by Jill Shalvis
He’d never know any of it.
FRANCESCA picked Carlyne up at the airport. She didn’t ask for conversation, which was good, as Carlyne didn’t have anything to say.
“Your family is thrilled you’re going to be able to make it to the party tomorrow night,” Francesca told her.
Her grandfather’s eightieth birthday. It was going to be a huge event, with celebrities and politicians from all over the world. She’d be expected to greet guests, start conversations and keep everything running smoothly. She’d certainly be expected to smile a lot.
How could she do that?
Francesca looked over, saw her eyes fill and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” God, she missed Melissa. She missed Santa Barbara. She missed the ocean. She missed the freedom.
She even missed Mrs. Trykowski.
But most of all, she missed Sean. He had made her smile, had made her laugh. He’d made her live. “I’m just tired,” she whispered, her voice wobbly. “Very tired.”
Leaning back, she closed her eyes. But all she saw was Sean, and the way he’d held her, as if she was the most important person in the entire world.
And for her short time with him, she had been.
TWO DAYS LATER Stacy came back for Melissa.
Sean had expected to feel great elation. Freedom.
Instead, his house was too quiet. He no longer had a bossy little girl demanding kisses. He no longer had a hot woman demanding kisses.
He was lonely, dammit. And he had no idea what to do about it.
13
“YOO-HOO!”
Sean got out of his car and waited for Mrs. Trykowski to leap over her flower bed and waddle up to him. He waited because it wasn’t worth the effort to outrun her.
Not that he could have, because the woman, old as she was, moved faster than anyone he knew.
“Hello, dear,” she said. “I saw Carlyne on the news. She’s home, back in France with her family. Why is that, exactly?”
Yeah, Sean, why is that? “Because that’s her home, Mrs. Trykowski. This was temporary, remember? A nanny job, and Melissa is gone.”
“Pah.”
“Excuse me?”
“She was more than a baby-sitter, Sean O’Mara, and you know it. How badly did you screw it all up?”
He stared at her. “Are you by any chance related to my assistant, Nikki?”
“I do not know any Nikki, but I do know that you are an idiot if you let her go home without telling her how much you love her.”
“Look, I have to go to work,” he said, rubbing his aching temples.
“Sure. Bury yourself in work again.”
“I’m not the one who lied.”
“Oh, get over it.” Mrs. Trykowski waved her arms when she spoke, nearly hitting him in the nose. “If you lived the life she did, you’d want your peace and quiet and privacy, too! You ever think of that?”
No. No, actually, despite devouring every bit of news on Princess Carlyne he could since she’d left, he hadn’t.
“If you’d needed to get away that badly, you would have done whatever you had to, which might just include putting on a wig and glasses and going to the other side of the world.” Her eyes narrowed. “Face it, Sean. She acted human.”
When she walked away from him, Sean stared after her, wondering how he’d become the bad guy. And why everything she’d said made far too much sense.
CARLYNE SAT in her Paris office and stared out the window. But instead of the buildings and streets crammed with people, all she saw was the Pacific Ocean, the beautiful sand and bluffs.
And Sean. She saw Sean.
“Daydreaming again.” Francesca walked in and tsked but sent her a sympathetic smile. “Overwhelmed?”
It felt strange to speak in her native tongue, French, after so many weeks of English. “I can’t find the invitation for the Driskel fund-raiser.”
“It’s on your desk.”
“Oh. Well, I can’t find—”
“It’s on your desk.”
Carlyne glanced around her at all the piles she thought she’d gone through. “And the—”
“On your desk.” Patiently, Francesca sat. “Everything you need is on your desk.”
Baffled, Carlyne lifted her hands. “So why does it all seem out of place?”
“Because you’re out of place.”
Carlyne stared at her, then sat back and let out a long sigh. “I know. It just all seems…” She waved a hand at her huge office, at the decadent interior she’d inherited from her mother when she’d taken over the job as Official Fortier Party Maker. “Big. Too big. It’s a waste. I don’t need this office.”
“Probably not.”
Carlyne shook her head. God, how she wanted the simple life back, the one she’d had with Melissa and Sean.
Francesca leaned forward and patted her hand. “You know, it’s been nearly two weeks. You could just do as normal women do these days and call him.”
“Who?”
Francesca gave her a dry look. “Gee, I wonder.”
But he’d asked her to leave. How could she call?
“You never explained,” Francesca said gently. “Calling to try to do so would be normal, Carlyne. Really.”
“I’ve never been normal.”
“Well, that’s true. But in this case, you should make an exception. It’s clear you’re not going to be able to go on until you do.”
“I should have told him the truth in the beginning.”
“Yes,” Francesca agreed. “But you didn’t. So you’ll have to make him understand now.”
How? How could she make someone like Sean, a man who followed his own rules and never let others live his life for him, understand?
“Look, it’s lunchtime,” Francesca said. “I’m going to eat. Can I get you something?”
At the thought of food, her stomach rolled, which shocked her, because she loved to eat, always.
“Carlyne? You’re looking green. You okay?”
No. No, she wasn’t okay. She was nauseous and overly emotional.
Understandable, she assured herself. Sure, her period was late, but that was stress.
Sean hadn’t used a condom in the shower.
Carlyne took a long look at her stomach. Flat.
Good.
Suddenly she could see herself big and round with pregnancy. Could see herself giving birth. Holding her baby. Loving that baby with all her heart and soul. Always being there for him or her. Always.
“Carlyne?”
“Nothing for me, thanks.” She managed a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Very.” She wasn’t pregnant, couldn’t be. Still, she couldn’t contain that very small burst of hope. After all, she loved Sean. She’d love his baby.
Actually, at the moment she loved everyone and everything. She virtually danced over to Francesca to hug her tight.
“What was that for?” Francesca asked, squeezing her.
“Just because.”
Carlyne waited until her assistant left before grabbing her purse and keys. She needed a drugstore.
And a pregnancy kit.
AFTER WATCHING the news and seeing Princess Carlyne Fortier’s face everywhere, Sean had to admit Mrs. Trykowski had been right.
Carly—and he liked to think of her as Carly—was rarely smiling, and when she did, the smile didn’t come close to her eyes.
She looked tired, haggard. Miserable.
It drove him crazy that no one, not her family, not the news anchors, not the reporters…no one commented on it.
How could he be the only one in the whole damn world worried about her?
She hadn’t set out to hurt him. He really believed that. He believed her lies had had nothing to do with him.
And if he believed that, then he had to believe she hadn’t been merely slumming, playing around with his feelings.
But what had she been doing? Escaping
the hoopla of her life?
He should have let her explain. She still deserved that, and so did he, but getting hold of a princess wasn’t easy.
In fact, it was downright impossible.
He called her family compound and got the runaround. Same thing from all the businesses connected to her name. No luck with the Web sites.
If she’d had a regular address, he’d have flown there in a heartbeat, but he didn’t even know where she lived.
So he called Melissa. A lot.
In the third week, Stacy got on the phone and said, “Okay, Seany, what’s up?”
“Can’t a guy just call his niece?”
“You really miss her?”
She sounded so surprised, he laughed. “Yeah, I really miss her. Actually, I was thinking I could come get her tomorrow and take her out for pizza.”
“She’s available.” Stacy went quiet for a moment. “Is there something else you want to tell me? Something you want to talk about?”
“Like?”
“Like this sudden need to have people around you.”
“I always like having you around.”
“This is me, Sean. You love us, I know you do, but I also know you value your alone time. So what’s changed?”
Sean looked out his kitchen window to the pool. He thought of Carly sitting on the edge, watching him swim.
It had all started there.
Actually, it had started the moment he’d opened his front door to her, when she’d answered his ad.
His ad.
That was it! Another ad. “Stacy, I’ve got to go.”
“But—”
“Bye.”
“Sean O’Mara, don’t you dare hang up! I want to know details. I want to know—”
Gently he replaced the receiver. He’d make it up to her. Later.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Putting another want ad in his local paper was a long shot, but she’d seen it the first time, so she had to at least view various papers from around the world, right?
God, he hoped so. He drafted a new ad. And then, to be sure, he placed it in every single major newspaper in the free world.
14
AFTER A VERY LONG WEEK, Princess Carlyne—and she was finally getting used to hearing people call her that again—slipped out of her clothes and into the bathtub, grateful for some time to herself.
She took great pride in her charity benefits, of which there’d been four this week, but they weren’t enough for her. France was no longer enough for her, and neither was Spain.
Truth was, she didn’t have to attend each and every one of these events personally. With a computer and a phone, she could be stationed anywhere.
Even Santa Barbara, California.
Assuming, of course, she had a reason to be there. Which she didn’t.
That left a little dilemma. A little dilemma that would be getting bigger and bigger, because the stick had turned blue. In all four kits she tried.
Pregnant.
Equal parts joy and terror washed through her, and she leaned back in the tub, letting the bubbles and hot water relax her. As if that were possible.
Whether Sean wanted to talk to her or not, she had to tell him.
Determined to keep relaxed, she reached for the stack of newspapers she’d left on a stool next to the tub.
The Washington Post didn’t intrigue her. Nor did the Los Angeles Times. She tossed away the New York Times, as well, and even knowing it would kill her, she reached for the much smaller Santa Barbara paper.
The memory of Sean’s nanny ad made her mouth curve and her throat burn, but as was her habit, she skimmed the columns anyway…and abruptly sat up in shock.
Her gasp echoed against the tile and bounced back to her. She jerked the paper closer and read again.
“Wanted—What I was stupid enough to let go. A warm, funny, loving, intelligent, gorgeous caretaker for my heart and soul. Come back, Carly. Please come back.”
Her heart had stopped, just stopped. Now it started again with a rapid beat. Her stomach sizzled with nerves.
Or maybe that was morning sickness.
He wanted her back?
And what would he say when he learned it was no longer just her, that she was carrying a baby? Their baby.
SEAN STOOD by the pool. His stress level dictated a swim, but lately doing laps had lost its appeal.
Inside, his doorbell rang, and he sighed. He had no idea if it was the courier bringing him a crucial set of plans or the pizza he’d ordered, but the swim would have to wait.
Flipping through his wallet, he opened the door, distracted by the fact that he had far less cash than he thought, which meant Melissa had picked him nearly clean last night before he’d caught her playing with his wallet.
He shuddered to think of her in another few years even as he smiled fondly at her audacity. Watch out, world.
“Sean.”
At the unbearably familiar, soft, feminine voice, Sean looked up, sure he’d been hearing things, because no way could Carly be standing there delivering his pizza.
No pizza, but she was most definitely standing there, with her sleek blond hair and gorgeous green eyes. She wore hardly any makeup, revealing her elegant, beautiful features and her clothes fit her willowy curves.
For a ridiculous moment he stared at her, certain he’d conjured her up.
She stared back.
Then normal daytime sounds broke the silence. A car revving. A bird in a tree.
Mrs. Trykowski humming from the other side of the fence, probably at this very moment climbing a tree to spy on them.
“Hi,” Carly finally whispered.
“Hi,” he whispered back, his voice rough with the knot of emotion stuck in his windpipe.
“You’re…not wearing much.”
He looked at himself and realized he stood there in only his swimming trunks.
Her eyes ran over him hungrily, like a caress, and he felt his body tighten. He was afraid to hope, was his first thought, and his second was, would she care if he just grabbed her and hauled her close?
It wasn’t easy to reconcile this worldly woman, the one he’d seen on television and in the papers, with the more whimsical, earthy woman he’d lived with for weeks.
“I’m very glad to see you,” he said in the understatement of the year.
She stood very, very still. “Are you sure, Sean? Because the last time I saw you, we—”
“Very sure.” Did he invite her in, he wondered, or just ravish her on the spot, Mrs. Trykowski be damned?
Carlyne took the matter entirely out of his hands by losing all the color in her face. Weaving slightly, she reached for the doorway.
Sean tried to grab her, but she shook him off. “I’m okay.”
No, she wasn’t. No one that white could be okay. “What’s the matter?” Urgency roughened his voice, but she didn’t answer. “Carly?”
When her eyes rolled back in her head, he grabbed her.
“Don’t,” she murmured as he scooped her up. “I can walk.” But her head lolled against his chest.
“Shh.” He couldn’t talk and carry her—he felt absurdly weak with worry. She’d lost weight, and right now her skin was nearly transparent.
What was wrong?
Kicking the front door shut, he stood there, reluctant to let go of her now that he finally had her in his arms.
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Yeah. So fine, you’re blacking out.”
“Honest, I can walk—”
Ignoring her, he settled her on the couch.
“You’re white as a ghost, Carly,” he said as lightly as he could with his heart in his throat. “You look awful.”
“Thanks.” She closed her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” He sank to his knees on the floor and put a hand on her hip. “Are you sick?”
Turning away, she curled into a little ball. Her hair fell away from her neck, making her look all the more miserable
and vulnerable. “I’m just not feeling well.”
“The flu?” he demanded.
“Feels like it,” she muttered, and when he slid his hand up her body to feel her forehead, which was not warm, but terribly clammy, she lifted her own to cover his. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “I want to talk, we need to talk, but…”
Her voice trailed off, and unable to help himself, he stroked his hand down her slim spine. “It’s okay.”
“It was a long trip, and I couldn’t sleep. I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, so softly he had to lean forward to hear her. “I’m so sorry about not telling you the truth, Sean. Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you, I just needed to escape and—”
“Shh.” His throat was tight because, dammit, he should be the one apologizing. When she let out a little shiver, he ran for a blanket.
“Talk to me,” she said softly when he covered her. “Tell me…stuff.” She slurred her words, as if she was so tired she couldn’t talk.
“Carly, you’re scaring me. I’m going to call a doctor.”
Eyes still closed, she grabbed his wrist. “No, it was a long trip, that’s all. A couple of connections got canceled. I just…need to rest a moment.”
He stared at her very, very pale face, a face he would recognize anywhere, and wondered for the thousandth time how he could have missed it. “It’s okay, it can all wait.”
“Talk to me,” she murmured again. “Please?”
Talk to her. The chance he’d wanted. But where to start?
From the beginning.
“Well, you know about my desperate nanny ad,” he said, relieved to see a ghost of a smile touch her lips, though she was careful not to move an inch otherwise.
Sinking to the floor at her side, he stroked her hair from her face. “At first, I didn’t know what to expect. I just wanted someone to take Melissa off my hands.”
She made a noise that perfectly conveyed sympathy—for Melissa.
“I know,” he said shaking his head at himself. “I was a terrible uncle. All that mattered was being able to work. But work was my life, Carly, it was all that I had, all that ever mattered.”
