts might be in his mind. Which would make what she had to say all the more difficult.

For a moment she nearly turned craven. No. This was the right thing to do and she would do it.

‘Frederick?’

‘Sunita.’

‘Can we talk?’

‘Of course.’ He pushed his netbook across the table, rose and crossed to sit in the luxurious leather seat next to hers. ‘Shoot.’

‘I’ve thought about what you said earlier. About me having to accept that you are Amil’s father.’

He raised a hand. ‘It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said what I did.’

‘It does matter. I don’t see how we can even consider a future together until we resolve our past. So I want to say I’m sorry.’

She twisted her hands together on her lap, recalling Frederick’s expression when he’d looked at Amil as if his son was the most precious being in the universe.

‘I’m sorry you missed out on Amil’s first months.’

However justified her decision, Frederick could never have that time back—would never be able to hold his newborn son in his arms, see his first smile, run his finger over his gum to reveal that first tooth.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘OK.’

‘But it’s not OK, is it?’

‘No.’ He closed his eyes, then reopened them. ‘No. It isn’t OK that you hid my son’s existence from me.’

‘I couldn’t take the risk.’

‘Yes. You could have. You chose not to.’

Rationalisations lined up in her vocal cords but she uttered none of them. Bottom line—he was right. Her choice had meant Frederick had missed out on something infinitely precious.

‘Yes, I did. And all the reasons I gave you earlier were true. But it’s more than that.’

She inhaled deeply. She had no wish to confide this to him—she wasn’t even sure she wanted to acknowledge it herself. But there it was again—the memory of the way Frederick had looked at Amil, the fact that he wanted to be part of his son’s life and wanted to create a stable family unit. He deserved a true explanation.

‘I thought history was repeating itself. I thought you would be like...’ Her voice trailed off, her brain wishing it could reverse track and pull the words back.

‘Like who?’

The gentleness of his voice surprised her—gave her the momentum to carry on.

‘Like my father. He was a Londoner, on holiday in India with a group of friends when he met my mother. They fell in love—or so she believed. She fell pregnant and she did choose to tell him, and all she could see was a tornado of dust as he disappeared. Straight back, road-runner-style, to his fiancée in London.’

Even now the enormity of her father’s selfishness had the power to stun her—he must have understood the repercussions. They would have been complex enough in any culture, but in India there had been added layers of complication that transcended even betrayal and heartbreak.

Understanding showed in the expression on Frederick’s face. ‘That must have been tough for your mother.’

‘Yes. It was. It changed the entire trajectory of her life. Her family was horrified and threw her out—she was only nineteen, and she had to fend for herself in a society which by and large had condemned her. And a lot of that is down to my father and his rejection of her—and me. I know we were in different circumstances—you didn’t lie to me—but I knew you didn’t want children. I didn’t want to hear you say the same words my own father had—I didn’t want Amil to feel the sense of rejection I did.’

Sunita forced herself to hold his gaze, to keep her tone level. This verged on the excruciating—touchy-feely confidences were not her bag at all.

‘It seemed better, easier, less painful, to bring Amil up on my own. I figured what he didn’t know and you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt anyone.’

There was a silence, and then he reached out, touching her forearm lightly. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to your mother and to you. I promise you—I will never reject Amil.’

There could be no doubt as to the sincerity in his voice, and in the here and now she believed he meant every word. But she knew that good intentions did not always turn into actions. Her father must have once believed the empty promises he’d made to make up for his past, to be a good parent.

‘It will not happen,’ he repeated, as if he sensed her doubts. ‘And now let’s put the past behind us. I wish you had told me about Amil earlier, but I do understand why you made the choices you did. I believe now that we need to move forward, put the past behind us and focus on our present and our future. Deal?’

He held out his hand and Sunita looked down at it. So perfect—strong, masculine, capable... Capable of the gentlest of caresses, capable of...

Close it down, Sunita.

Too late—images scrambled her mind and for a moment she was unable to help herself. She closed her eyes, let the sensation dance over her skin. But it was more than desire—she knew that this deal signified understanding and forgiveness, and that made her head whirl as well.