by M. S. Parker
And Marcel had died because of it.
Four
Regan
“That’s it. Get your pretty self out of bed, girl. Now.”
The sound of a deep baritone voice intruding on my sleep had me groaning. Rolling over onto my belly, I shoved my head under my pillow. “Indy…go away.”
“Hell, no. I am not going away.”
My mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down, and even through the pillow, I caught the scent of the subtle almond-musk fragrance he loved. He must have leaned in closer, too, because his voice sounded like it was on level with my ear when he spoke again. “If I have to, I’ll drag you out of here wearing that ratty old t-shirt and even rattier old yoga pants. But you are getting out of this apartment and getting some sun on that pasty face of yours.”
Irritated, I jerked the pillow down and glared at him. “Quit calling me pasty. I can’t help if I was born looking like an albino version of Casper the Ghost.”
“Cute.” He grinned at that. “At least your sense of humor is still in place. You’re not too far gone yet.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Sweetie.” The smile faded from his face, and he reached up to cup my cheek. “Something’s going on with you, and I know it. I know I’ve been busy the past month, and we didn’t talk much at all while I was out in California on the DeSantos project, but I have eyes, and I’ve known you my entire life. Something is eating at you, and it’s starting to affect your mindset.”
“It is not,” I said uncomfortably.
“Okay. Prove it.” He cocked a straight black brow at me, his smooth dark face unsmiling. “When was the last time you took a shower?”
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut. It had been two days ago, right? I wasn’t sure, though. I resisted doing a pit sniff, but just barely.
“All right. Don’t answer that one. When was the last time you auditioned for a role?”
“I’ve got a reason for that,” I said sourly, pushing myself up in the bed.
“Oh?” He crossed his legs and clasped his hands around his knees, giving me a polite look of inquiry. “Please explain, then. I thought you wanted to take a few weeks off. It’s been three months since your last production closed.”
“You’re an ass.” Grumbling, I settled back against the headboard and looked around, searching for anything to focus on but him.
“I’m an ass who’s worried about you.” He rested a hand on my lower leg, sliding down until he could close long fingers around my ankles. “Girl, you’ve lost weight. Do I have to yell at you?”
Looking back at him, I met his gaze. The band around my chest tightened.
He must have seen something on my face because his expression softened. “You ready to talk to me now?”
Shit. He was right. I was getting too morose. I couldn’t help the air of depression that had settled over me the past couple of weeks, but I didn’t have to keep doing things that I knew would make matters worse, either. I managed a smile and nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good.” He got up and waved at me. “Get out of bed. We’re going out for lunch. My treat. And don’t argue. You know it’s not good for you to sit around all cooped up in here while avoiding all social interaction.”
I made a face but didn’t argue.
After all, he was right.
Indy’s real name was Indiana, as in Indiana Jones. His parents met in college. NYU had been showing all the Indiana Jones movies, and although it hadn’t been love at first sight, it had been pretty close. They’d married less than a year later, and ten months after the wedding, they had Indy.
They’d both started working for my mother not long after. Indy and I had grown up together.
When he said he knew me, he was being honest. Nobody knew me as well as Indy. He would be hurt that I’d hidden things from him, but…seriously, best friend or not, he was still a guy. Talking about my ovaries—and uterus and my messed-up fertility—wasn’t exactly comfortable. Indy was gay, yeah, but he was still a guy, and talking this stuff over with guys would probably be about as comfortable as my yearly gynecological exam.
Actually, worse.
I took my time showering and getting dressed, selecting one of my favorite outfits in an attempt to bolster my confidence. It didn’t work all that well, but maybe it was because the sweater hung looser than it should.
I avoided looking in the mirror as I got ready for fear that old insecurities would rise up and batter me.
Indy was right. I was in a bad frame of mind. I had to fix this.
We ended up at one of our favorite places, a hole-in-the-wall Cuban restaurant with the best Cubanos and killer mojitos in New York. Since I was clearly not having any luck on the pregnancy train, I agreed to a pitcher when Indy asked. I could certainly use the calories, even if they were empty, and I tended to eat more when I drank.
Since it was so early in the day, the music played quietly, and I appreciated the fact that we wouldn’t have to shout to make conversation, although at the same time, it might have been easier—
Don’t think that way, I told myself.
Once the server disappeared through the swinging doors, Indy leaned back in the faded, thick cushions of the booth and gave me what I’d dubbed his lawyer look. I’d practiced both that look and his demeanor when I played a small role as a lawyer in a play a couple of years ago. Indy had recognized certain mannerisms, too, and had been delighted.
I wasn’t so delighted to see him fixing that stare on me.
“You should have been a prosecutor,” I muttered. “With that look, you’d be excellent at cross-examinations.”
He shuddered. “You know me. Weak stomach. The thought of having to look at autopsy photos or murder scene photos…honey, I’d pass out.”
“Probably.” I grinned at him, amusement lifting my mood for a few seconds.
“Tell me what’s going on, Regan. You’ve been down for a while now. I kept waiting for you to talk to me, but you haven’t, and I can’t ignore…whatever it is any longer.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but the server appeared in front of us, depositing the pitcher of mojitos, glasses, and extra ice water. While she poured, I grabbed my water and gulped, wetting a throat gone terribly dry. Once she left, Indy reached across the table and took my hand.
I locked my fingers with his. “I went to go see Dr. Vaughn a little while ago. I started having more…issues.” Even putting it like that had my face heating.
“Issues.” He smiled ruefully. “Regan, my mom used to send me into the store to buy her tampons. I was the one who had to take you to the emergency room when you ended up with that tubal pregnancy.”
“I know!” Glaring at him, I squirmed on the seat. Hell. The tubal. “It still doesn’t make it any easier for me to talk about this with you! So be quiet and let me do it.”
He waved his free hand in the air, then reached for his drink. “Proceed.”
“Thank you, counselor.” I sipped from my mojito and blew out a sigh. “It was just cramping and stuff at first, but it was getting worse.”
“After what happened in college, I guess you aren’t going to take chances.”
“No.” I grimaced and shot him a look. “I wasn’t. There wasn’t anything to worry about there. I haven’t had sex in so long, I don’t know if I remember how.”
“Oh, honey.” His hand tightened on mine. “You should have let me know. I’ve got a few friends who swing both ways…and at least one of them is just your type.”
“I don’t need you to hook me up for sex, Indy. And I was dating for a while. Some.” I squirmed uncomfortably, not wanting to tell him that I’d dipped my toe into the dating pool for a couple of weeks after I’d first heard the news—had even signed up for one of those awful dating sites. But none of the dates had worked out. Not all had been total disasters, although a few had been.
There just hadn’t been anybody I could see getting naked with, and
the only guys who hadn’t hit my creep-o-meter had been looking to settle down. No way I could ask them for a sperm deposit.
“Anyway…Dr. Vaughn ran some tests.” Not wanting him to see the worry and misery in my eyes, I looked at the tablecloth, tracing circles on it with my fingertip. “She…um…well, if I’m going to have kids the traditional way, I have to do it soon. Otherwise, I may not be able to.”
Indy was silent.
Darting a look at him, I saw the compassion on his face.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
I heaved out a sigh. “I don’t know. For the first few weeks, I was thinking about maybe getting artificially inseminated.” My cheeks heated, but I ignored it. I was being silly, getting worked up over this. Indy was my best friend. If I couldn’t talk to him about this, who could I talk to? My mother was gone. My brother…yeah, right, assuming I could get over the awkwardness, the two of us had finally gotten to the point to where we felt comfortable with each other. There was no way I could talk to him about this. And aside from Indy, most of my other friendships were casual.
“I guess that’s not at the top of your list now,” Indy said.
“No.” I winced as I met his eyes. “It all seems so…cold. And clinical. What if my kid asks about his or her dad? Well, honey…I read all about him on a website, and he was nice-looking and smart, so he seemed like a good genetic fit?” I took a bigger, healthier gulp of the mojito. “Those profiles tell me nothing about what kind of man is behind that picture, not really. Is he funny? Nice? Does he call his mom and dad once a week? Or is he a jerk incarnate?”
“Nurture is what decides those things, Regan.” Compassion in his eyes, Indy took my hand once more. “You’re proof enough of that.”
I didn’t want to think about that—or what he meant. Yeah, my father was a jerk, all right.
“I know.” Nibbling on my lower lip, I searched for the words I needed so he’d understand. “I’m not looking for some great love match here, Indy. But I want to have something to tell my child. I know what it’s like to have those questions, and I want to offer something more than what I ended up with. And I don’t blame my mom,” I hurried to say. Indy had loved my mom almost as much as he loved his own.
His lips curved in a smile. “I know that. Your dad was the asshole here. Your mom did everything she could. She loved you. We both know that.”
“Yes. I just…I want better. I, at least, want to be able to tell my child that his father wasn’t a jerkwad. That he was a decent guy, that we had some fun together…that I liked him. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”
“No.” Indy gave my hand a gentle squeeze and started to speak, only to stop as the server came bustling up to our table, plates balanced on her arm. After she distributed everything, she hurried off to wait on another group of diners, and Indy pointed at my plate. “Eat a little bit, at least. You need it.”
“Yes, mama.” Rolling my eyes, I reached for my sandwich and took a bite. My stomach didn’t squeeze up on me in rejection, so after swallowing, I took another bite then put it down and ate a few fries.
“You’re not done.”
I squinted at Indy. “If you keep ordering me around, you’re going to wear this sandwich home.”
“As long as you take a few more bites,” he said, clearly unconcerned.
I laughed, and we ate in companionable silence for a few more minutes.
He finished his entire sandwich before I’d even gotten close to half of mine, but he looked pleased as he studied my plate.
“Do I get a gold star?” I asked.
He winked. “Possibly two.” After wiping his hands, he leaned back in his chair. “So, I take it you’ve been dating?”
“I tried.” Of course he’d ask. I should have known better than to keep everything quiet. “I was finishing up the production I was in, and there are always chances to hook up, but after a drink or two, there was always something that turned me off. I focused on the stupid sperm bank, which was a disaster. I gave the dating thing a shot for another month, but I got more and more depressed the longer it went on.”
“A month.” His brows came together. “Just how long have you known about this problem, Regan?”
My face heated. “Um…almost six months.”
“Six…” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “And you’re just now talking to me?”
“You’ve been busy!” Defensive, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I wasn’t going to worry you while you were out in California working on the DeSantos project. Then, after you came back, you were playing catch up, and I was still wading around in the dating pool…” The hurt look he gave me made the rest of my words dry up in my throat. Looking away, I admitted, “I’ve been a little scared, okay? Talking about it makes it too real. I don’t want it to be real, Indy.”
“It’s real whether you hide from it or not. If you want to have that baby, you need to confront it and figure out what to do,” he said, voice gentle.
“I know.” Meeting his eyes, I tried to smile. “Don’t be mad at me.”
“If it was anything but this…” He shook his head before draining his mojito and pouring another. “But I know how much you want a baby. Okay, moving past it. Let’s fix this. You said you’ve been dating…and I heard a big but there.”
“Nobody clicks.” I finished my mojito and poured a refill.
As I did so, Indy watched me critically. “Well, we’re going to start Operation Baby Maker, so you should commit to that being your last drink for a while.”
“Operation Baby Maker?” Amused, I took a sip. “What is involved in this operation?”
“I’m going to help you find somebody who…clicks.” He smacked his hands together, then rubbed one against the other. “In your line of work, you’re surrounded by too many attention whores, of both sexes. Not to mention how many of those actors that we both know are gay, so you’ve already narrowed your dating pool. Plus, with that cute, waifish thing you rock so well, you tend to attract men who want to rescue you. If you want to raise this baby solo, you don’t want a knight in shining armor type. That just won’t do.”
Uncertain, I took a sip from my glass. “And just what sort of guys are you going to hook me up with?”
“I run in professional circles, honey. I know all sorts…lawyers, accountants, even some cops.” He pursed his lips. “We’ll hold off on cops for now. But there are business execs, CEOs…you name it.”
I still felt skeptical, but I wasn’t having any luck doing it my way.
“Now.” He leaned forward, eyes locked on my face. “Why don’t you tell me some of the traits that are the most important?”
“You sound like the live version of the sperm bank site I wasted a month of my life on,” I muttered.
“Except I can tell you what’s behind the profile…funny, kind…does he call his mom.” Indy winked. “Trust me, Regan. I’m definitely the better bet.”
Five
Bastian
“I want to go with you!” My little sister, Katrina Von Brandt, the darling of Liechtenstein—and half of Europe as well—flung herself down on my bed as I went over my agenda for the next few weeks.
“I’m not going on holiday, darling,” I told her, giving her long, pale gold curls an affectionate tug. She was probably the only person left in the world who could make me smile. If I were honest, I’d much rather be going on holiday with Kat, but that wasn’t the case.
“I don’t care!” She rolled onto her back, sighing expansively. “Just think…we could see Rockefeller Square and Times Center! They’re decorated for Christmas already, aren’t they? I want to see them.”
“I think you have those backward.” I grinned down at her. “It’s Times Square and Rockefeller Center.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Who cares?” Her bright blue eyes sparkled up at me. “We could see the lights and maybe go to a Broadway play.”
“We’ve been to plays in London.”
“You’re turning into an old man, Bastian.” Huffing, she poked me in the side. “Sounding more and more like our father every day.”
“I’m sorry.” Sighing, I bent over and dropped an affectionate kiss on her forehead. “There is just so much I’m supposed to learn…”
My chest went tight at the thought, and I looked away.
“You aren’t supposed to be the one doing this.” Katrina sat up and wiggled around until she was next to me on the big bed, resting her head against my arm. “Marcel was born for this. You and me, we were born to play and make people laugh and do the humanitarian thing. Although you were being lazy on that part lately. Marcel was the responsible one.”
A bitter laugh rose up my throat, but I held it back. The sharp, cutting temper that had emerged from deep within wasn’t one I’d unleash on my little sister. Nobody deserved it, but she most definitely didn’t.
“He was,” I agreed, wrapping my arm around her and tugging her up against me. “And he’s gone, so it falls to me.”
“I’m glad it’s you and not me.” She snuggled in closer. “Not that I care for these archaic laws that say only the male son may inherit, but the weight of this has changed you, Bastian. You never laugh anymore.”
It wasn’t just the responsibility that had done it, but I wouldn’t tell her. My guilt was my cross to bear, and mine alone.
My phone vibrated, and I looked down at a message from Isaak. A cousin on my mother’s side, he had been my personal bodyguard for several years, but since I’d been made the Hereditary Prince, Isaak had taken over as the head of my security detail.
Organized to his core, he often worked hand in hand with my personal assistant to make sure I stayed on top of my daily appointments. The text was a subtle reminder my father wanted to see me in his office before dinner.
Erich Johann Von Brandt, the Prince Regnant and reigning monarch of Liechtenstein had aged a great deal in the past year. It felt like I’d aged in a decade over the past year. My father? Easily double.
