by Jennie Lucas
Then his handsome face slowly turned to ice. He shook his head grimly. “It’s too late.”
“How can it be too late?” she gasped.
“I’ll always take care of the child, Grace.” He looked away, tightening his shoulders. “But I’ll never love you again.”
Again?
He’d loved her?
He’d loved her—and she’d thrown his love away!
“No!” she cried. “It can’t be too late! I love you. And if you once loved me…”
He gave her a sardonic smile, all emotion gone from his eyes. “And how well you repaid me.”
“I made a horrible mistake.” She was humiliated by the whimper in her voice, but she couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not when she’d finally realized he was truly the man she’d always wanted. “Please, Maksim…”
“Stop begging,” he said harshly. “You are a princess. Begging is beneath you.”
“I can’t lose you.” She felt a sharp pain in her heart. “But I already have, haven’t I?” she whispered. “You want to be with her.”
“Who?”
“Do I have to say her name?”
His jaw clenched as he exhaled with a flare of his nostrils. “I am sick of having to defend my actions where Francesca is concerned. You are my wife. You are pregnant with my child. There will be no other woman in my life. There can’t be. How clear do I have to make it?”
“But if there were no baby?” she said, her heart in her throat. “Would you still have married me?”
“That is a pointless question. There is a baby. The decision has been made. Love doesn’t matter.”
She closed her eyes to block out the pain. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. “It’s all that matters.”
Maksim had married Grace out of honor. The honor she’d bitingly, insultingly accused him of never having. And for the sake of honor, he was determined to stand by her side.
But if Grace hadn’t been pregnant, he would have gone to Francesca like a shot. His heart was with her. She was beautiful and wealthy and a perfect match for Maksim in every way.
“I will always protect you both,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t ask for more than I can give.”
He would protect her with money and his name. Nothing more.
Grace’s own parents had had such a blissful marriage. She thought of how they’d laughed together, teased each other. The way her father had playfully wrapped his arms around her mother’s waist while she cooked in the kitchen. Her parents’ love had shone through everything, especially their children. Grace and her brothers had shared such a happy childhood beneath the umbrella of their parents’ love.
She suddenly realized it had never been their house that had made them a family. The house hadn’t made them secure and warm. It had been her parents’ love. Their mutual adoration that had endured long after her father had died.
The lump in her throat sharpened.
What kind of home life would Grace’s loveless marriage create for their baby?
How would their son or daughter feel, raised by a father who’d been forced to give up his own happiness because of the child’s very existence?
Grace suddenly felt like crying.
Maksim held out his arm stiffly. “Come. Our guests are waiting.”
Her heart felt shattered in her chest as he escorted her down the limestone Art Deco stairs.
In the wide marble foyer, beneath the soaring crystal chandelier, she saw a swirl of faces. Hundreds of people applauded for her as she was introduced as Her Highness Princess Grace Rostova. Gorgeous women in diamonds and Maksim’s billionaire friends cheered in both English and Russian, holding up their champagne flutes in a toast to the new princess.
Grace got a glimpse of herself in the enormous gilded mirror across the foyer. She truly looked like a princess. The tiara sparkled in her hair. The champagne-colored gown moved against her like a whisper. This time, even her shoes were perfect, the twenty-first-century version of glass slippers. Beautiful, rather uncomfortable and very, very expensive.
But she would have done anything to go back in time to when she was just a plain, poor secretary, happy in Maksim’s arms and bed. Back to when they’d actually had a chance at happiness.
Back to when he’d loved her. He’d never said the words then, but he’d made her feel them.
Grace saw Maksim’s sister waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Dariya glowed as she hugged them both. “I’m so glad you’re my sister,” she whispered to Grace. “Not just my sister…my friend. And you’re going to make me an aunt!”
“Thank you.” Blinking back tears, Grace did her best to smile. “Your friendship means so much…”
She froze when she saw Lady Francesca Danvers over Dariya’s shoulder.
She felt her husband stiffen beside her. She glanced at him. His face had closed down, his mouth a grim line, as he looked straight at Francesca.
“Excuse me,” he said shortly.
Grace watched as he crossed through the crowd, grabbed the redhead’s wrist and dragged her toward his study. His expression looked furious as he closed the door behind him.
And staring at the closed door, everything suddenly became clear for Grace.
He wasn’t having an affair with Francesca. She now knew that to her core. He’d promised fidelity to Grace and he would keep to that vow. He was a man of honor.
He hadn’t invited her here. He was determined to remain faithful to the wife he’d never wanted. Family and honor meant everything to Maksim. He would remain faithful to Grace.
But did she want him to?
After so many years of being Alan’s doormat, desperate for any sign of tenderness, did she really want to be tied forever to a man who didn’t love her?
And worse: did she want to raise their child that way?
Could she raise her baby to be happy in this palace of ice? Could she risk her child’s bright, joyful new spirit in this frozen place, knowing he’d always be bewildered by his parents’ cold misery and might eventually blame himself?
Grace may have sacrificed herself for her baby’s sake, but she couldn’t allow the life and warmth to be sapped out of her newborn’s soul. She couldn’t allow her precious baby to grow up suffocated in an endless winter of unspoken blame.
“What’s she doing here?” Dariya said sourly. “Can’t the woman take a hint?”
“I…I’m not feeling very well,” Grace said, rubbing her forehead. “Will you please make my excuses and thank everyone for coming?”
“Of course, absolutely.” Dariya peered at her in worry. “You do look pale. I’ll go get my brother—”
“No! Don’t tell him anything. I want to be alone.” She ran upstairs with a hard lump in her throat.
Slamming her bedroom door behind her, she collapsed on her bed.
Love made a family.
She loved their baby. She loved Maksim.
But Maksim loved Francesca.
Grace’s eyes fell on her battered old suitcase in the massive walk-in closet. It had taken her to London, back to California, to Moscow. It could take her back home.
“If you love him, let him go,” Francesca had said.
Grace loved Maksim. She loved her baby. She loved them both so much and there was only one way to save them. One way to make sure they were both safe and happy. One way to set them both free.
Rising from the bed, she picked up her suitcase.
“How dare you show up here?” Maksim said furiously as he closed the study door behind them. “I expressly told you in London—we’re through. We were done two and a half months ago when you gave me your little ultimatum.”
Francesca looked up at him with her perfectly lined green eyes. “But I made up for that, darling, when I got the merger back for you!”
“You only gave back something that should always have been mine.”
A tremulous smile traced her red mouth. “I rectified a strategic misfire. You won this round.”
He stared at her coldly. He expected at any moment, tears would appear—her carefully manufactured tears that never smudged her eye makeup. She was a master at manipulation.
Unlike Grace. Grace who’d looked so vulnerable just moments before they came down the stairway. She’d truly looked like a princess.
“I love you,” she’d said. “Can you ever love me?”
His reply to her had been harsh.
Maksim clenched his hands, remembering the stricken look on her face. Grace had no defenses. It had been coldhearted and cruel of him. But she’d kept pushing him for what he wouldn’t, couldn’t give her…
“Come back with me to London,” Francesca said. “It’s time.”
“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” he replied acidly, “but I have a wife.”
Emotion turned her thin face pale beneath the rouge. “I never should have given you an ultimatum. But how long do you intend to punish me for my mistake? Let the gold digger go.”
“What did you call her?” he said dangerously.
She threw him a scornful glance. “Oh, please. A secretary? She’s obviously a gold digger. I just offered her a blank check to leave you, but she refused. She knows she can cash in for more after the little brat is born!”
He clenched his fists. “You tried to buy her off?”
She sniffed. “I was trying to do you a favor, darling. You can’t actually want to be married to her. She’s not remotely your type!”
His type?
Pictures of Grace went through his mind. Her openness. Her purity. Her laughter and her tears. The way her thoughts were always revealed on her face. Her care and concern for the people around her. Her soft heart.
Gold digger? She’d made it clear from the beginning that she didn’t want Maksim’s money. He’d tried to spoil her in London, but she’d made it impossible. Over and over again, she’d refused his offers of gifts for clothes, jewels, cars, houses.
The only time she’d accepted anything was to give her family a place to live, when Maksim had blackmailed her into marriage. A strange feeling almost like shame went through him at the memory.
I had no choice, he told himself. I had to protect my child. I had to make her marry me. But the oft-repeated reason rang hollow today.
“I love you,” she’d whispered. “Can you ever love me?”
“You’re right,” he said heavily, clawing his hand through his dark hair. “Grace is not my usual type of woman.”
“She’s not.” Francesca gave him a sly smile. “I am.”
She was right. Francesca was exactly his type. A selfish beauty who enjoyed playing games and liked to fight dirty. She liked to insinuate they were special due to aristocratic birth, but there was one thing and one thing only Francesca thought was truly noble: money.
Creeping closer to him, she licked her sultry red lips. “You and I are perfect for each other. Yes, we fought constantly, but only because we pursue our own desires no matter the cost. We’re both selfish to the bone. Face it, Maksim, we’re exactly alike!”
He stared at her.
“That’s not true,” he said hoarsely. “I’m nothing like you. Now get out.”
“Maksim, don’t be a fool. You’re throwing away a fortune if you don’t marry me!”
“We’re done, Francesca. Through.” He clenched his fists, staring at her coldly. “If I ever see you again—if you ever upset my wife again—you will regret it.” Walking to the door, he flung it open. “Now leave.”
“Fine,” she ground out, tossing her head and exiting toward the curious party-goers outside. “Enjoy your common little wife. You’ll be tired of her before your kid’s even born!”
In the echo of her departing steps, Maksim closed the door heavily and sank into a chair at his desk. In his heart of hearts, he knew that he was just like Francesca.
Or at least he had been. Until he’d met someone who’d inspired him. Someone who with her sweet kindness and natural beauty had made him believe there was more to life than money.
He heard someone come in, and looked up, ready to snarl.
His sister stood in the doorway, her arms folded.
“About time you sent that woman away,” Dariya said. “And I hope you did it more thoroughly this time. Heaven knows she won’t take a hint. Maybe you should toss a Rolex into the Moskva River—she’d be sure to dive through the ice. That would be one way to finally—”
“Where’s Grace?” he interrupted.
“She wasn’t feeling well, so she’s gone upstairs to her room.” Her eyes met his. “You have a houseful of guests with no host or hostess at the moment. I thought you’d want to know.”
He took a deep breath. “Did Grace see me come in here with Francesca?”
“Yes. Everyone saw it. You might want to come and do some damage control.”
Maksim clenched his jaw. “I’ll go to her now.” His encounter with Francesca had left him feeling strangely dirty. Had he really been like that? Like her?
He needed to see Grace. To see her calm face and hear her sweet voice. To have her take him in her soft arms so that he could take a deep, clear breath…
“Let Grace rest, Maksim,” Dariya said sharply. “Let her sleep and talk to her in the morning. You need to end the rumors going through Moscow, or your marriage will be over before it’s begun.”
He clenched his jaw. He didn’t blame Grace for fleeing to her bedroom. How could he? He’d left her alone during their wedding reception, abandoning her with hundreds of strangers while he disappeared behind closed doors with his ex-mistress.
No wonder Grace had been so insecure, considering that he hadn’t bothered to reassure her. He’d just left her, his lonely, pregnant, deserted wife.
He clenched his hands into fists.
He had to make this right.
He had to see her.
“We’re exactly alike,” Francesca had said.
But fighting that was the soft echo of Grace’s voice from long ago. “You’re a good man, Maksim. You think it’s weakness…but I know your secret.”
Which woman did he want to believe?
Which man did he want to be?
He took a deep breath. “I’ll just check on her. I won’t wake her if she’s sleeping,” he promised. “Act as hostess until I’m back, Daritchka, won’t you?”
But friends and acquaintances were swarming the foyer. Bewildered at the sudden abrupt disappearance of both bride and groom, they stopped him in his path, asking for reassurance and explanations that Maksim hardly knew how to give. It took him almost twenty minutes to cross the marble floor of the foyer to the limestone stairs.
He went to Grace’s bedroom and knocked softly on the door. When he heard no answer, he pushed the door open.
Her room was dark. Only in the faintest trace of moonlight from the window could he see her shape in the Wedgwood-blue canopy bed beneath the covers.
He wanted to wake her but held himself back. Waking her would be selfish when it was only to seek his own comfort.
He was a husband.
He was going to be a father.
Everything had changed for him, but he’d been slow to realize it.
Turning away, ignoring the ache in his throat, he went downstairs and did his duty as host. He spent the rest of the long night entertaining his guests and reassuring them that his new bride had just taken ill due to her delicate condition. But all through the endless hours, he couldn’t stop thinking of his pregnant wife sleeping upstairs. Lonely in the bedroom that he’d given her as a way to punish her for calling his offer of marriage “a gilded cage.”
At dawn, after he’d finally shoved the last guest firmly out the door, Maksim crept back to her room, praying she would now be awake. If she wasn’t awake, he didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
He needed to feel comforted by her presence. To tell her he was sorry he’d been so cruel. To tell her…to tell her…
The warm blush of a gray-and-pink dawn filled her bedroom as he pushed
open the door. She was still in bed, just as she’d been before.
I won’t wake her, he told himself. He would just watch her sleep. Even that would bring him some small peace.
But as he walked forward in the lightening room, something didn’t look right. Her body beneath the blanket looked strange. The comforter stretched all the way up to the headboard. He pulled back the blanket and discovered…pillows.
She was gone!
He snatched up the note attached to the pillow. It read:
Maksim,
There is no baby. I faked the pregnancy—don’t ask how—to try and get your money. But I can’t do it. Please divorce me immediately and don’t try to find me. I don’t want any alimony. I wish you every happiness in your life with Francesca. All I want is for you to be with the woman you love.
Grace
No baby? She’d faked the pregnancy?
Pain ripped through him, pain so staggering it almost dropped him to his knees.
He couldn’t breathe. The tie on his tuxedo suddenly seemed to constrict his air, choking him. He ripped it to the ground in a tear of fabric. He read the note again. And again.
No baby.
She’d faked the pregnancy.
He crumpled up the note in his fist.
He’d been shocked by her pregnancy, but until this moment he hadn’t realized how much the baby had come to mean to him. In spare moments between the bone-crushing work of completing the oil company merger, he’d daydreamed about their coming baby. Would he have the Rostov profile? Would he have Grace’s pale-blond hair and blue eyes?
He threw the note across the room. It floated gently to the floor. Not enough. Grabbing the lamp, he threw it across the room, smashing it against the wall.
No baby.
She’d lied to him. She’d faked the pregnancy to marry him for his…
Money?
His body snapped straight. Grace, after his money?
He recalled all the times he’d tried to help Grace with money. She’d refused. She’d fought everything—jewels, designer clothes, fancy cars, cash, everything. Beyond having food, clothes and a roof over their heads, Grace didn’t give a damn about the so-called finer things in life. All the designer clothes and jewels she’d gotten since their marriage were still hanging neatly in her closet. His eyes fell upon the priceless tiara once owned by his great-aunt, the Grand Duchess.
