The Prince's Secret Baby

by Christine Rimmer

  Those lightless eyes widened. “Two women?”

  “The other didn’t become pregnant. By the time she ordered again, I’d had my profile taken down.”

  “Just two of us? But…I can’t believe more women wouldn’t have chosen you.”

  Under other circumstances, he might have laughed. “My profile was only available for a short period of time. I withdrew my samples when I realized what an idiot I’d been to become a donor in the first place. Secure Choice was not the least happy with me. Our agreement was for ten pregnancies resulting in births or nine months of availability. I made arrangements to reimburse them for the money they would have made if I’d fulfilled my commitment with them. In the end, I simply couldn’t…let it go. And that’s the basic job of a donor. To donate and let it go.”

  She continued for him. “But that was never going to work for you, was it? You realized that you had to know—if there were children, if they were all right…” She understood him so well.

  He said softly, “Yes. And that was my plan, after I found out that you had become pregnant. That was all I ever intended to do, make certain that you and the child were provided for. I swear it to you. As long as you and Trevor were all right, I was never going to contact you or interfere in your life in any way. I had assured myself that you were a fine mother and an excellent provider. I knew Trevor was healthy. I knew you would do all in your considerable power to make certain he had a good start in life.”

  “Yes. I could give him everything—except a father.”

  It was her first misreading of his motives. He corrected her. “I didn’t think of it that way. I swear that I didn’t.”

  She crossed her long, slim legs, folded her hands tightly in her lap and accused, “Oh, please. You are all about being a father. We both know that.”

  Her words hit him like blows.

  They were much too true.

  And they proved all over again what a hopeless idiot he’d been to become a donor in the first place, how little he’d understood his own mind and heart.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m guilty. Guilty in a hundred ways. It is important to me. That my child have a father.”

  “So you set out to see that he did.”

  He felt, somehow, like a bug on a pin under the cool regard of those watchful eyes of hers. And in the back of his mind a cruel voice would not stop whispering, You have lost her. She will leave you. She will leave you now. Somehow, no matter what happened, he had to make her see the most basic motivation for his actions concerning her. “No. I swear to you, Sydney. It wasn’t…that way. It was you.”

  “Oh, please.”

  He repeated, insisted, “You. It was you. Yes, Trevor mattered. He mattered more than I can say. But you were the starting point. I pursued you, not my son. I lied, yes, by omission. I never told you why I happened to be in that parking lot outside of Macy’s that first day we met. That it was because of you that I was there, in the first place. Because you fascinated me. So bright and capable. So successful. And apparently, so determined to have a family, with or without a man at your side. I told myself I only wanted to see you in the flesh, just one time. That once I’d done that, I could let you go, let Trevor go. Return here to Montedoro, make my proposal to Lili…”

  “You were lying to yourself.”

  “Yes. The sight of you that first time, getting out of your car in the parking garage…the sight of you only made me realize I had to get closer, to see you face-to-face, to look in your eyes. To hear your voice, your laugh. I followed you into the store. And as soon as you granted me that adorable, disbelieving sideways glance while you pretended to read a price tag on a frying pan, I knew that there had to be more. Every word you spoke, every moment in your presence, it only got worse. Stronger. I swear to you, I didn’t set out to seduce and marry you.”

  She made another of those low, scoffing sounds.

  And he was the one putting up a hand. “Yes,” he confessed, “it’s what I did in the end. But it started with you. It was always about you. And by that first evening we spent together, when we had dinner at the Mansion, I knew I wanted you for my wife.”

  Her eyes were emerald-bright now. With tears.

  The tears gave him new hope.

  Hope she dashed by turning away and stealing a slow breath. When she faced him again, the tear-sheen was gone.

  She said in the cold, logical voice of an accuser, “You had so many options. Better options than the ones you chose.”

  He didn’t deny it. “I know. In hindsight, that’s all so painfully clear.”

  “You could have asked to see me as soon as you managed to find out you’d been my donor. I would have seen you. I was as fascinated by the idea of you—of the man I had chosen as my donor—as you claim you were by me.”

  “As I am by you,” he corrected. “And I had no reason to believe you would have been happy to see me. It seemed to me that the last thing a single mother really wants is a visit from a stranger who might try to lay a claim on her child.”

  “I had given permission for you to contact me. That should have been enough for you to have taken a chance.”

  “Yes. I see that, now that I know you. But I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know how you would react. And it seemed wrong for me to…interfere in your life.”

  “If you had sought me out at the beginning, you would have had more than two years until the marriage law went into effect. We would have had the time to get through all this garbage. You would have had time for the truth.”

  “Sydney, I know that. I see that now. But it’s not what I did. Yes, I should have been braver. I should have been…truer. I should have taken a chance, arranged to meet with you early on. But I hesitated. I hesitated much too long. I see that. And by the time I acted, I was down to the wire.”

  “Wire or not,” she said, refusing to give him an inch, as he’d known that she would, “you owed it to me to tell me the truth before you asked me to marry you. You owed that to me then, at the very least.”

  “I know that. We’ve already been through that. But by then there was all you had told me about how you valued honesty.”

  “So you should have been honest.”

  “And what about Ryan and Peter? What about your distrust of men? You would have assumed right away that I was only after Trevor.”

  She looked at him unwavering. “Telling me the truth was the right thing to do.”

  “Yes. And then I would have lost you. You were not about to give a third man the benefit of the doubt. It was too big a risk. We were getting along so beautifully. I couldn’t stand to lose you when I’d only just found you. Are you going to deny that I would have lost you?”

  “No. You’re right. At that time, I…didn’t know you well enough. I would have broken it off for a while, slowed things down between us. I would have needed more time to learn to trust you.”

  “You would have needed longer than I could afford.”

  She made a low sound. “Because of the Prince’s Marriage Law.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re telling me you were trapped.” She spoke with disdain.

  “No. I’m telling you that I knew what I wanted, at last. After all the years of being so sure I would never find it, find you. I wanted you. I wanted our child. And I wanted my inheritance, too. I made choices to give myself—and us—the best chance that we could both get what we wanted.”

  “And you kept making choices. Kept making the same choice. To lie to me. Over and over and over again. Since our marriage, I can’t even count the times when you could have made a different choice.”

  “I know it. And we’re back to the beginning again. Back to where I remind you that we have been so happy, and that telling you the truth would have destroyed our happiness, back to where I say I did what I did because I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

  She stood up. And then, looking down at him, she said, “In making the choice to lie to me, you stole my choices. You treated me
like a child, someone not fully responsible, someone unable to deal with the facts and make reasonable decisions based on all the available information. For generations, men did that to women, treated them as incompetent, as unable to face reality and make rational choices. Treated them as possessions rather than thinking human beings. I will not be treated as your possession, Rule, no matter how prized. Do you understand?”

  He did understand. And at that point, there was nothing left for him but to admit the wrong he’d done her—done them both—and pay the price for it. “Yes. I understand.”

  “It matters. That you believe in me. That you trust me. That you treat me as your equal.”

  “And I see that,” he said. “I do.”

  “But given the same set of circumstances, you would lie to me all over again—don’t you tell me that you wouldn’t.”

  He wanted to deny it. But somehow, he couldn’t. And his denial wouldn’t matter anyway. He couldn’t undo what he’d done. What mattered now was that, no matter what the circumstances, he wouldn’t lie to her again. “I simply didn’t want to lose you. That’s all. I lied because I was certain the truth would cost me what we have together. And now, you can be assured I see that I made the wrong choice. I swear I’ll never lie to you again.” Her face was set against him. He shook his head. “But then, I look at you and I see that it doesn’t matter what I promise you. I see in your eyes that I’m going to lose you anyway.”

  Her cold expression changed. She looked…puzzled. And also disbelieving. And then she actually rolled her eyes. “Of course you’re not going to lose me, Rule.”

  He gaped at her, convinced he couldn’t have heard her right. “What did you just say?”

  “I said you’re not going to lose me. I would never leave you. I’m your wife and I love you more than my life. But I am not the least happy with you. And I’m not going to hide how I feel about this, or pretend to get past it when I’m not past it. You may end up wishing that I would go.”

  “My God,” he said, hope rekindled, catching fire. “I would never wish for you to go. You have to know that.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He rose. His arms ached to reach for her. But her expression signaled all too clearly the reception he would get if he tried. “I want our marriage,” he said, and longed to give her words back to her. I love you more than my life. But it seemed wrong to speak of his love now, wrong and cheap. So instead, he said, “I want only you, always. That isn’t going to change, no matter what you do, no matter how angry you are at me.”

  “We’ll see,” she said again. And for a moment, he saw the sadness in her eyes. Men had disappointed her before. And now he was just like the others.

  Except he wasn’t. He refused to be.

  Whatever it took, he would be more, better, than he had been until now. Whatever the cost, he would win back her trust again and reclaim his right to stand at her side.

  She was watching him, assessing him. “How much do your parents know?”

  “My father knows everything. I confided in him. But my mother knows nothing—beyond being certain that Trevor is my son as well as yours.”

  “You told her?”

  “No. She guessed that he was mine the moment she saw him. She asked my father what he knew. He offered to betray my confidence and tell her everything. She didn’t think that would be right, so she declined his offer to break his word to me.”

  “I do like your mother.”

  “Yes,” he said dryly. “Like you, she is thoroughly admirable—and you remind me I need to speak with her.”

  She indicated the tabloid she’d tossed to the floor and asked him wearily, “About all this?”

  He nodded. “By now, she’ll have had her morning look at the newspapers, including The Sun. I have to go to her and explain.”

  Sydney said, “We’ll go together.”

  It was more than he’d hoped for. Much more. “Are you sure?”

  “I’ll just leave a note for Lani.”

  * * *

  They met with his mother in the apartments she shared with his father. It was just the four of them—Adrienne, Evan, Rule and Sydney.

  Rule told the whole story all over again. His mother’s face remained unreadable throughout.

  When he was done at last, she turned to Sydney. “I am so sorry that my son misled you.”

  Sydney replied with a slow nod. “Yes. I am, too.”

  Rule stared straight ahead. He felt like the bad child in school, sent to the corner to sit on a stool facing the wall and contemplate the terrible extent of his transgressions.

  His mother said, “All right. Where are we now in terms of dealing with The International Sun and their absurd pack of lies?”

  His father outlined the brief earlier meeting with Leticia and Donahue, concluding with, “To start, at least, Donahue will demand a retraction.”

  His mother looked at Rule, at Sydney, and then at Rule again. “Would a retraction satisfy you two?”

  Satisfy me? Rule thought. Hardly. What would satisfy him was to have his wife once again look at him with affection and desire, to have her forgiveness. “That would be fine,” he said, not caring in the least anymore about the damned tabloid story.

  “It’s not fine with me,” Sydney said.

  He glanced at her, took in the tightness of her mouth, the spots of hectic color high on her cheeks. She was as furious at the tabloid as she was at him. It hurt him, to look at her. It made him yearn for the feel of her skin under his hand, for the pleasure of simply holding her. Despair dragged at him. She’d said she wouldn’t leave him.

  But how long would it be before she allowed him to hold her again?

  Sydney went on, “The retraction, yes. Absolutely. They should start with a retraction. And then we should sue their asses off.”

  “Their asses,” his mother repeated, exchanging a glance with his father. “I do admire your enthusiasm, Sydney.”

  “It’s an outrage.” Sydney pressed her lips more tightly together. She blew out a hard breath through her nose.

  His mother said, “I agree. And we will have a retraction.”

  “It’s not enough,” Sydney insisted. “That article is a gross misrepresentation of Rule’s integrity, of his character. Rule would never simply walk away and desert a woman who was pregnant with his child. Never.”

  Rule realized he was gaping at her again. He couldn’t help it. She astonished him. As infuriated as she was at him, she still defended him. He reminded her gently, “Sydney. It’s just a silly tabloid story. It doesn’t matter.”

  Her eyes were green fire. “Of course it matters. It’s a lie. And they deserve to have their noses rubbed in it. I think we should hold a press conference and tell the world what liars they are. I think we need to tell the world the truth.”

  Tell the world the truth. She couldn’t be serious.

  He said, with slow care, “You want me to tell the world that I was your sperm donor? That it took me more than two years to get up the nerve to approach you? That when I did, I didn’t tell you I was your child’s father, but instead seduced you and got you to marry me under false pretenses?”

  “Yes,” she said hotly. “That’s what I want from you, Rule. I want you to tell the truth.”

  For the first time on that awful day, he felt his own anger rising. It was all coming much too clear. “You want to see me humiliated. And it’s not enough for you that The Sun should make me look like a fool. You want to see me make a fool of myself.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath and put her hand to her throat. “No. No, that’s not it. That’s not what I meant.”

  He told her icily, “Of course it’s what you meant.”

  “Oh, Rule,” she said softly after several seconds had passed. “You don’t get it. You don’t get it at all.”

  He said nothing. He had nothing to say.

  Finally, his mother spoke softly. “Whatever action the two of you decide to take, you have our complete support. I can see
this is something the two of you must work out between yourselves.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  But Rule and Sydney didn’t work it out. They returned to their apartment—together, but not speaking.

  That night, Rule slept in the small bedroom off the master suite. He lay alone in bed in the darkness and realized he wasn’t angry anymore.

  He missed his anger.

  It was a lot easier to be furious than it was to be ashamed.

  Now his anger had left him, he could see that for Sydney it was as it had always been; it was about honesty. She saw that insane press conference of hers as a way to clear the air once and for all, to lay the truth bare for everyone to see. She saw it as a way to beat The International Sun at its own game. She was an American, an egalitarian to the core.

  She didn’t have generations of proud, aristocratic Calabretti ancestors behind her, staring down their formidable noses, appalled at the very idea that one of their own would even consider getting up in a public forum and explaining his shameful personal shortcomings to the world at large.

  Such things were not done.

  A Calabretti had more pride than that.

  He had more pride than that. Too much pride. He could see that now.