I stare at his deep, golden-brown eyes, seeing softness there. I place my palm over his. “I don’t want you to.”
He curls his fingers around mine, bringing my fingers to his lips. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to stay.”
My chest constricts. I feel woozy and anxious and weak from the drugs they must have given me for the operation, and the fact that I haven’t seen my son since he was born.
I feel almost like I’ve lost something. I got so used to feeling my child’s movements inside me and now…it’s all over. A part of me is just gone.
But there’s another feeling, too—a deep sense of rightness. Being here, with Wolfe, it feels like exactly where I’m meant to be. The softness in his face, and the tenderness of his touch—they make me feel like pushing him away was the wrong thing to do. I already feel like the Summer Palace is home. How could I ever tell Wolfe I didn’t want him? The only thing missing from my life for the past few months has been his presence.
He lays a soft kiss on my fingers, then my palm, and stands up to push my wheelchair out of the room. I lean back, exhausted yet wired, watching the hospital hallway roll past. Wolfe’s steps are sure, and any staff we cross steps out of the way and bows in deference. He must like that. They’re much better at deference than I am.
One more turn down a hallway marked ’Neonatal Intensive Care Unit’, and I see a room full of tiny bassinets. My heart squeezes so hard there must be no blood left in it at all. So many tiny little babies in need of help—and one of them is mine.
Wolfe wheels me past the ward to a small adjacent room. “They put him in a private room,” he says. “So I could visit him often.”
Stopping in front of an incubator, the Prince engages the brakes on my wheelchair and drops a hand to my shoulder. My bottom lip trembles. I press my nose to the clear plastic dome, feeling my heart shatter right there in my chest.
He’s so tiny. So fragile and precious. Hooked up to oxygen and tiny tubes, sleeping gently. There’s a tiny little hat on his head, and a diaper covering his lower half. It’s way too big for him.
Tears spill over my cheeks, and Wolfe wraps his arms around me. “He’s going to be okay,” he whispers in my ear. “They said he’s getting better at breathing on his own.”
Is that supposed to make me feel better? I cry on Wolfe’s shoulder as my whole world twists before my eyes. I’ve spent the past eight months feeling like I finally have a purpose—like I can see clearly for the first time—and it was almost taken away from me.
With the pads of his thumbs, Wolfe wipes the tears from my eyes. He holds my face until I meet his gaze and kisses each of my cheeks.
“I’m here, Rowan,” he says gently. “I’m not going to leave unless you tell me to. We’ll do this together.”
An ugly sob rakes through my body. God, I must look like a mess. How can he look at me with soft eyes like that? How can there be any sort of love in his face?
But it’s there. The love I’ve been missing. The affection I’ve been craving. It’s written all over Wolfe’s face, and soaked into every one of his movements. A strand of hair is plastered to my forehead and cheek, and Wolfe gently pushes it back.
“This isn’t how I wanted you to see me.” I feel slightly pathetic right now, but all I can do is lean into his touch and close my eyes, one hand still resting on the plastic dome over our baby’s incubator.
Our baby.
For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, it feels like I’m not alone. Opening my eyes, I look at Wolfe. At his smooth forehead with black hair curling at the temples. His beautiful eyes and fine, straight nose. At those lips I’ve missed kissing, tugged in a soft smile.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Rowan. Now more than ever.” He rests his forehead against mine, letting out a long sigh. “You’re the mother of my son and the love of my life.”
I back away, eyes wide.
Wolfe laughs. “Don’t act so surprised. You must know I’m in love with you.”
“Why would I know that?”
“Because my whole life has revolved around doing whatever you want ever since I met you. Because I’ve been locked away on my own since you left. Because seeing our son for the first time was the happiest and most terrifying moment of my life.” He sucks in a breath, smoothing his thumb over my cheek. “Because I can’t imagine going another day without you. Don’t make me walk through life alone, Rowan. I…I need you. I love you so much it hurts.”
Tears are streaming down my face now. I can’t help it. My walls just crumble right there, turning to dust at my feet. I’m done fighting this. I don’t want to push him away. I don’t want to think about all the complications of being with a Prince, when I know that the alternative feels like hell.
He’s here, with me, in my darkest hour. Wolfe is supporting me as I heal from this traumatic birth. He loves me and the baby.
As he wipes another tear off my cheek, I realize how wrong I was. It was never better for me to leave. Being independent means nothing if there’s no one to share it with. Giving my child a better life is impossible if I take him away from a loving father.
And Wolfe? He doesn’t care about controversy. I wasn’t doing him a favor by leaving. I would never be a burden by staying.
He wants me.
He wanted me when I was healthy and full of snark. He wanted me when I was desperate for him, clawing to tear his clothes off. He wanted me when I left. And he still wants me now, when I’m weak, ailing, sweaty, and full of stitches.
“I love you, Rowan,” he says softly. “With everything I have.”
Emotion wells up inside me, and I feel like I’m seeing a future I never imagined. I could be happy with someone—with Wolfe. I could have love and laughter and children. I could have the support of a strong partner, while still feeling like myself.
“I…I think I love you too,” I whisper, lip trembling.
Wolfe’s face looks like the sun. His smile brightens the dim room, his eyes shining bright. He kisses me then, trembling against my lips as I cling onto his shoulders like he’s the last life raft in a stormy ocean.
When we pull apart, I sniffle, glancing at our son. “I don’t want to stop designing buildings, though. I don’t want to sit in a castle doing nothing. I want our son to grow up knowing where he came from.”
“I’ll never stop you from doing what you love, Rowan.” Wolfe presses his lips to mine, holding me as if he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers. “So long as you tell me you’re mine.”
I smile softly, leaning my head against his shoulder. Wolfe wraps one arm around me, then interlaces the fingers of his other hand in mine and places our joined hands on the incubator. I inhale his scent, letting his love soak into every pore. Then I nod. “I’m yours, Wolfe. I always have been.”
He lets out a long sigh, then drags a chair beside me, puts his arm around my shoulders, and we both turn to stare at the tiny creation that brought us back together.
Three, together, forever.
Epilogue
Rowan
Accepting Wolfe’s love is a kind of release I’ve never experienced before. Throughout my pregnancy, I thought I understood my mother’s decisions. I understood that I wasn’t a burden to her, but I still held onto my need for independence.
What I realize with Wolfe is that independence doesn’t have to mean being alone. I can be with him—and accept all the support that comes with being associated with the royal family—without feeling like I’m leeching off him.
Because I’m giving him something, too—love. Companionship. Partnership.
It’s just like my relationship with my mother. I didn’t realize that she was getting love and fulfillment from me, even though she had to work hard to provide for me. Relationships aren’t about carrying another person—they’re about leaning on each other and being stronger together than you ever could be alone, no matter how independent you think you are.
Wolfe’s stren
gth is something I desperately need as we stay in the hospital and wait for our son to recover. The first time I hold him in my arms, Wolfe is beside me. His eyes shine as he watches me and the baby, and I know this moment is even more special with him beside me.
I run my fingers over the baby’s soft, black hair, laying a kiss on his forehead. He’s so small. So incredibly beautiful.
“What do you want to name him?” Wolfe asks, putting a palm on the baby’s back. His hand is so big it covers our son’s entire body, and I’m reminded just how tiny he really is.
I shake my head, sighing. “I don’t know. I thought I’d have a name when I saw him, but nothing happened the way I planned.” Glancing at Wolfe, I arch my brows. “I think we should choose a name together.”
Wolfe rewards me with a brilliant smile. It reaches from ear to ear and warms my heart. He leans over and kisses my lips, letting out a long sigh.
“Together sounds good,” he says, brushing his lips over my temple. “Always together.”
Wolfe climbs into the hospital bed beside me, wrapping the baby and me in a strong arm. In his embrace, I feel safe and protected—and happy.
We name our baby boy Wren, after seeing a bird flit from tree to tree outside the hospital window. I lean my head against Wolfe’s shoulder, smiling. “That’s a beautiful bird,” I say, looking at the bird tilt its head as it looks through the window.
“It’s very far north for a wren, even this time of year,” Wolfe says, watching the bird.
We exchange a glance, smile, and understand each other.
“You know male wrens build a number of nests, waiting for a female to choose one?” Wolfe says, hooking his arm around my shoulder.
I run my fingers through Wren’s thin, newborn hair, smiling. “Do they?”
“Uh-huh.” Wolfe nods. “Kind of feels like what I’ve been doing. Waiting for you.”
“Except I’m the one who designed our nest.” I grin.
“You want to stay at the Summer Palace?” Wolfe’s eyebrows jump. “I assumed you’d want to be in the city.”
“The Summer Palace is the first place that’s felt like home,” I say, laying a soft kiss on Wren’s head. I can’t stop kissing him and running my hands over his soft newborn skin.
Wolfe lets out a low growl, pulling me into his chest. I know what that growl means—it means I’ve just made him very happy. I’ve chosen a nest—the Summer Palace, with Wolfe by my side.
We marry in a quiet ceremony a month later, only releasing a few pictures to the media. I’m exhausted, but happy, still sore from the birth and running on too little sleep. Tucked away at the Summer Palace, we insulate ourselves from any gossip and articles, caring only about each other and our son.
It’s not a problem. The few snippets of news I see are mostly positive, congratulating us and praising the Prince for overcoming his grief. The opening of the visitor’s cottage museum helps the public image, and I see it as my first offering to Nord. Hopefully, in my life, I’ll be able to offer much, much more to the land that made me feel complete.
Grandma stays with us, cooing over Wren and smiling at me every chance she gets. Vikki falls in love with the baby, too, volunteering to babysit any chance she gets. She sings to Wren and puts him to sleep faster than I ever can, and I’m grateful for her help.
On one cool autumn day, when the sky is clear and the air is crisp, Wolfe asks Vikki to take care of the baby. He takes me by the hand and brings me to the garages, a grin teasing his lips. My heart flips, and I know I’ll never tire of seeing him smile. My husband—husband!—hops into a truck, clicking his fingers for Chief to jump in the back.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, smiling.
“Shh,” Wolfe says. “Just enjoy it.”
I use his help to get in the passenger seat—my body still feels weak, even months after my operation. I let the drive lull me to a shallow sleep, only opening my eyes when Wolfe stops the car.
We’re in front of the new museum, which is dark apart from a single light above the front door. Wolfe grins at me, then takes me by the hand and leads me inside. Chief’s nails clack on the hard tile as we walk through the silent building, past the new reception desk, and through the back to the old studio.
Candles are lit everywhere, bathing the room in a soft glow. The painting that inspired the palace design hangs in a place of honor at the end of the room, and a small round table is set up in the center. A waiter bows to the two of us, pulling out a chair for me and laying a cloth napkin across my lap.
My heart grows. Wolfe holds my hand across the table, tells me he loves me, then asks me to enjoy the meal he’s organized here, where our romance first began. “One year ago today,” he finally says, clinking a wine glass against mine.
My eyes widen. I do some mental math and realize he’s right—a year ago today, we kissed in this room and sealed our fate.
Wolfe laughs. “I remember you telling me you’d regret kissing me.”
“The only thing I regret is leaving you when I did.” I smile sadly at him, but Wolfe’s eyes soften. He’s already forgiven me for that, and I know our time apart gave me time to heal and realize what mattered. Love. Love is what matters. Love is what makes life worth living. Love is what makes independence feel sweet and safe and warm.
“You did a fantastic job on this design, Rowan,” Wolfe says, nodding to a waiter in the corner. The waiter approaches with a black binder, bowing and handing it to the Prince.
Wolfe pushes it across the table toward me, smiling softly.
“What’s this?”
“I remember you saying that you wanted to leave a legacy. You wanted to do something important.”
When Wolfe nods to the folder, I flip it open. My eyes widen when I see the words at the top of the page: Rowan Reed Architectural Scholarship.
“I’ve started talking to universities in Nord about funding scholarships for students of architecture. If you agree, you could serve as director of the board and make sure that the money goes to the most deserving students.”
I blink, freeing tears from my eyes. “You did this for me?”
Wolfe shakes his head. “You did it. It was the universities who approached the royal family about it, once they saw what you did with the Summer Palace.”
I can’t stay on the other side of the table anymore. I get up, walking over to wrap my arms around Wolfe’s neck. He pulls me down onto his lap as I yelp, kissing me tenderly. As he cups my face in both hands, we smile at each other and bask in the beauty of the moment.
Together, in the place where it all started.
I don’t have to give up my love of architecture—quite the opposite. I can pay it forward to the next young architect who wants to make something of him or herself. Wolfe is giving that to me, too. A child and a marriage and a lifetime of love wasn’t enough, he had to give me a legacy, too.
Leaning my head against Wolfe’s shoulder, I let out a sigh. “What if we did awards, too? We could do a yearly architecture competition with people from all across the kingdom. They could be asked to design new libraries, or community centers, or daycares—and the Crown could fund the construction!”
Wolfe chuckles, pulling away to look in my eyes. “I knew you’d have a bucketful of ideas. Whatever you like, Rowan. We’ll do it all.”
Happiness bursts inside me and I laugh, kissing Wolfe’s lips, his cheeks, his temples. I’m giving up my business, but by doing so, I can turn my attention to something more worthwhile. Being part of the royal family doesn’t stop me from accomplishing everything I want—it allows me to do more.
I’m done holding myself back. I’m done limiting the way I think, because I have misplaced beliefs about being better off on my own.
I’ll lean on Wolfe when I need to, support him when he needs me back, and I’ll love him with all my heart until the day I die.
That evening, we have a beautiful meal in the place where we fell in love, then return to the palace and find our baby boy sl
eeping peacefully. Thank goodness for Vikki.
The love in Wolfe’s eyes when he holds Wren makes my whole soul sing, and I know there’s no better place for me than right here, where I belong.
At home in Nord, with the man I love.
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Psst.. keep reading for a preview of Book 8: Ice Queen
Ice Queen
An Accidental Pregnancy Romance
Prologue
A queen doesn’t mourn the same way a woman does.
Wife.
Widow.
She doesn’t curl up and soak her pillowcase in tears. She doesn’t stare at the wall and lose long stretches of time, even when her grief is so heavy it becomes hard to think or breathe or move.
No, a queen must be a queen before anything else. She wears black and looks mournful—but not so much that the kingdom worries for her mental state. She dabs her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief, but she doesn’t wail. Her tears are restrained. Her voice doesn’t tremble when she gives a speech to the kingdom, telling its citizens that the man she meant to grow old with is dead.
A queen’s back remains straight, her shoulders always thrown back. Her hair is perfectly styled. She knows her clothing will be the subject of scrutiny, so it must remain flawless. She accepts condolences with grace, but doesn’t share her own suffering. There’s no one to share it with.
She takes her own broken, malfunctioning body—one that refused to give her an heir—and she accepts that pain with the rest of the agony in her spirit. Gulps it down like a bitter potion, wondering if her failures somehow caused this tragedy to happen. If in some twisted version of reality, she might deserve to walk through life alone.
Lone Prince: An Accidental Pregnancy Romance (Royally Unexpected Book 7) Page 20
