I nod. My voice seems to have disappeared, and I clear my throat to try to coax it back. “I have a…friend…”
My eyes mist up, and Vicky puts her hand on my knee. The touch surprises me—people don’t usually touch me—but it’s remarkably comforting. She doesn’t say anything, she just sits there and waits for me to continue.
I take a deep breath. “I have a friend who was diagnosed, and she, uh—” I rough a hand through my hair. Why are words so hard? “She sort of pushed me away after telling me about it. I was hoping that if I came here and learned about the disease, maybe I could show her that… I don’t know. That I’m not afraid?”
Vicky lets out a sigh, nodding. “You’re very brave.”
That makes me laugh, and for the first time in a long time, a tear falls down my cheek. Without skipping a beat, Vicky grabs some tissues from beside her and pulls three of them out, handing them to me.
Wiping my face, then crumpling the tissues in my hand, I lift my eyes up to hers. “So, is there anything I can do to help?”
Vicky grins. “There’s lots you can do to help, Your Highness.”
Even though everything I’m doing is way out of my comfort zone, it feels right. I get a room at a hotel near the center, and I spend every day helping out. Sometimes, all I do is make phone calls to confirm patients’ appointments. I tidy the waiting room and make sure things are organized. I listen to Lou nattering and nod politely when she tells me about her grandchildren.
I ask Vicky a thousand questions, and she shows me how she got the center started, and how it grew into the national organization that it is today.
After a few days, Vicky introduces me to some of the patients. From then on, every day, I get to talk to people who have been affected by the disease. To my surprise, I start gravitating toward the family members and carers that come in with the patients.
I develop a dark sort of sense of humor with the people that I meet, and without even asking me, they understand that I can relate to them.
Every day, I think of Margot. She’s on her own in Farcliff, with only a small support system and no organizations like this one to help her out.
My family knows where I am, but they don’t know what I’m doing. I refuse Theo’s repeated offers to send a security team to me, and I just focus on my day-to-day work. Once again, I become mostly invisible. No one knows me as the Prince of Argyle. No one thinks of me as Beckett’s brother. No one knows about my past, or about Margot, or anything else.
I’m just a volunteer at an organization for a debilitating, incurable disease.
I work. I learn. I prepare.
When Margot told me that I was better off finding someone healthy, happy, and unencumbered, I knew it came from a good place. I knew she thought she was doing the right thing by pushing me away.
But it wasn’t the right thing.
The place I’m supposed to be is by her side. When she walked away from me, I wanted to scream, but I knew it would be useless.
I turned my back on her once, and I showed her that I wasn’t strong enough.
The only way for me to prove to her that I can be by her side—that I want to be by her side—is by showing her that I’m not afraid of what the future might bring us. I can only think of one way of doing that, and that means I need to spend some time learning about her diagnosis.
By the time two months pass in New York, my heart aches for Margot. I miss her so much that pain almost feels like part of me, but I still have hope.
I have hope that she’ll see that I’m worthy of her. Hope that she’ll believe me when I say I’ll be by her side. Hope that however many years she’s on this earth, she’ll want me there with her.
At the end of two months, I feel like I know even less than I knew before, but my eyes are open. With Vicky’s help, I take everything I’ve learned and I go back to Farcliff.
Back to my love.
Back to my future.
Back to Margot.
36
Margot
After Ivy moves into her own place, I decide to sell the mansion. What does a single woman need seven bedrooms for?
Even with a nursery, there are still five bedrooms that are going unused.
The only positive about this house is the privacy. It’s a fortress, and I feel safe from prying eyes in here.
Safe, and alone.
In the silence, I always miss Dante.
I know, I know. I’m the one who pushed him away—but the heart isn’t a simple organ. I pushed him away because it was best for him, not necessarily for me. I didn’t want to tie him down to a hard, painful life.
As the weeks drag on, though, I start to think that maybe it wasn’t selfless.
Wasn’t I just protecting myself? By pushing him away, wasn’t I making sure that he wouldn’t turn his back on me again? That he wouldn’t hurt me like he did in Argyle? That I would be alone, but at least it would be on my terms?
And on another level, wasn’t I just protecting myself from the guilt of subjecting him to the life of a carer?
I saw what this disease did to my family. It tore us apart. Ivy was the only one that was strong enough to stay by Mama’s side. Even our father took off the first chance he got. For the past decade, he’s been living life bouncing from place to place, not worried about anything except forgetting the past.
I don’t want to see that happen to Dante.
The only thing I can do is move forward.
As my due date approaches, a nervous excitement builds inside me. I can’t wait to meet my baby. This little bundle of strength that has carried me through so much heartache in the past few months will be here soon, and I will be solely responsible for him.
At least, I think it’s a him. I decided not to find out, but it feels like a boy.
In early March, four weeks before my due date, I walk into my doctor’s office and take a seat for a routine appointment. A pamphlet catches my eye from the wall of brochures. Heaving myself off my chair, I waddle over to it.
A new center dedicated to supporting those with Huntington’s has opened up in Farcliff. My eyebrows arch, and I read every word on the thin pamphlet three times before the doctor calls my name.
I don’t hear much of what the OB-GYN has to say during that appointment. I only know that everything is normal with the baby, and that I know exactly where I’ll be headed after my doctor is done talking.
She smiles at me after typing up a few notes on the computer. “You look much better, Margot. I was worried about you for a while, but you seem a lot stronger.”
“I guess I’m a mother, now. I have to be.”
The doctor smiles as she stands up, leading me back out to the lobby. I head to the car and slide into the back seat. My driver glances back at me.
“Home?”
“No,” I answer, pulling the pamphlet out of my purse. “Here.”
He glances at the address, nodding.
My heart races as we drive toward the center. I don’t even know why I’m nervous. I’ve suffered on my own for so long that having other people who might understand what I’m going through seems like too much of a luxury.
Plus, if I show up there, I’ll surely be recognized. I haven’t told the public about my diagnosis yet, and I’m sure Felicity would want to do it in a professional, official way.
A part of me is sick of hiding, though.
Why should I hide my diagnosis? Why should I live in fear of what the future holds?
If the past couple of months have taught me anything, it’s that I’m able to survive on my own. I’m stronger than I thought I was, and I can face my disease instead of hiding away from it.
Still, when we pull up outside a small shopfront with a temporary sign hanging up above it, my heart stutters. I sit there for a few moments, staring.
“Would you like me to come in with you, Miss LeBlanc?” my driver asks.
I shake my head, forcing a smile. “That’s all right. Why don’t you take the rest of
the day off?”
“How will you get home?”
“I’ll find a way,” I grin. “I can Uber or taxi or call Ivy. It’ll be fine. Please. Take the day.”
The driver’s face splits into a smile. He nods, thanking me before helping me out of the back seat. Every movement is difficult. I’ve had to get all slip-on shoes now, because I can’t even tie my own laces. I take a deep breath, painting a smile on face as I watch him get back into the car and drive away.
Then, I turn to the building’s door and push it open.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it isn’t this. I’m greeted with a moderate-sized, inviting room. Three couches are set up on one side, with comfortable-looking cushions and throws on them. Baskets of books and magazines are dotted around the place, and soft music is playing over a small speaker. A tabletop water feature is bubbling on a side table, with more books lined up beside it. A half-finished crossword is on the coffee table with a pen lying across it, ready to be completed by the next waiting person.
A woman, probably in her late forties or early fifties, is hanging a picture on a wall. She turns to look at me when I step inside.
Her face breaks into a smile, and her kind, brown eyes soften.
“Hello, there. Welcome to the Huntington’s Disease Society of Farcliff.” She shakes her head. “News sure does travel fast. We only opened today.”
I lift up the pamphlet. “I saw this.”
“Oh,” she says, smiling as she frowns. “I didn’t know those had been distributed yet. Maybe Dante did it.”
My heart stops. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, pardon me,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Vicky. I’m the director of the New York chapter of the Society in America, just here to help set up the organization in your Kingdom. We won’t be affiliated, but I felt that I could help.” She frowns, tilting her head. “You look familiar.”
“Margot,” I answer, extending a hand.
She shakes it, glancing down at my stomach. “Congratulations.”
I nod in thanks, smiling. I clear my throat as my heart starts to thump. “Sorry, you said that someone had distributed the pamphlets? Did you say Dante?”
Vicky’s cheeks redden and she waves a hand. “Dave. I said Dave. He’s setting up the center here. Lovely young man.”
The woman averts her eyes, taking a few steps away from me. “Tea? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Are you sure you didn’t say Dante?”
She gulps, shaking her head. “His name is Dave. He’s out at the moment, but he might be back later. He likes to stay in the background, though. Would you like to sit down? I can tell you about the services we offer.”
She smiles at me, motioning to one of the couches. I nod, taking a seat, but I can’t quite let it go.
Am I just hearing things? I’m sure she said Dante’s name.
But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
What would Dante have to do with any of this?
I’m just hung up on him, so I’m hearing his name and seeing his face everywhere. It’s not him. It’s Dave.
Then, the front door opens and a man steps through, carrying a large box. His hood is flipped up, but something in the way his body moves makes a lump form in my throat.
“Oh, Dant—Dave,” Vicky says, glancing at me quickly. “Thank you. Let me help you with that.”
Dave grunts. “It’s alright, Vicky, I’ve got it.”
As soon as I hear his voice, a gasp escapes my lips. My baby starts kicking violently, and my hand goes to my stomach.
The man turns to look at me, dropping the box of books he’d been carrying. It falls to the ground with a loud thud, staying upright at his feet.
The air stills, and my jaw drops.
Prince Dante stares at me with wide eyes, the vein in his neck pumping furiously. I watch him swallow, pushing his hood back as he smooths his hand through his hair.
“Margot,” he rasps. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
37
Dante
I set up this center in the hope that I’d see her here. I put that pamphlet at her doctor’s office in the hope that she’d show up. The last two months of my life have been dedicated to Margot.
Still, I wasn’t ready.
“Dante,” Margot whispers, standing up. The sound of my name on her tongue sends shock waves through my body. Her voice roots me to the ground, making my skin tingle from head to toe. Cold, heavy metal fills my chest, making it hard for me to breathe.
I can’t speak. There are no words.
Margot is here, more pregnant and more beautiful than I could ever have expected. She’s kept her hair short, and her blue eyes are shining as she takes a step toward me.
She pauses, the width of the room still between us.
It’s too far. Too much. I need her in my arms, in my life, in my heart.
Vicky, bless her, clears her throat. “You two, uh, know each other?”
That’s enough to snap me out of my stupor. “Yeah. We do,” I answer, still staring at Margot. There’s a magnet pulling me toward her. A string, connecting my gut to hers, tugging me in her direction.
So, I comply.
I take a step toward the love of my life.
There’s only one problem: the box of book donations that I dropped at my feet. Too heavy to kick out of the way, and too big to step over.
I stumble. My upper body pitches forward as my feet stay stuck behind the box. I try to step over it again to catch myself, but it’s too tall. I yelp, falling forward and landing in a heap on the floor.
I spend two months working to build this center for Margot, and this is how I present it to her? The best way I have to convince her to be with me is to fall flat on my face the moment I see her?
My face burns. I push myself off the floor with my hands, moving my legs around the box to find my footing.
Then, I feel it.
A hand.
No, not just any hand on my back. Her hand.
Just a couple of layers of fabric away from touching my skin.
Angling my face upward, I see Margot standing before me. Her eyes are soft, her lips parted, her brows drawing together.
“Are you okay?”
Is there anything sweeter than the sound of Margot LeBlanc’s voice? The way it dances on her tongue? The way her mouth moves to shape the letters?
I stand up, now only inches from her. Nodding, I clear my throat. “I’m fine. You?”
“I’m good. Ready to get this kid out of me.”
Margot’s smile is like a balm on my aching heart.
“April 1st, right? That’s coming up soon.”
Margot nods. “Not soon enough. I can’t even tie my own shoes anymore.”
A lump lodges itself in my throat, and a weight takes residence on my chest. Breathing becomes difficult, but I force myself to suck in as much air as I need to speak.
“What do you think?” I croak, sweeping an arm around at the small waiting room.
Margot’s eyes follow the movement, and I take the opportunity to drink her in. She’s gained a little bit of weight, and her face has lost its sharp angles. Now, it’s all soft, feminine curves. Her cheekbones are still defined, but they’re no longer razor-sharp. Her lips are full. Her eyes, bright.
She puts a hand to her lower back, letting her eyes drift all around the room. Finally, she brings them back to me, smiling. “I like it.”
“Did Vicky tell you what services we offer? I think we’ll be able to help lots of people not just with education but with counseling and support. We’re thinking of setting up a fundraising branch dedicated to research, too.”
“We?” Her eyebrows jump up. “You work here?”
Vicky laughs softly beside us, and both Margot and I turn to look at her. The older woman looks at Margot kindly, shaking her head. “Honey, he’s the beating heart of this place. It was his idea, from conception to execution. He’s a magician on the computers, and he e
ven helped us back in New York to update our systems. He doesn’t work here. He created it.”
I swallow thickly. I don’t have the courage to look at Margot to see her reaction, so I just stare at Vicky.
Vicky, ever sharp, tilts her head as she looks at Margot. “He told me he had a friend who pushed him away after opening up about her diagnosis. If I were a betting woman, I’d say that friend was you. I’d also say that ‘friend’ isn’t exactly accurate.”
I can hear Margot’s breath speed up. I can sense every tiny movement that she makes, even though I’m not looking at her.
Touching her hair, cradling her bump, even blinking faster as she takes in Vicky’s words.
Finally, I force myself to look at her.
“You did this for me?” Margot whispers.
My heart races. How is it possible to love one woman this much? It makes everything difficult, even answering a simple question.
I nod, struggling to force the word out. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“To show you that I wasn’t afraid.”
Margot’s bottom lip trembles and her eyes fill with tears.
She’s only inches away from me, but the distance is still too much. I clear my throat to try to dislodge the boulder that seems to have taken up residence inside it. “Is it too much?”
Then, Margot laughs.
Not a polite laugh. Not a guarded laugh.
A real, genuine laugh.
Open-mouthed, eyes shining, stomach heaving, big, real belly-laugh.
She shakes her head. “It’s not too much. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.” Taking a step toward me, Margot puts her hand to my cheek. “This is…”
Margot’s voice trails off as her eyes shine. I put my palm over hers, gulping as I try to find the words to tell her how I feel.
“Margot, I’m not afraid of your illness. I’ve learned as much as I can learn in the past couple of months, and I’ll continue to learn. Ask Vicky how much work I’ve done!” I inhale, curling my fingers around her hand. “I want to show you that I can do it. I can be by your side and support you. I won’t be giving up my life for you. I’ll be gaining my life back. I have nothing without you.”
Knocked Up by the Wicked Prince: A Secret Baby Romance Page 19
