by Holly Jacobs
“I was wondering if you would like another story?” he asked the group. “I brought along my friend, Cara. She’s from America. And rumor has it, she does a lot of story times at her bookstore.” He looked at her. “Cara?”
There was nothing for her to do but move to the front of the room. Michael handed her a book. She looked down and saw Little Red Riding Hood and couldn’t help but laugh.
“You planned this,” she whispered.
“Guilty,” he said.
One of the little boys raised his hand, then immediately blurted out, “Are you the prince’s princess?”
Michael watched her, obviously waiting for her answer along with all the children in the room.
She shook her head. “No, I’m just a friend.”
“But maybe someday she’ll be my princess,” Michael assured the boy.
Cara shot him a behave look, and ignored the rest of the children whose hands flew into the air and the speculative look on the librarian’s face. “If you’ll all sit down, I’ll start. Once upon a time…”
She fell easily into the rhythm of the story. It was natural to her—reading to a group of children, surrounded by books.
During her time in Eliason, she’d been out of her element entirely. Castles, princes, pregnancy—she hadn’t realized how much stress she felt, until she reentered her comfort zone.
She tried to ignore Michael, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a group of children huddled around him. It painted an endearing picture. Like his care for his family, his devotion to his country, his obvious affection for children was something that pulled at her.
If she could just pretend he wasn’t here, maybe this brief respite would help her regain some sense of equilibrium. But there was no pretending. Michael seemed to always be at the forefront of her awareness.
“…The end.” The children clapped. And at the librarian’s suggestion, they began asking questions.
“What books do you like?” a cute blond girl asked.
“Harry Potter?” a boy shouted.
Cara breathed a sigh of relief. Here was a subject she could deal with. “I love Harry Potter, but he wasn’t around when I was little. When I was your age, or a little older, I read C. S. Lewis’s Narnia books. And Trixie Belden, L’Engle, Cleary…” She kept up a stream of titles and authors.
As she finished, another hand shot up. She nodded at a little redheaded boy. “Do you have any children?”
She caught herself as her hand began to move to her slightly rounded abdomen. “Not yet,” she replied honestly.
More hands.
“Are you and the prince going to get married?”
“No, the prince and I are just very good friends.” That is if you could call a rat a friend. With no warning at all he’d thrust her into his awkward position. “Speaking of friends, I have a very good friend who’s counting on me, so I really should be going.”
On cue, Michael stood and came up to the front of the crowd. Cara watched him as he flawlessly made their excuses and said goodbye. She wasn’t sure what today was about.
Why had he invited her along on this public appearance?
He casually steered her through the crowd of children and parents, stopping to chat now and again.
By the time they finally reached the limo, Cara’s confusion had her stomach in a knot.
Michael could tell Cara was annoyed. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that. She’d stewed silently most of the way back to the castle, then abruptly blurted out, “Would you mind telling me what that was all about?”
“Well, you’d mentioned Red Riding Hood, so I knew you were familiar with the story, and I find it’s easier to read books out loud that you know, so I—”
“Not the story choice. Why did you bring me along?”
“Because I’m hoping that eventually you’ll say yes to my marriage proposal, and I thought it might be a good idea for you to get a feel for what it is I do. Not just reading stories at libraries, but opening hospital wings, and all the other public appearances. It’s part of the job. Part of bearing the title. There’s a business side, too. There are a lot of facets of being royal.”
“But, I’m no princess.”
“I’m hoping, someday soon, you will be. And I wanted to show you that our worlds aren’t all that different. That we could fit together.”
She slipped back into silence, and Michael didn’t push any further.
He’d wanted to share with her some of what he did. It might not seem like much, but reading to kids, lending his name to various events, meant something to the people of Eliason, which made it an important aspect of his job.
He wanted her to know, because he’d meant what he’d said—someday soon he hoped she’d be taking a part, too.
With every passing day he became more sure of what he wanted. It was simple really. He wanted Cara and their baby.
What wasn’t so simple was convincing Cara. Why couldn’t she see that they had a chance at something special. Something his parents had. Something he’d been searching for before he even realized he wanted it.
He knew that if Cara Phillips gave him her heart, it would be forever.
That’s all Michael was asking for.
Forever.
Cara got out of the limo and jumped right back into a whirlwind of activity, but throughout the day Michael’s words kept intruding.
And I wanted to show you that our worlds aren’t all that different. That we could fit together.
Could they?
She pushed the thought away. Thankfully there were still so many arrangements to be made that she didn’t have time to think about Michael, about their outing, about what she was going to do.
At least she didn’t have much time. But his words occasionally crept in. …we could fit together.
By that night she’d exhausted herself and should have slept like the dead, but the questions kept spinning in her head. Could she do it? Could she stay here in Eliason?
Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, worrying about what to do. What was the fair solution for herself, for Michael, and most importantly, for their baby?
She got up the next day and did it all again. Frenzied work, restless night, questions chasing themselves round and round in her head.
…our worlds aren’t all that different. That we could fit together.
Two mornings later, after the library visit, Cara was at her makeshift desk checking messages, when she noticed a book that hadn’t been there when she’d left. She looked at the title. Nine Months.
Sections were highlighted.
A pregnancy time line had hurdles checked off, other sections with question marks by them.
Another section was marked. She flipped to it and found a week-by-week photo journal of a baby’s development. One had writing next to it. Our baby this week.
The tears welling in her eyes began to fall in earnest.
Not just a few tears, but all-out crying. Tiny sobs that she tried to hold in but eventually erupted.
Cara didn’t cry prettily. No Hollywood tears here. Her eyes felt raw and her nose was running like a spigot.
Our baby this week.
Michael had obviously spent all his spare time reading the book, trying to understand what she was going through. Why? Because he loved this baby.
She realized she’d known that all along.
He loved their baby as much as she did.
How on earth could she go back to Erie and take their baby with her? Michael couldn’t follow. He had responsibilities here.
She cried even harder.
What was she going to do? How could she make this situation work out fairly for both herself and Michael? Even more importantly, how could she make things right for their baby?
Somehow she had to get these darned pregnancy hormones under control. She was tired of crying. Tired of feeling unsure.
“Cara mia, what’s wrong?” Michael, aka The Shadow, came into the office.
“You have to stop stalking me.” She sniffed and brushed at her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he repeated.
“Nothing.” She slid the book under a pile of papers.
He spotted it and pulled it out. “You found the book.”
“It wasn’t fair.”
“It wasn’t meant to be,” he assured softly.
Cara jumped out of the chair and walked along the terrace.
She didn’t have to hear him to know Michael was following. She tried to ignore the fact and stared at the fountain in the garden. The steady stream of water was soothing to her very frazzled nerves.
She felt Michael right behind her. Not touching, but far too close. “When we’re married—”
“We’re not getting married.”
He ignored her interruption and continued, “I can picture how it will be when we’re married. I’ll just sit with you and we’ll talk about our day, share whatever tidbits the other missed. We’ll talk about our children.”
“Children?” she echoed. “As in the plural of child?”
“Seven or eight, at least,” he assured her without his usual teasing grin. He looked very serious.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
“The number is negotiable,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “What were you thinking? More? Ten maybe? You should have a lot of children. You’ll be a wonderful mother.”
“You have no way of knowing that. I was thinking this one is about all I can handle,” she said.
“Three then? It’s a nice compromise. Yes, three would be good.”
“Three?” she echoed. “Why, we’d be outnumbered.”
He gave her hand a quick, comforting squeeze. “One’s fine for now. Unless it’s twins. I’d like twins. Of course, we’d never dress them the same. I’d want them each to have their own individual identity.”
“No way.” Cara shook her head. She was desperately afraid one would be her undoing. After all, what did she know about babies?
Nothing.
A big fat nada.
It amazed her that Michael seemed so at ease with the idea of a baby…babies.
“Ah, so we agree. If we have twins no rhyming cutesy names, and no dressing them the same. We’ll allow them each to pursue their individual interests.”
“No twins,” she said, praying that it was so.
Twins?
She still hadn’t totally wrapped her brain around the idea of being a mother to one.
“Have they done a sonogram yet?” he asked. “Do you know for sure it’s not twins?”
“Yes, they did a sonogram right before I left, but no one said anything about twins. And truly, I hope they don’t.”
She stopped farther along the terrace, staring now at the beautifully manicured garden. Would her baby ever play there?
“Fine.” He had followed her and stood close behind her, but not actually touching her. “No twins. But did they tell you the sex yet?”
“It was too early, but even when they can tell, I don’t want to know. I prefer being surprised.” Even though there was no physical contact, Cara felt as if her every nerve had leaped to attention with Michael’s proximity.
What was it about this man?
“A surprise then.” He sounded disappointed.
“You’d want to know?” She turned to him. Big mistake. His eyes were so blue. Not a normal blue…brighter somehow. They drew her in, even though she tried not to slip.
“Here’s a secret,” he said softly, conspiratorially. Small lines crinkled around his eyes. “I peek at my Christmas presents every year. Always have. My mother used to try everything. Hiding them. Duct taping boxes. But I always found them or figured out a way to open them. She couldn’t prove I’d seen them, but knew I had. Mothers know those kinds of things. It’s just I was never good at surprises. But for you, I’ll wait.”
Cara smiled at the small glimpse of Michael’s past, of his secret present-opening vice.
“If you really want to know, I’m sure Tommy would tell you, but you’d have to promise not to tell me.”
He shook his head. “I’ll wait with you.”
“Thanks.” She realized she was holding his hand. It felt right.
“You know,” Michael said, “this is the first time we’ve talked about our baby and you haven’t brought up the professor.”
“I—” Cara started, ready to assure him that even though she hadn’t mentioned Stuart, it didn’t mean she wasn’t keeping him around. But Michael interrupted.
“Don’t—” he warned. “I’m sure you’ll have more Professor Stu stories later, but for now let me imagine him dead and buried.”
She tsk-tsked. “Poor Stu. It was a tragedy to lose him when he was so young and vibrant.”
“Vibrant?” Michael shook his head. “He was a stick-in-the-dirt.”
“Mud,” Cara corrected him. “The phrase is stick-in-the-mud.”
“Mud. Dirt. All I know is poor Stu won’t be lamented. Won’t be missed. It was a tragic, gruesome end. Would you like me to tell you how it happened?”
His grin was infectious and Cara couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve given this some thought.”
“Maybe just a bit,” he confessed.
She chuckled.
“I like your laughter. When I walked in on you, Parker and my mother the other day, you were laughing as you discussed flowers. Your laughter, it does something to me. I want to hear it every day. I want to see you smile.”
“I—”
“No, don’t say anything. You’re feeling better now, let’s keep it that way.”
“My emotions have been somewhat out of control. I’ve always cried at sappy commercials, but now I don’t even have to see them, I just have to think about them and I start tearing up.”
“The book said it’s hormonal. Normal. Pregnant women have huge mood swings under the best of circumstances. And you’ve probably got more on your mind than most expectant mothers. Like my marriage proposal.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
He pulled her close. “Persistence is my middle name.”
“Well, at least it’s one of them,” she said, teasing him. “You royals sure do load up on the whole name thing.”
“That’s the way of it. There are just too many relatives we can’t afford to offend. Speaking of names,” he said, the prince of casualness, “I’ve been thinking about our baby’s name. Do you have any picked out?”
Cara had been thinking about names ever since the pregnancy test had had that little plus sign. “I like more traditional names. Maybe Ruth?”
Michael didn’t say a word, he just wrinkled his nose.
“Mary Margaret then?” she tried. “We could call her Maggie.”
Another nose wrinkle.
“Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants. What do you suggest?”
“Persephone.”
“Ugh.” Cara rolled her eyes and made a gagging motion, just in case he didn’t understand what ugh meant. “Do you want to set this child up for years of abuse from her peers? Persephone?”
“A name should mean something. My many names represent my family history. And cara mia—”
“Plain old Cara,” she corrected, though that familiar little shiver climbed up her spine as he said it. She’d never admit it to Michael, but his cara-mias still affected her.
He just smiled and repeated, “Cara mia. It means something to me.”
She decided to ignore discussions on just what cara mia meant and honed in on the name he wanted to saddle their poor baby with. “But Persephone?”
“Do you know the story?” he asked.
“Mythology, right?”
He nodded. “She was carried away by Hades and her mother, Demeter, was so distraught that she wouldn’t allow anything to grow. Finally, Zeus ordered Hades to release Persephone, but it was too late. She’d eaten some seeds and could never truly leave. She was forced to spend a third of her time in the underworld. Whe
n she was with her mother, the earth was fertile, a paradise. But when she was with Hades, the land was barren, bereft. Persephone lived a divided life. So will our child, shuttling back and forth between us, never really belonging anywhere.”
“Isn’t likening us to moving between heaven and hell a bit much?” Cara asked softly, though she knew the truth of Michael’s words.
When she left him, she’d be breaking her own heart more than Demeter’s ever was.
“No.” The sadness in his voice tugged at her.
“I will be between heaven and hell—having time with you and then time without. Marry me, cara mia.”
“I won’t marry someone because I have to.”
“I want us to raise our child together. You and me. Marriage is the right thing.”
Say the words, she silently begged. Just tell me you love me and I’ll stay.
With sudden clarity, Cara realized that she needed him to love her because…she loved him.
She might try to deny the feeling. Might rationalize it and tell herself it was too soon to love him. But the truth was, too soon or not, rational or not, she loved him.
Say the words, she silently begged, wanting to tell him her feelings. All he had to do was say there was no have-to involved, only love.
He’d said he desired her, that he’d thought about their night together long after he’d left Erie. But desire wasn’t enough. He wanted to be a father to their baby, wanted to build a family. But even that wasn’t enough.
He didn’t say the words.
And though they were on the tip of Cara’s tongue, neither did she.
“I need time to think,” she finally whispered.
His hand brushed her now-well-rounded stomach. “There’s not much time, sweetheart. And there’s so much on the line.”
“So much,” she sadly echoed.
Her heart.
Her heart was on the line. And all it would take were those three little words to save it from breaking.
“Dinner tonight? Just you and me. The wedding guests will start arriving soon and then there won’t be much time.” He paused and added, “No talk of anything serious. Just the two of us, as if we’d just met and I’d asked you out.”
