SUSAN MEIER - Pregnant With A Royal Baby!

But the strange look in his eyes kept her from saying that. He didn’t seem embarrassed by his family as much as he appeared interested in what she thought of them. He wanted her to like them. Or approve of them. Or maybe just accept them.

She walked over to him, her ugly dyed blue pumps clicking on the marble floor, echoing in the silence. “I’m very accustomed to dealing with ornery dads. I was fine. Your father and brother might be a little grouchy or stern or even too flip, but I’d have paid to have family like them.”

He sniffed a laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious.” She smiled slightly. “Your brother needs a week of time-out in his room to get his act together, or maybe a good friend to talk through his life. Your dad lost his wife and lived his grief in the public eye. And you just want to live up to what your dad wants. You’re actually a very normal family.” Something she’d longed for her entire life. Something that could suck her in if she wasn’t careful. “Good night.”

* * *

As she turned to walk back to her bedroom suite, Dominic whispered, “Good night,” confused by what she’d said. From what his investigators had dug up, her father was dead. Her mother adored her and she had a billion friends.

So what was that sad note he heard in her voice?

And why the hell would she have wanted his family?

He told himself it couldn’t matter and walked to his suite, removing his tie. But the next day when she arrived at the table for breakfast, he jumped to his feet, feeling something he couldn’t quite identify. He didn’t see her in the red dress, dancing provocatively, happily seducing him. He saw a fresh-faced American girl who had something in her past. Something his private investigator hadn’t dug up, but something that made her more than accepting of his stiff and formal father, and sometimes-obnoxious playboy brother.

He pulled out the chair beside his. “What would you like to eat?”

“I’d like one of those oranges,” she said, pointing at the fruit in the bowl on the buffet behind the table. “And some toast.”

“That’s it?”

She shrugged. “It’s all I’m hungry for.”

He rang for a serving girl and made her request for toast and a glass of water. She plucked an orange from the bowl and began to peel it.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes.”

“You remember we meet with the minister of protocol this morning?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

His nerves jangled and he cursed himself. They were entering into a pretend marriage for the sake of their child. It was her prerogative if she didn’t want to get too chummy with him.

Still, it didn’t seem right not to say anything while they ate breakfast.

“If you decide to stay and marry me, we’ll have your mom flown over, not just for the wedding but for the preparations.”

“My mom still teaches.”

“Oh.”

“I’m twenty-five. She had me when she was twenty-five. That makes her fifty.” She peeked up from her orange and smiled at him. “Too young to retire.”

“You said she likes teaching.”

“She loves teaching.”

And the conversation died. Frustration rolled through him. As her toast arrived, he tried to think of something to say; nothing came to him.

She pulled one of the many newspapers provided for him from the stack on the end of the table and began reading. Even as he was glad she was a smart woman who appeared to be up on current events and most likely wouldn’t embarrass him, he scowled internally, realizing reading the paper was a good way to avoid talking to him.

After breakfast, they walked along tall-ceilinged corridors to the first floor of the palace and the office of the minister of protocol, their footsteps the only sound around them. If a servant caught a peek at Dominic, he or she froze in place and bowed as he passed by. He barely noticed until he caught a sideways glance at Ginny’s face and saw it scrunch in confusion.

“I don’t like the fuss.”

She peeked over. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t like the fuss. But respect is part of the deal. To be an effective leader, your subjects must respect you. Trust you to rule well. Bowing is a sign that they trust you.”

“Interesting.”

Annoyance skittered through him. “It’s not ‘interesting.’ It’s true.”

“Okay. Maybe I said that wrong. What I should have said was it’s interesting that it’s true because it gives me a whole different perspective of you as a leader. It helps me to see you as a leader.”

It shouldn’t have relieved him so much that she agreed. But he told himself it only mattered because he needed for her to respect him, too, for the years they’d be married.

Finally at the back of the building, they took an elevator to the first floor to the working space of the palace.

“Holy cow. This is big.”

“It’s huge.” He pointed to the right. “The king’s offices are over there. My offices and my brother’s are near his. To the left,” he said, motioning toward a long hall, “are the general offices. This is where our ministers and staff work.”

* * *

Not able to see the end of the hall, Ginny blinked. It went so far it was almost like looking at an optical illusion.

He smiled. “I know. Impressive.”

She said, “Right.” But when her gaze swung around to his, she was no longer talking about the size of the palace. Everything about being royalty was bigger, better, grander than anything she’d ever seen or experienced. The truth of being a commoner washed through her again. His family might have normal bickering siblings with a traditional disciplinarian dad, but she couldn’t forget they were rulers. Rich, powerful. The kind of family she shouldn’t even cross paths with, let alone marry into.

“This way.”

He took her elbow to guide her and sparkly little pinpricks skittered up her arm. She didn’t know which was worse—being incredibly attracted to him or her good reaction to his brother and dad. Either one of them could get her into trouble. She shouldn’t have admitted the night before that she’d have loved to have had a family like his. She could see it had made him curious. She’d tried to downplay it by being distant that morning, but she knew they were going to talk about this and she knew he had every right to ask. The question was: How did one explain living with a cheating, lying, thieving alcoholic to someone raised with such structure, such finery?

The minister of protocol turned out to be a short older woman whose green eyes lit when Ginny and Dominic entered the room.

She rose from her seat. “Prince Dominic!” She rounded the desk and hugged him. “I hear congratulations are in order. You’re about to have a baby!”

It was the first time anybody had actually been happy about her pregnancy or spoken of her baby as a baby, instead of a ruler or a prince or the guy who would be king. Ginny’s heart filled with warmth and she forgot all about her dad, her past, her rubbish upbringing and the fear that someday she’d have to explain it all to Dominic.

The minister turned to Ginny. “And you.” Her smile was warm, but didn’t reach her eyes. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding. Welcome to our home.”

Stifling the urge to curtsy and the vague feeling that the minister didn’t quite think her good enough, she said, “Thank you. But I still haven’t made a decision on the marriage.”

Dominic took over the introductions. “Virginia, this is Sally Peterson, our minister of protocol.”

“You may call me Sally.” She motioned to the chairs in front of her desk.

“Because Virginia is on the fence, I thought perhaps you could better explain to her why our getting married is a good idea.”