Prince's Pregnant Princess

by Ana Adams

  “I’m not marrying Francesca.” Adrien knew fighting it was futile, but he couldn’t just swallow the news without hiccupping a bit. “I refuse.”

  “You can’t refuse and you know it. Your family will be there, with or without your presence, to celebrate your hand in marriage with the archduchess. Contact your mother for further plans and arrangements. We expect to see your shining face in five weeks.”

  His stomach knotted. The time limit was real now. “I want nothing to do with her, or with continuing the monarchy.”

  “That doesn’t matter now.” His father’s voice grew gruff. “Your opinion is the least of our concerns. Good day, Adrien.”

  The connection went dead and Adrien squeezed the phone, the bad news leaving a sick taste in his mouth. The arrangement with Clara couldn’t have come at a better time. He just hoped that she could deliver.

  He stormed into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Five weeks to either find a wife or resign himself to a nationalistic destiny that felt foreign and vicelike. Five weeks to enjoy the last dregs of freedom with Clara, however he could, before his life took a turn for the strange and restricted.

  Emerging from the bathroom, Clara watched him curiously. “Who called?”

  “My father.” He locked his hands behind his head, pacing the far wall in front of the window.

  “Your French is sexy.”

  He smirked. “Thanks. Did you understand any of it?”

  “I heard the name Francesca, I think. Was that in there?”

  “It was.” He grimaced, pausing to observe the muted commotion of the street below. Pedestrians paused around a cart of fresh fruit. Shady types lurked around parked cars, glancing up and down the street. “A wedding date has been set.”

  There was a long pause. He turned to face her.

  “How much time do you have left?” Her voice came out small.

  “Five weeks.” He joined her on the couch, sighing as he sat down. “We’ll have to work fast.”

  She nodded, lazily tracing the keys of her keyboard. “I have a couple leads already. Hopefully I’ll have you set up for some dates in a few days.”

  “Great.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, sensing a stress headache arriving. “I can’t wait to meet the future Mrs. LaCroix.”

  Chapter Ten

  A few days later, Clara had an idea of how this whole gig was going down. She’d amassed a healthy spreadsheet of potential suitors, organized by categories like career, personal history, social media presence, past scandals and drama, political affiliations, and then an internal rating scale devised by Clara that accounted for both her personal preference and what she imagined would be Adrien’s.

  The spreadsheet was massive, and the result of too many hours of work. But Adrien’s first deposit showed up in her bank account—“the seed fund,” he’d said—and suddenly the work felt much more important. If only the gig could last forever. Then she might have a real shot at getting out of debt.

  The temporary release of the money claws was a welcome change. She splurged at the grocery store that morning, and called off a catering shift so she could spend more time hunting for princesses. Between music playlists, hummus platters, and her laptop, she was a woman on a mission.

  By Monday afternoon, her first list of blind dates was ready for Adrien. His preference was for dinner dates, with multiple dates in a day only in times of extreme necessity or urgency. His first dates were for Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday that week. She sent over the list of days, times, names, and executive summaries with a triumphant click.

  Adrien called moments later. She answered the phone with a grin. “Hello?”

  “This is fantastic.” His deep voice soothed her from across the city. Butterflies swarmed her belly. “I had no idea this could be so thorough.”

  “I’m a scientist. I use methodologies.” She admired the spreadsheet on her laptop as they talked about it, like a proud mother. “Do you like the color coding?”

  “Absolutely.” He whistled. “And you left Friday open for us, right?”

  “Just like you asked.” The way he’d said for us made her blush. She bit back a smile. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t forget your most important date of the week.”

  “Good. How does it feel to be dating a known womanizer?”

  She laughed. “Excellent, especially since I’m in control of the womanizing.”

  They chatted for a little longer before Adrien had to run to a meeting. She continued her work, glowing from the high of their conversation. Dating a womanizer. It was hilarious, and strange, and made a funny feeling simmer inside her. Somewhere between Friday night and now, they’d started dating. There was a title to it. One that Adrien coined himself.

  They’d been in constant contact, and now, on Monday evening, it marked only a full day out of each other’s presence. Though they were scheduled for Friday, she was already dying to see him again. More dangerous by the day.

  Rationalizing helped. She figured that if she were to have a better chance at success and meeting the deadline, she needed to know as much as possible about Adrien. Which would include, feasibly, a detailed knowledge of his personality, his likes, his dislikes, sexual preferences. Otherwise, she might pair him incorrectly, and he’d be doomed to marry the archduchess. Maybe, if she learned enough about him, she could write an algorithm to help make more accurate matches.

  So that meant sleeping with him was for the best. She nodded at her computer, typing more furiously as she Googled a new lead. Definitely had to continue sleeping with him, even though, only days ago, not sleeping with him seemed the wisest course of action. But hey, things change when you start dating a prince.

  Butterflies erupted in her belly again and she reached for a pita chip from the bag beside her. Dating a prince was strange enough, but their inevitable end was a curious aspect to the situation, like starting a story after reading the last line of the book first.

  And what would it be like to hear about all his dates? Maybe he wouldn’t tell her. Or maybe he’d be slowly falling in love with a woman as they continued their dead-end affair. She shivered. Her life had taken a strange turn since last week, and she wasn’t entirely sure where this phase would spit her out at the end. The only way was forward, by doing what felt right.

  And to her, doing Adrien felt extremely right.

  ***

  Later that night, she’d dozed off in the middle of her research. A phone call startled her awake. Adrien.

  She snatched it up. “Hello?” She blinked against the low light of the room, struggling to make sense of the clock on the opposite wall. 10:30 p.m.

  “Good evening. How are you?”

  “Fine.” She yawned. “Just wrapping up some more research.”

  “Don’t burn yourself out.” He tutted through the phone. “I pay handsomely, but that doesn’t mean you need to become a zombie.”

  “I just want to do a good job,” she said, picking at the couch. “You have a time limit. It makes me nervous.”

  “You and me both. Which brings me to why I called.”

  “Yeah?”

  “The girl tonight was a dud.”

  “Oh.” She frowned, pulling open the spreadsheet. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll make a note of it on my end.”

  “Good.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Nothing much. She was terribly bland, and already talking about matching his-and-her nightgowns.”

  “Jesus. OK, I’ll have to tweak my screening.”

  “Maybe you could come show me what you’re doing.” Adrien’s voice took on a sultry lilt. “I’d like to see behind the scenes. Check out the work of my mad scientist.”

  She grinned, tingles running up and down her spine. “You want to fraternize with the mad scientist?”

  “Desperately.” His voice came out as a low growl.

  “Are you gonna send Mr. Pike?”

  “I already did. He’ll be there in ten.”
<
br />   She couldn’t fight the grin. “Let me get my things around then. I’ll see you soon.”

  Chapter Eleven

  On Friday afternoon, Adrien was tired of the blind dates. Four duds down and a long list of potential duds to wade through, while the clock ticked. The only consolation was Clara, who worked tirelessly to find interesting matches. Their own date night was the high point in his week, something he’d insisted on while knowing that the cycle of strangers would wear on him.

  But the unexpected aspect to the blind date barrage was that Clara had been spending the night. A lot. Every night, in fact. After inviting her over on Monday, the days had seamlessly blurred together until suddenly it was their date night and she’d spent every single night in his arms.

  Coming home to her each night was another bright spot amid the tense hunt. And when he returned from each date, she was there, ready to talk it over with him, learn more about what he liked and didn’t like, tweaking accordingly. It was certainly the strangest living situation he’d ever encountered in his life, but somehow it worked.

  He and Clara had agreed to meet at an upscale diner on the pier that night, so they could have some good grub and take a walk afterward. By the time Mr. Pike rolled up to the restaurant, Clara was already there, glowing and gorgeous on the sidewalk.

  Stepping out of the car, he grabbed the sides of her arms and gave her a soft kiss. She blinked up at him. You could look at me like that forever, Clara.

  “Hey there.” She lifted a brow. “Quite a greeting for the public arena.”

  “I couldn’t help myself.” He offered his arm and they strolled inside. The air was boisterous and bright inside the diner, the smell of grease mingling pleasantly with fries and sweets.

  “Oh, man.” He sighed softly, surveying the restaurant. “Lots of start-up people here.”

  “We did pick the trendiest diner in the city for tonight’s dinner,” she reminded him. “It’s okay, though. Who cares if you have to talk a little shop?”

  “I’m off the clock. I don’t want to be pulled away.”

  She grinned, nudging him with her elbow. “How sweet of you. Even sweeter because you don’t ‘clock in.’ Thanks for using language I can identify with according to my socioeconomic status.”

  He watched her, a grin overtaking his face. She batted her eyelashes sweetly at him. “You are so strange.” And I love it.

  They found an open booth near the back and settled in, immediately locking hands over the tabletop. A server brought them two menus, which she left at the end of the table and disappeared wordlessly.

  “I already know what I want,” he said. “The juiciest hamburger.”

  “I love how you say juiciest.”

  “What, is it my accent?”

  “Yes.” She giggled, squeezing his hands. “It doesn’t come out to play very often, but when it does…”

  He smirked. “If it weren’t for the accent, I’d have almost nothing at my disposal for attracting women like you.”

  “Oh, you think it was the accent that snagged me at the charity benefit?” She lifted a brow. Her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth, which made his cock stiffen.

  “If it wasn’t the accent, what was it?”

  She watched him a moment. “I’m not gonna say.”

  “Now you have to.” He leaned closer. “Don’t make me start guessing.”

  The server appeared again to take their orders. While Adrien rattled off his needs for the hamburger, Clara scanned the menu. After the server disappeared with the menus, Adrien snagged her hands again. “Now tell me.”

  “Nope.”

  “My hair.”

  She snorted. “Nope.”

  “Pheromones. You could immediately sense our sexual chemistry.”

  She drew in a low breath. “No, but that’s not entirely baseless.”

  “My incredible, sexy pout.”

  Laughter escaped her. “Nope.”

  “Fine. Want to know what snagged me about you?”

  Her eyebrows lifted, surprise shimmering across her face. She hesitated. “Sure.”

  He reached across the table to trace her jawline, down the sweet curve of her neck. “This. I want to draw you. If I knew how, that is.”

  “Why don’t you commission a famous Italian painter or something?” She winked at him, a blush creeping across her cheek. “You could always have a bust of me made, and then never tell your future wife who I am.”

  “I’ll consider that.” He sipped at a glass of water.

  “With all the money you have, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could resurrect da Vinci.”

  Delight rippled through him. He loved their banter, their conversations—everything about their time together. Only a week in and he craved more. “I’m a billionaire, not a sorcerer.”

  She cracked up laughing, which made him laugh harder. By the time their appetizers arrived, they were wiping away tears from their eyes.

  From the platter of cheese sticks and onion rings, Adrien picked the fattest onion ring. He bit into it hesitantly, letting it air out a bit. “So, any luck with the job hunt?”

  She sighed. “Not so much.”

  “You’re still sending out resumes, right?” He chewed thoughtfully on the onion ring. “I don’t want you spending all your time on finding my wife.”

  “No, I’m sending out resumes. It’s just…I haven’t heard back from anyone still.” Her shoulders sagged. “Sometimes I feel like I’ll never get into the classroom.”

  “Clara.” He kicked at her shoe beneath the table. Her eyes snapped up to his. “Don’t talk like that. It’ll happen. You have to believe it, though. If you don’t believe in it, nobody else will.”

  She bit into a cheese stick, a long string linking her lips to the stick. She mumbled something unintelligible.

  “That’s the spirit,” Adrien cracked, dipping a stick in marinara sauce.

  She swallowed, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “I said, I know. You’re right. I’m not giving up.”

  “Do you want me to make any phone calls?”

  She shook her head, eyebrows furrowing into a hard line. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “It wouldn’t be very hard…”

  “Yeah, exactly.” She scoffed. “I can do this on my own, and I’m going to. I don’t want you swooping in to call the governor and save the town from ruin.”

  “I know the governor.”

  She cracked a smile. “I’m sure you do. And that’s my point exactly. I want to do this because I’m qualified, not because I know string-pullers. I have a vision. If anyone else gets involved, it won’t be mine.”

  “I admire that.” He snatched up another onion ring. “I’ll stay in the shadows until you need me, then.”

  She relaxed. “Thank you.” A few moments of comfortable silence went by as they finished off the plate of appetizers. Clara tapped her fingers against her chin, looking him up and down.

  “Yes?”

  “So who was your favorite blind date of the week?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No one.”

  “Were they that bad?”

  “I’m not criticizing your work. I saw why you paired me with each lady, and I commend you. But, honestly, the thought of even a business marriage with any one of them was terrifying.” He fiddled with his napkin, wondering how much more he should reveal. There was only one person in his world right now that fit the bill.

  With each passing day, he wished more and more that he hadn’t fucked things up so badly at the beginning. Not that he was complaining entirely—getting to know Clara was one of the bright spots in his life. But the closer they grew, the harder it would be to part. So why didn’t she just marry him anyway?

  Bringing it up again would be a bad move, though. One that might sever whatever it was that they had. And between losing Clara permanently soon and losing her permanently later, he’d choose later. Just give me more time with you.

  “So no second dates with anyone?” Cl
ara sipped at her water. “I saved extra slots over the weekend if you were interested in getting to know any of them better. I have a lady on standby, too.”

  “This is a part-time job,” he muttered. One that would save him his fortune, if only he could find someone palatable enough to marry. “Set me up with the standby, I suppose. But make it earlier in the evening so we can do something afterward.”

  “You can’t get enough.” She lifted an eyebrow, a sexy smirk crossing her face. “These future wives might think you have a mistress.”

  “I do.” He grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “One that I am going to caress in every way imaginable in mere hours.”

  “Mmm. Imaginable. There’s the accent again.”

  “Imaginable.”

  She drew a sharp inhale. “That’s dangerous, Adrien. Don’t force me to make a scene in the diner.”

  He licked his lips slowly, leaning forward. “Imaginable.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A week later, Clara was perched on the back of her couch, waiting for Katy to pick up the phone. She’d missed too many of her best friend’s calls since being in the throes of the billionaire prince. And if there was one thing she was not going to do, it was forsake her best friend.

  “There you are,” Katy said in lieu of hello. “Finally! I thought you’d fled town or something.”

  “I’m sorry.” Clara ran a hand through her hair, feeling buoyant and energized. It was her first time back in her own apartment in almost a week, and it looked like somebody else’s home. So much time with Adrien had cast a romantic glow over everything. Even the constantly damp bathroom was a little charming after so much time away. “I think I’ll have some time for catering next week. I just need a little bit more time.”

  “It’s okay. Take the time you need. We have plenty of on-call help that’ll be glad for the extra hours. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Are you still working with Adrien?”

  “I am. The project is a bit more intense than I imagined.” She gnawed at her lip. “I’m sorry I’ve been MIA, too. It’s been a whirlwind.”