“I just wish Mia would sit in her stroller,” Vanessa said, hiking her daughter, who had been unusually fidgety and fussy all day, higher on her hip. “She desperately needs a nap.” But every time Vanessa tried to strap her into the stroller Mia would begin to howl.
“Why don’t you let me hold her for a while,” he said, extending his arms. Mia lunged for him.
“Jeez, kid!” Laughing, Vanessa handed her over, and when Mia instantly settled against his shoulder, said, “She sure does like you.”
The feeling was mutual. He even sort of liked having a baby around the palace. Although the idea that this little person could become his stepsister was a strange one. Not that he believed it would ever really happen. But did that possibly mean he was ready to start a family of his own? Eight months ago he would have said absolutely not. But so much had changed since then. He felt as if he’d changed, and he knew for a fact that it had everything to do with Vanessa’s visit.
They walked to the next display, where Vanessa seemed intent on memorizing the name of every battle and its respective date. He stood behind her to the left, watching her, memorizing the curve of her face, the delicate shell of her ear, wishing he could reach out and touch her. He felt that way all the time lately, and the impulse was getting more difficult to ignore. And he knew, by the way she looked at him, the way her face flushed when they were close, the way her breath caught when he took her hand to help her out of the car, she felt it too.
When she was finished, she turned to Marcus, looked at him and laughed.
“What are you? The baby whisperer?”
He looked down at Mia to find that she was sleeping soundly on his shoulder. “Well, you said she needed a nap.”
“You could try sitting her in the stroller now.”
“I don’t mind holding her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Why risk waking her,” he said, but the truth was, he just liked holding her. And he’d been doing it a lot more often. Yesterday he’d carried her on his shoulders as they strolled down the stretch of private beach at the marina—Vanessa wearing that ridiculous floppy hat—and Mia delighted in tugging on handfuls of his hair. Later they sat on a blanket close to the shore and let Mia play in the sand and splash in the salty water. Those simple activities had made him feel happier, feel more human, than he had in ages.
With Mia asleep in his arms, they turned and walked toward the next section of the museum.
“You’re really good with her,” Vanessa said. “Are you around kids much?”
“I have a few friends with young children, but I don’t see them very often.”
“The friends, or the children?”
“Either, really. Since we lost my mother I haven’t felt much like socializing. The only time I see people now is at formal events where I’m bound by duty to attend, and children, especially small ones, are not typically included on the guest list.”
She gazed up at him, looking sad. “It sounds lonely.”
“What does?”
“Your life. Everyone needs friends. Would your mother be happy if she knew how you’ve isolated yourself?”
“No, she wouldn’t. But the only true friend I had betrayed me. Sometimes I think I’m better off alone.”
“I could be your friend,” she said. “And having experienced firsthand what it feels like to be betrayed by a friend, you can trust that I would never do that to you.”
Despite everything he’d learned of her the past three days, the blunt statement still surprised him. And he couldn’t help but wonder if that might be a bad idea, that if being her friend would only strengthen the physical attraction he felt growing nearly every time he looked at her, every time she opened her mouth and all that honesty spilled out. Which is why he shouldn’t have said what he said next.
“In that case, would you care to join me for dinner on the veranda tonight?”
The invitation seemed to surprise her. “Um, yeah, I’d love to. What time?”
“How about eight?”
“Mia goes to bed right around then, so that would be perfect. And I assume you mean the veranda in the west wing, off the dining room?”
“That’s the one. I see you’ve been studying your map.”
“Since I’m going to be here a while either way, I should probably learn my way around.” She glanced at her watch, frowned and said, “Wow, I didn’t realize how late it is. Maybe we should think about getting back.”
“I’m in no hurry if you want to stay.”
“I really do need to get back,” she said, looking uncomfortable. “Gabriel promised to Skype me at four today, so…”
So she obviously was looking forward to speaking to him. And was that jealousy he was feeling? He forced a smile and kept his tone nonchalant. “Well then, by all means, let’s go.”
* * *
You have no reason to be nervous, Vanessa told herself for the tenth time since she’d left her room and made her way to the veranda. They’d spent all day together and though it had been a little awkward at times, Marcus had been a perfect gentleman, and she was sure tonight would be no exception. He probably only invited her to dinner because he felt obligated to entertain her. Or maybe he really did want to be friends.
And what a sophomoric thing that had been to say to him, she thought, offering to be his friend. As if he probably didn’t already have tons of people lining up to be his friend. What made her so special?
Or was that just her way of subtly telling him that’s all they could ever be. Friends. And she was sure that with time, she would stop fantasizing about him taking her in his arms, kissing her, then tearing off her clothes and making passionate love to her. Tearing, because he wasn’t the kind of man to take things slow. He would be hot and sexy and demanding and she would of course have multiple orgasms. At least, in her fantasy she did. The fantasy she had been playing over and over in her head since he’d kissed her.
Get a grip, Vanessa. You’re only making this harder on yourself.
She found the dining room and stepped through the open doors onto the veranda at exactly seven fifty-nine. Taper candles burned in fresh floral centerpieces on a round bistro table set for two, and champagne chilled in an ice bucket beside it. Beyond the veranda, past lush, sweetly scented flower gardens, the setting sun was a stunning palette of brilliant red and orange streaking an indigo canvas sky. A mild breeze swept away the afternoon heat.
It was the ideal setting for a romantic dinner. But this was supposed to be a meal shared between friends. Wasn’t it?
“I see you found it.”
She spun around to find Marcus standing behind her. He stood leaning casually in the dining room doorway, hands tucked into the front pockets of his slacks, his white silk shirt a stark contrast to his deep olive skin and his jacket the exact same rich espresso shade as his eyes. His hair was combed back but one stubborn wavy lock caressed his forehead.
“Wow, you look really nice,” she said, instantly wishing she could take the words back. This is a casual dinner between friends, she reminded herself. She shouldn’t be chucking out personal compliments.
“You sound surprised,” he said with a raised brow.
“No! Of course not. I just meant…” She realized Marcus was grinning. He was teasing her. She gestured to the sleeveless, coral-colored slip dress she was wearing. She had wanted to look nice, without appearing blatantly sexy, and this was the only dress she’d brought with her that seemed to fit the bill. It was simple, and shapeless without looking frumpy. “I wasn’t really sure how formal to dress.”
His eyes raked over her. Blatantly, and with no shame. “You look lovely.”
He said it politely, but the hunger in his gaze, and the resulting tug of lust deep in her belly, was anything but polite. And as exposed as she felt just then, she might as well have been wearing a transparent negligee, or nothing at all. And the worst part was, she liked it. She liked the way she felt when he looked at her. Even though it was so ve
ry wrong.
He gestured to the table. “Shall we sit?”
She nodded, and he helped her into her chair, the backs of his fingers brushing her bare shoulders as he eased it to the table, and she actually shivered. Honest to goodness goose bumps broke out across her skin.
Oh my.
She’d read in stories about a man making a woman shiver just by touching her, but it had never actually happened to her. In fact, she thought the whole thing sounded sort of silly. Not so much anymore.
“Champagne?” Marcus asked.
Oh, that could be a really bad idea. The last thing she needed was something to compromise her senses. They were compromised enough already. But the bottle was open, and she hated to let good champagne—and noting the label, it was good champagne—go to waste.
“Just one glass,” she heard herself say, knowing she would have to be careful not to let one glass become two and so on.
Marcus poured it himself, then took a seat across from her. He lifted his glass, pinned his eyes on her and said, “To my father.”
There was some sort of message in his eyes, but for the life of her, she wasn’t sure what it was. Was toasting his father his way of letting her know the boundaries they’d established were still firmly in place, or did it mean something else entirely?
She’d just as soon they didn’t talk about Gabriel at all. And rather than analyze it to death, she lifted her own glass and said, “To Gabriel.” Hoping that would be the end of it.
She took a tiny sip, then set her glass down, and before she could even begin to think of what to say next, one of the younger butlers appeared with a gleaming silver tray and served the soup. He even nodded cordially when she thanked him. Karin definitely seemed to be warming to her as well, and Vanessa’s maid had actually smiled and said good morning when she came in to make the bed that morning. They weren’t exactly rolling out the red carpet—more like flopping down the welcome mat—but it was progress.
The soup consisted of bite-sized dumplings swimming in some sort of rich beef broth. And it was delicious. But that didn’t surprise her considering the food had been exemplary since she arrived.
“You spoke with my father today?” he asked.
Ugh, she really didn’t want to do this, but she nodded. “This afternoon.”
“He told you that my aunt is still in intensive care?”
“He said she had a bad night. That her fever spiked, and she may need surgery. It sounds as if he won’t be home anytime soon.” Despite what she had hoped.
“He told me she’s still very ill,” Marcus said, then his eyes lifted to hers. “He asked if I’ve been keeping you entertained.”
Oh, he had definitely been doing that.
“He asked if I’ve been respectful.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “You don’t think he…”
“Suspects something?” Marcus said bluntly, then he shook his head. “No. I think he’s still worried that I won’t be nice to you.”
Oh, he’d been “nice” all right. A little too nice, some might say.
“He said you seemed reluctant to talk about me.”
The truth was, she hadn’t known what to tell Gabriel. She worried that if she said too much, like mentioning the earrings, or their evening stroll, Gabriel might get suspicious. She didn’t know what was considered proper, and what was pushing the boundaries, so she figured it was better not to say anything at all. “I didn’t mean to be elusive, or give him the impression I felt unwelcome.”
“I just don’t want him to think that I’ve neglected my duty,” Marcus said.
“Of course. I’ll be sure to let him know that you’ve been a good host.”
They both quietly ate their soup for several minutes, then Marcus asked, “Have you spoken with your father yet?”
She lowered her eyes to her bowl. “Uh, nope, not yet.”
She took a taste of her soup and when she looked up, he was pinning her with one of those brow-tipped stares.
“I will,” she said.
“The longer you wait, the harder it will be.”
She set her spoon down, her belly suddenly knotted with nerves. She lifted her glass and took another sip. “I know. I just have to work up the nerve. I’ll do it, I just…I need to wait until the time is right.”
“Which will happen when?”
When he was at the airport waiting for her to pick him up, maybe. “I’ll do it. Probably tomorrow. The problem is, whenever I have the time, it’s the middle of the night there.”
The brow rose higher.
She sighed. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m a big fat chicken. There, I said it.”
One of the butlers appeared to clear their soup plates. While another served the salad, Vanessa’s phone started to ring. Would it be funny—not ha-ha funny, but ironic funny—if that were him right now.
She pulled it out of her pocketbook and saw that it wasn’t her father, but Karin. As crabby as Mia had been today, maybe she was having trouble getting her to settle.
“Mia woke with a fever, ma’am.”
It wasn’t unusual for Mia to run a low-grade fever when she was teething, and that would explain her foul mood. “Did you take her temperature?”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s forty point five.”
The number confused her for a second, then she realized Karin meant Celsius. She racked her brain to recall the conversion and came up with a frighteningly high number. Over one hundred and four degrees!
She felt the color drain from her face. Could that be right? And if it was, this was no case of teething. “I’ll be right up.”
Marcus must have seen the fear in her eyes, because he frowned and asked, “What’s wrong?”
Vanessa was already out of her chair. “It’s Mia. She has a fever. A high one.”
Marcus shoved himself to his feet, pulled out his phone and dialed. “George, please get Dr. Stark on the line and tell him we need him immediately.”
Twelve
Other than a mild cold in the spring, Mia had never really been sick a day in her life. Imagining the worst, Vanessa’s heart pounded a mile a minute as she rushed up the stairs to her suite, Marcus trailing close behind. When she reached the nursery she flung the door open.
Karin had stripped Mia down to her diaper and was rocking her gently, patting her back. Mia’s cheeks were bright red and her eyelids droopy, and Vanessa’s heart sank even lower as she crossed the room to her. How, in a couple of hours’ time, could she have gotten so sick?
“Hey, baby,” Vanessa said, touching Mia’s forehead. It was burning hot. “Did you give her anything?”
Karin shook her head. “No, ma’am. I called you the minute she woke up.”
Vanessa took Mia from her. She was limp and listless. “In the bathroom there’s a bottle of acetaminophen drops. Could you get it for me, please?”
Karin scurried off and Marcus, who stood by the door looking worried, asked, “Is there anything I can do?”
“Just get the doctor up here as fast as possible.” She cradled Mia to her chest, her hands trembling she was so frightened.
Karin hurried back with the drops and Vanessa measured out the correct dose. Mia swallowed it without a fuss.
“I don’t know what this could be. She’s barely ever had a cold.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Probably just a virus.”
“I wonder if I should put her in a cool bath to bring her temperature down.”
“How high is it?”
“Over one hundred and four.”
His brows flew up.
“Fahrenheit,” she added, and his face relaxed.
“Why don’t you wait and see what the doctor says?”
She checked the clock across the room. “How soon do you think he’ll be here?”
“Quickly. He’s on call 24/7.”
“Is he a pediatrician?”
“A family practitioner, but I assure you he is more than qualified.”
She didn
’t imagine the royal family would keep an unqualified physician on call.
“Why don’t you sit down,” Marcus said, gesturing to the rocker. “Children can sense when parents are upset.”
He was right, she needed to pull it together. The way the baby lay limp in Vanessa’s arms, whimpering pathetically, it was as if she didn’t have the energy to cry. She sat in the chair, cradling Mia in her arms and rocked her gently. “I’m sorry to have interrupted dinner. You can go back down and finish.”
He folded his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Though she was used to handling things on her own when it came to her daughter, she was grateful for his company. Sometimes she got tired of being alone.
Dr. Stark, a kind-faced older gentleman, arrived just a few minutes later carrying a black medical bag.
He shook her hand and asked in English, “How old is the child?”
“Six months.”
“Healthy?”
“Usually, yes. The worst she’s ever had was a mild cold. I don’t know why she would have such a high fever.”
“She’s current on her vaccinations?”
She nodded.
“You flew here recently?”
“Five days ago.”
He nodded, touching Mia’s forehead. “You have records?”
She was confused for a second, then realized he meant medical records. “Yes, in my bedroom.”
“I’d like to see them.”
Marcus held out his arms. “I’ll hold her while you get them.”
She handed her to him and Mia went without a fuss.
She darted across the hall to her room, grabbed the file with Mia’s medical and immunization records, then hurried back to the bedroom. Marcus was sitting in the rocking chair, cradling Mia against his shoulder. Karin stood by the door looking concerned.
“Here they are,” she said, and the doctor took the folder from her.
He skimmed the file then set it aside. “You’ll need to lay her down.”
Princess in the Making Page 11
