The Reluctant Prince

by Candice Gilmer

  I wondered why he didn’t have a bed in the corner—that seemed to be all it was missing.

  I forced myself to stay out of the way, deciding this was a perfect time for me to make the Grandma bread.

  I giggled in delight as the heavy-duty Kitchen Aid mixer kneaded the dough for me as I added my flour to it. Nico remained with me, standing at the edge of the kitchen, watching.

  Twice he opened his mouth to say something, but stopped.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Nico, if you have something to say to me, please tell me.”

  He stared at me for a full minute before he said anything.

  I was almost done adding the flour to my bread, when he decided to speak, startling me so that I dumped the flour a little too fast and it poofed out of the mixer, spraying white mist all over me.

  “I was going to say,” he started then let out a stifled laugh at my ghostly appearance.

  I shot him a look. “You could have waited until I was done pouring the flour in,” I said as I tried to dust it off my shirt, without much luck.

  He bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “Sorry, ma’am.”

  I let out a sigh, set down my measuring cup and shook my head. “Sorry to snap,” I told him as I turned to look in his direction. “What was it you were going to say?”

  “Only that it was quite smart of you to remember the license tag off Alicia’s car.”

  I shrugged as I picked up my spatula to help guide the flour where it was supposed to go in the dough. “I’m not usually good at remembering that kind of thing.” I turned off the mixer and started working the dough off the dough hook. “It was funny.”

  I was about to dump the bread dough out on the cabinet, when Nico took three strides and caught my arm.

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  He grabbed the flour canister and sprinkled a bunch of flour on the cabinet. “It will stick if you do not flour your counter.”

  I blinked. “How come everyone in the world knows more about cooking than I do?” I muttered as I put the dough on the floured cabinet.

  “My mamie made a lot of bread,” Nico said then snapped his head to the doorway, instantly taking a couple of steps back from me.

  “Nico?” I asked as I started to knead my dough.

  Hadrian walked through the door. “Hey, shouldn’t you have your feet up?” he asked, kissing me on the cheek.

  “I did all morning,” I said. “I feel fine.”

  Somewhere between last night and this morning, Hadrian had quit arguing with me about getting up and around even though I was on quasi-bed rest.

  Instead of fighting a losing battle, he glanced at what I was making. “Oh, bread,” he said, snagging a tiny corner of the dough and popping it in his mouth.

  “Eww, it’s not baked yet,” I said, smacking his hand.

  He grinned. “You have everything you need?”

  I nodded. “Did the sheriff leave?”

  “Yes, he’s putting out an APB on Alicia’s car, but he and Robert have a strong suspicion that she’s already gone.” He reached up and got a large bowl for me to let the bread rise in, and put a layer of oil in the bottom for me. “The number she left was local, and the sheriff’s tracking it down. He thinks it’s a motel over in Shell Knob. He’s already sent a car to check it out.”

  “That’s very nice of them to help you out,” I said.

  Hadrian shrugged. “If they are helpful it looks good on their résumés, and it makes for good public relations.” His tone indicated awareness and acceptance of the “I scratch your back, you scratch mine” motto.

  Didn’t people do nice things for people anymore? “Because you’re a celebrity.”

  “Because I’m royal.”

  “A royal pain in the butt,” I said, leaning over and being sure to get powder on his bottom as I pinched it.

  He jumped and grabbed a speck of flour, and was about to throw it at me, but stopped. “I see you’ve already lost against the flour.”

  “Stow it,” I muttered. I finished the bread and put it in the bowl, covering it with a towel to let it rise, considering what he said. True, he was royal. But he was also a celeb in his own right. Shouldn’t that give him some kind of special treatment as well?

  “Tell me something. Shouldn’t the FBI or CIA or some such help out with this?” I asked as I took a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

  Hadrian sat down next to me. “Technically, since she’s here, she’s taking asylum on US soil. Now, if the US government catches her, they can decide if they want to release her into Korosian custody.”

  “But aren’t we on Korosian soil?” I asked, subconsciously twisting on the barstool.

  Hadrian nodded. “If we had caught her while she was here yesterday, this would all be over. But since we missed her…”

  I shook my head. “If I had realized, I would have… I don’t know, offered her coffee or something.”

  Hadrian put his arm around me, half to steady me in the chair and half for the touch. Or at least I thought those were his motives. He did give me that you’re-fidgeting-like-a-two-year-old look.

  Still, he remained verbally on topic. “It’s okay, you didn’t have to know. I didn’t want to tell you about that mess. You have too much on your mind anyway.”

  I nuzzled his hand. “There has been a lot going on. Will we be safe here?” I asked. “I mean…you don’t think… Surely she’s not going to get violent against you?”

  “There’s no way to be sure. She might think I ruined her thought-out plans. Though I can’t for the life of me figure out why she would do this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If I told her once, I told her a thousand times, I had no desire to be king.”

  “And the timing of this is horrific,” Robert said when he came into the kitchen.

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  Hadrian glanced at me. “The king is sick. He’s probably dying.”

  My eyes went wide. This woman was that desperate to get Hadrian on the throne she’d arrange three deaths? How sick was she? “You mean she’s trying to kill him too?”

  Robert grimaced. “No, he has cancer—diagnosed a year ago.”

  Hadrian nodded. “About the time The Pasta Prince really started to take off…” He paused, and glanced at Robert. Robert met his gaze, and their eyes went wide, like something had clicked over in their heads.

  “What? What’s so special about a year ago?”

  “That’s when Alicia started getting really, really irritated that my show was doing well. To her at least, I became more vocal about not going back to Koros,” Hadrian said.

  I blinked. “Well, let’s hope that computer you found has a journal or something on it to explain all this.”

  Hadrian smirked. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice.”

  I pretty much bounced into the shower the next day—the doctor having cleared me, and said that everything was fine with my pregnancy, though he still wanted me to wait a couple more days before having sex. Just to be sure, he’d said.

  On one hand I couldn’t help agreeing with him. On the other, my hormones were going amuck, and I was desperate to jump on Hadrian again. At this point I wouldn’t care if I had to do it in front of all the royal guards.

  Nico seemed to be, for lack of better phrase, taking a shine to me. He didn’t seem as horribly bored with following me around as he was at first. Hadrian had said it was for my protection, but at this point, I didn’t know if that meant my ex or Alicia, or both.

  I hadn’t heard from Jim in the last few days, either, which wasn’t good. I didn’t trust the man, not any further than I could throw him.

  Bella said even on her end, he’d been quiet. If he knew about my sudden move to the little house, he wasn’t showing up that Bella saw. She did tell me, though, that the last of the details would be done on the house over the next week or so. So when I got back, it should be ready to be moved into.

  Which was cool.


  If I moved in there.

  At this point, I didn’t know what I would be doing. I was stuck in a strange limbo that didn’t make any sense in any direction.

  While I knew I was in slight mortal peril from Hadrian’s obviously crazy assistant, I was here, doing as close to nothing as possible—albeit on doctor’s orders until today—in this peaceful place.

  I have a prince—a friggin’ royal prince—who wants to marry me. If that isn’t a fantasy in itself, then I don’t know what is. Of course, this only brought up more dilemmas in my mind. Was I really going to marry him? There wasn’t even a ring. Not that I wanted a ring, per se, but wasn’t that supposed to be part of it?

  Part of me was afraid he was doing it out of some kind of duty…not because he wanted to be with me. And I hated the idea of him feeling like he had to marry me, fix a mistake and all that.

  My heart told me I was being an idiot, because it was obvious he cared about me. Still, I didn’t want him to feel obligated.

  I rubbed my head as I got out of the shower, squeezing all the water I could get out and trying to flush the confusing thoughts out of my head.

  I flung the water into the sink and went through the whole motion of lotion-powder-deodorant, that stuff you do when you climb out.

  I stood before the mirror, dropped the towel and started looking over my body.

  “My boobs,” I muttered, realizing that the areolas had darkened up…and were they getting bigger? I twisted this way and that, looking them over. I didn’t see any stretch marks on them…wait there’s one on the side…

  Rats.

  They were getting bigger, and leaving proof of their growth. Dang.

  My eyes wandered down to my tummy, and my hand reflexively went to touch where the baby was. It was harder. There wasn’t much sticking out as of yet, but the skin was starting to round a bit, and when I ran my hand over the spot, I could feel the slight bulge. And my hips were rounder—less of my hipbones poked out.

  I was only about eleven weeks, now, I thought. Maybe twelve, I wasn’t sure. I knew the conception date, anyway.

  “Can you hear me in there?” I said. “Do you have ears yet?” I ran my hand over my stomach and looked down at myself. “This is a crazy world I’m bringing you into,” I told my tummy. “Hope you’re ready for it.”

  Almost in response, my tummy rumbled.

  And some of my bread from yesterday sounded so good. I hoped it hadn’t all been eaten. Everyone loved the bread last night. Of course, the guards acted like they’d never eaten in their lives, and wolfed down everything. Hadrian was even impressed. But now he wanted to make it with me, to see how we could tweak it.

  “Perhaps I should leave the cooking to Hadrian,” I said with a smirk as I got dressed. At least now, I could talk to myself and I could blame it on the baby. I thought I read in one of my books that talking to the baby was a good thing.

  I headed downstairs.

  And I heard voices.

  Though fortunately, they were real, and not in my imagination.

  “Hadrian, you have to understand. It can’t be done like this.” This was a female, a voice I didn’t recognize…

  Well, come to think of it, maybe I did.

  I reached the bottom of the stairs. Hadrian was pacing around, running his fingers through his hair, his lips set in a grim line. Sitting on the couch was an older woman I didn’t know, though it could only be Hadrian’s mother. Her face was very similar to Hadrian’s, a female version of his features. The only thing she didn’t have were the same amber eyes that Hadrian sported.

  “I don’t care.” Hadrian thrust his hands out in the air. “This isn’t about what’s proper. You are the last person I would have expected to argue against this.”

  As I stepped off the stairs, Nico appeared. “Who is that?” I whispered to him.

  “Margaret Drake, Hadrian’s mother.” My suspicions were confirmed. I took a few cautious steps into the living area, unsure if I wanted to disrupt this family argument.

  “Why not, Hadrian? Because I divorced Aubert?” She shifted in her seat. “Just because I didn’t like being royal didn’t mean that I didn’t respect Aubert’s responsibilities. And you have responsibilities. Whether you like it or not. A formal wedding, in the church, in front of the king and queen.”

  “I don’t care about the king and queen,” Hadrian said. “I want to marry Sydney.” He got down on his knee in front of his mother, taking her hands. “I love her, Mom. I’m not losing her.”

  Robert coughed behind him as I came into the living room.

  “Wow, uh, Hadrian, do you propose to every girl you see?” I asked, him, attempting to loosen the tension I felt in the room.

  Hadrian jumped up. “Syd,” he said, crossing to me and sweeping me up in his arms. His lips met mine, and whatever concerns I had about being surrounded by strangers melted away as his lips opened and caressed mine, the room fading into the background.

  “Let her breath, boy,” Margaret said, attempting to shove a hand between us.

  Hadrian growled and twisted a different direction, blocking her from interrupting our kiss.

  I couldn’t help laughing and pushed him away. “He’s awfully zealous,” I said to his mom.

  “I see.” She gazed up at her son. “I think I underestimated the situation.”

  Hadrian snapped his head to his mom. “Why?”

  She merely smiled. Then faced me and introduced herself. I shook her hand. “Glad to meet you in person.”

  She laughed. “That’s right, this isn’t our first encounter.” She waggled her eyebrows at me and looked at Hadrian. “Did he behave himself?”

  My cheeks flushed red. “He didn’t do anything that night that I didn’t ask him to do.”

  Hadrian met my gaze with a heated stare, and I knew he was thinking exactly what I was thinking—he did do what I asked him to do. And he did it well.

  His mother must not have caught the stare. Thank God. “Good, good,” she said with a grin. “Raised him right.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Mom,” he said, sounding like a teenager for a moment before he guided me to the couch. As I sat down, Hadrian started to fuss. “Can I get you anything? Want some breakfast? Coffee?”

  “Breakfast would be stellar.”

  Hadrian darted into the kitchen and in a moment, warm, wonderful smells were coming out.

  My stomach growled.

  “Is he always like that?” his mother asked, taking a seat next to me and sipping on her mug of coffee.

  I shrugged. “He’s been fussing over me since we got here.”

  “Hmm,” she said into her mug. “What does your family think about this? Do they think you two are rushing things?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “They disowned me a while back.”

  “Disowned you? Whatever for?”

  “I got a divorce. They’re very strict Catholics. Very old school.”

  Hadrian appeared, holding out a cup of coffee. “I didn’t know that.”

  I smelled the warm aroma. “They had to do what they had to do,” I said as I took a sip. “Their loss.”

  “Yes,” Hadrian said, his eyes dark, like he could go ring my parents’ necks for such a thing. But in a flash, he was normal again and headed back into the kitchen.

  His mother sipped on her own coffee again. “So you were raised Catholic?”

  “Yep. Right down to the plaid skirts and the sore knuckles from the rulers.”

  “Do you practice now?”

  “Not all the time, but on occasion, I go. Christmas and Easter, anyway.”

  “Was your ex-husband Catholic?”

  “Yep.” I glanced at her, and even though I’d only known her a few minutes, I could tell she was scheming something. “Is there a reason you’re asking me all this?”

  “It will make it somewhat easier when you two marry—your having a Catholic background. We’ll have to annul your previous marriage and that can take time.”
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  “I don’t care about that.” Hadrian handed me a plate with an omelet roughly the size of a basketball player’s shoe and several pieces of toast.

  And I was hungry enough to eat it, regardless of the green leafy stuff sticking out of the egg.

  “You should care. You’re a prince and a duke. If you want any of your titles to be passed down you had better do this right, Hadrian.”

  I forked a corner of the egg and chewed as I listened. While I couldn’t begin to understand the complexities of his titles and such, I felt my own strange sensation of not caring if the baby had titles.

  Yet another reason why marriage wasn’t exactly a necessity.

  “I don’t care. I never have. I wouldn’t have any of them if you and Dad hadn’t insisted. I’m marrying Sydney. Here. In a couple of days. I don’t care what you or the king thinks.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not thinking about you, I’m thinking about your heir. If the sonogram was wrong and Michel and Heather have another daughter, you’re third in line again. And I don’t care what that stubborn old coot Armand says. He’s sick, and he’s not going to be around much longer. Which will make you second in line…the crown prince, when Michel takes the throne.”

  “Not to mention grand duke,” Robert added.

  Hadrian glared at him. “Stow it, Robert.”

  “Just making sure Your Highness doesn’t forget his place.” If I didn’t know better, Robert was smirking as he spoke.

  “Like I could,” Hadrian muttered.

  I caught Nico’s gaze out of the corner of my eye. Nico was repressing a laugh. I bit my lip, because I wanted to laugh as well, so I continued shoving eggs in my mouth.

  “He is right, Hadrian. You have to consider what is best for you and for your child.” His mother gestured at me.

  I felt my cheeks stain.

  “What is best for the child, or the heir?” Hadrian asked.

  “I didn’t make up these rules, Hadrian Drake. You know that,” his mother replied.

  I picked up the toast and tore a corner off it. “So what’s the big deal?” I asked. “I mean, we get married in a little ceremony. People do it all the time.”

  “He is a prince, my dear. Princes do not get married in small ceremonies on balconies of lake houses.”