by Dani Collins
He wondered if she would have children with someone else and wondered how he would make his own when he only wanted one woman in this world.
They had arrived on the end of the floating wharf, rebuilt three years ago, but in the same spot where they had climbed aboard a rowboat with the servants two decades ago.
“I do love her.” A weight came off his chest as he admitted it out loud for the first time.
“Then go get her, you idiot.”
He wanted to. He was barely surviving exactly the sort of loss he had feared when he pushed her away, but cowardice wasn’t the only thing that had driven him that day.
“I haven’t been coping well with your diagnosis, Henrik. I keep thinking it should be me going through this, not you.”
“Don’t,” Henrik growled.
“I was the one who tried to attack the guard.” His voice had roots in the horror of that night.
“You were a child,” Henrik said quietly. “Terrified and reacting in the moment. You can’t blame yourself for actions taken by monsters. It took Elise a long time to convince me that my responsibility was for the future of Verina, not its past. Yours, too. We can strive to maintain peace and ensure Verina prospers, Rhys. We can’t undo what has already happened.”
“I still think... I cost us them. Cost you. My actions pushed you into all of this long before you were old enough to handle it. You deserve to be happy, Henrik. You’ve fought so hard for everything. The crown, Elise, a baby. Now you’re fighting for your life. I couldn’t stomach the fact that everything you have had to struggle so hard for had just fallen into my lap. A woman I love who has a title?” He laughed drily. “For a few days, we thought she was pregnant, and I was so...” He looked into the sun to try to burn back the wetness in his eyes. “I couldn’t accept how happy I was. How easily all of that happiness had come to me.”
“So you pushed her away to punish yourself? What happens if you have to take the throne? Will you marry someone you hate just so you can feel truly miserable?”
“I don’t want to think of it, Henrik.” His heart was being crushed in a thorny vise. “I don’t want the throne. I want my brother, alive and well.”
“Well, today is your lucky day. I’m here. And I’m going to be a good brother and tell you that I want you to be happy. Not pinheaded.” He frowned with impatience. “Don’t you dare martyr yourself and expect me to praise you for it. Yes, love demands sacrifice. More often, it gives us the strength to crawl through hell and come out the other side. How do you think I got through those early years? How do you think I got out of this palace that night? You. I would have died here if I hadn’t been so determined to get you out alive.”
Rhys’s heart lurched, and he swallowed, but the lump in his throat remained. “I felt like a responsibility back then. A weight.” That was why he’d worked so hard to ensure they got ahead. “I’ve always wanted to make up for that somehow.”
“And that’s what Sopi is? Your payment?” He snorted at the twisted logic. “This will come as a shock, Rhys, but you are not a god. You cannot influence the outcome of what I face. All this hurt you’re causing yourself and Sopi achieves nothing.”
He was starting to realize that.
“But maybe you’re right to let her go. Let her find someone who will love her the way she deserves to be loved.”
Rhys snapped his brother a glower.
“Oh, did that sting?” Henrik taunted. “Good.”
“You’re lucky I’m in a hurry or I’d push you into the lake,” Rhys muttered.
He took out his phone as he strode into the palace, dialing for Gerard—who had a standing order to stay in touch with Sopi in case she needed anything.
Or, as the case was right now, Rhys needed her.
* * *
The caretaker of the Basile-Munier “cottage” was actually a penny-pinching widower who welcomed Sopi with a warm hug. He lived with his daughter in the village and came up daily to garden and check on the place.
The house was, in reality, a mansion of two stories with turrets on either end. It faced the azure water of a fjord and had a cobbled driveway surrounded by natural forest. The cream-colored siding, green tin roof and gingerbread rickrack made it look like a white cake with spearmint frosting. Sopi adored it, especially after she filled the half-barrel tubs with geraniums and discovered the path down the slope to the village.
She had meant to stay only a few days to lick her wounds, but she was thinking of lingering until the midsummer festival. The baristas in the village had told her the sun would set behind the mountains, but only for an hour. Most people stayed up to watch it set and rise, enjoying dancing and food, drinking and song for a solid twenty-four hours.
Hopefully there would be some forgetting among all that.
Sighing wistfully, she climbed past the abandoned house with the sod roof, always inspired by the resilience it symbolized. People had lived there once. They had dug into the hillside and hibernated through the long winters, probably with a half dozen children underfoot.
People survived the most amazing things. She could survive this heartbreak.
Ah. There was a different wildflower. She bent to pluck it. The barista had told her one of the festival traditions was for young women to pick a bouquet of seven different flowers. If she put them under her pillow, her future husband would appear in a dream.
Sopi had a daisy and some clover and what looked like a buttercup. She didn’t know the name of anything else she’d found. There was a cluster of delicate pink things with serrated petals and what she thought was thistle, so she had wrapped a tissue around the stem. Now these little crimson things were dangling off a drooping stem like bleeding hearts.
How apropos. Oh. And forget-me-nots, she noted wryly, stooping to pluck a few. That made seven and a rather sorry-looking bouquet, but desperate times.
Adjusting her shopping bag on her shoulder and her sun hat on her head, she finished the steep ascent to the small lawn and the patio where she ate every evening until the mosquitos chased her inside.
“Oh.” She halted and the tissue-wrapped bouquet dropped to the grass. Yearning coiled around her, squeezing the air from her lungs.
Rhys sat in one chair and had his feet propped on another. Watchful.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, bracing herself.
“The house was locked. Your cell service is terrible. I’ve been trying to guess your Wi-Fi.” He set aside his phone.
She almost told him it was MoreFishInTheSea, but admitted, “It’s one of those nonsensical things with dashes and mixed caps.”
She set her bag on the table to dig for her keys and hide her anxiety at him showing up out of the blue like this. “How are Henrik and Elise?”
“Fine.”
He wasn’t bringing bad news, then. That was good, she supposed, but her tension remained, wondering why he was here. She unlocked the back door, and he came into the kitchen with her.
“This is beautiful.” He moved across the open space to the lounge, where the big picture windows looked onto the sloping lawn, the village below and the sparkling fjord winding around a bend in the distance.
“Thank you. I’m having trouble leaving.” She loved it rather desperately, maybe for the connection to her mother that it was. She moved to put away her handful of groceries, then poured two lemonades. “I can see why my mother wanted Cassiopeia’s. It must have made her feel at home.”
He nodded and glanced at the view again, hiding his thoughts.
She set her hat on a stool, then brought the glasses over.
“Thank you,” he murmured absently, swinging his gaze back to her as he took the glass. Whatever preoccupying thoughts had been in his face creased into a scowl. “Damn it, Sopi, it’s been nine days.”
“Oh.” She touched the hair cropped to chin length. “The salon in th
e village does that thing where they donate hair to kids with cancer.” And she’d been mad.
She turned to look at the view. Sipped. Felt him blistering her profile with his hot stare. Goodness, that was satisfying, even though her heart was still raw.
“See, if you were still my lover, I might have consulted you,” she dared to taunt. “But you aren’t. Would you like to sit outside?” she asked politely. “There’s usually a nice breeze.”
“The irony is, Sopi,” he said through gritted teeth, “I love you most when you’re digging in your heels and standing up for yourself. I’m going to hold a grudge about this for a long time. Probably until it grows back, but I love you for doing whatever the hell you want.”
She wanted to say something pithy, but her vision blurred. She frowned at the smeared vision of green and blue beyond the windows. Bit a lip that began to tremble.
“What am I supposed to say to that, Rhys?” Her voice was barely a wisp.
“You could say you’ll marry me.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t leap on that offer again.” She moved to set aside her glass before she dropped it.
“Tell me to go to hell, then. I deserve it.” His glass also went onto a side table. He cupped her face and made her look at him. “You were right. I thought I needed to suffer. I have.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t know how to be happy. Not like that. Not without feeling guilty for it. I was so disappointed that you weren’t pregnant, Sopi. So crushed. I don’t know how I’ll function if we have trouble conceiving. There, I’ve admitted it. I’m not impervious. I hurt and fear and damn well need you beside me or I can’t bear the uncertainties of life.”
Each husky word took strips off her heart.
“And I didn’t want a baby because I needed an heir. I wanted a baby with you. The one that would make us into a little family of our own. But I couldn’t accept that desire in me without feeling I was stealing something from Henrik. From people who don’t have this.”
He didn’t have to tell her what this was. She felt it as a sparkling force field around them. One that made her feel as though she floated four feet above the ground.
“And now?” she asked in a thready whisper, eyes dampening.
“Now I know that living without you is more punishment than people are meant to withstand.”
“It felt like you were punishing me. That you didn’t want me to be happy. That no one does.”
“I know.” His expression was agonized, but he gave a little tug to the tendril of hair dangling against her jaw. “But this tells me that you will go after your own happiness somehow, someway. And I hope that means you’ll take another chance that I can give you the happiness you deserve.”
Her mouth trembled as she wavered.
“This time you know exactly what you’re getting,” he coaxed. “You know you’re my equal. That I want you. Because I love you.”
Her tears brimmed. “I love you, too. A lot.”
“Thank God,” he breathed and caught her as she threw herself into his arms.
Their first kiss was hard, but tender. Apology and reunion, but it slid quickly toward passion until they were practically consuming one another.
He let out a growl and scooped up to cradle her against his chest. “Where’s the bedroom?”
She pointed at the stairs.
“Hell, no. I’ll save my strength for more important things.” He set her on the sofa and joined her, covering her laughter with a kiss.
EPILOGUE
Cassiopeia’s Spa and Retreat,
Canada, six years later
RHYS WAS IN his robe, waiting for his wife, but he quickly discovered she had left their suite. His bodyguard said something about ice cream, and Rhys went down to the darkened dining room and through to the kitchen that had been closed for the night.
“Süsse, I thought you were changing?” He didn’t mention the pool or they would have company for sure.
“I went to say good-night and was reminded of a promise I’d made.” She wore her evening gown and the anniversary diamonds Rhys had given her before they had come away on this business vacation, but she dug the ice cream scoop into the bucket herself, handing cones to each of their three children.
“Will you take a picture of me, Daddy? I want to show Reggie,” their eldest, Sarah, asked. She was third in line for the throne after Rhys and her cousin, Reginald. Fortunately, none of them were worrying about taking Henrik’s position anytime soon. He’d been pronounced fully in remission last month.
Even so, the early years of a family drawn close by health challenges had made Sarah and Reggie almost like twins. They were close in age, temperament and intelligence and missed each other terribly if they were away from each other more than a day or two. Rhys found it endearing and hoped they never grew out of it.
“It’s bubberscutch,” Robbie said, getting some on his nose with his first lick. He grinned, always their entertainer.
Rhys wiped the ice cream away with his fingertip, chuckling and dropping an affectionate kiss on his son’s messy hair.
“Maybe you could share one with Marcus?” Sopi suggested as their baby held out a hand and said, “Pea?”
Rhys took fifteen-month-old Marcus from the nanny. He’d been a surprise, and there’d never been a more welcome one. Rhys loved all his children so much, he thought he would burst.
And then there was his wife. Sopi made cones for the nannies, then one for herself before she returned the bucket to the freezer and dropped the scoop into the dish pit.
“You’ve come a long way, Princess,” he teased as she rejoined them.
“Right?” She chuckled. “I didn’t want to call the chef back just for this.” Her tongue swirled along the edge of her cone.
He had plans for that tongue. First, however, they had to get their children back into their room and their beds, if not actually asleep.
“We’ll all go swimming in the morning,” Rhys promised a short while later when they had everyone abed.
He quickly whisked his wife down to the treatment level.
“I was going to put on a bathing suit,” she protested.
“Why? You won’t be wearing anything for long.” He collected a spare robe and towels—he learned from his mistakes—and they slipped out the door into the falling snow.
Snickering like conspirators, they made their way through the dark to the private hot pool that was more than a source of healing, magical waters. It was a return to the place where they’d fallen in love. They quickly stripped naked and immersed themselves in its warm embrace.
* * *
Lost in the magic of Cinderella’s Royal Seduction? Discover more stories by Dani Collins!
Innocent’s Nine-Month Scandal
Untouched Until Her Ultra-Rich Husband
The Maid’s Spanish Secret
Bound by Their Nine-Month Scandal
Available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from Her Sicilian Baby Revelation by Michelle Smart.
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.
Welcome to the glamorous lives of royals and billionaires, where passion knows no bounds. Be swept into a world of luxury, wealth and exotic locations.
8 NEW BOOKS AVAILABLE EVERY MONTH!
Her Sicilian Baby Revelation
by Michelle Smart
PROLOGUE
ORLA O’REILLY BLEW her nose and swallowed back a breath, trying her hardest to stop fresh tears falling down her sodden cheeks. She didn’t want people to see her like this.
She’d flown to Sicily ten days ago on a mission to meet the man her mother had always unkindly referred to as ‘Orla’s sperm donor’. Only now did she understand her mother had actually been diplomati
c.
Her father, who’d returned from his travels that morning, had refused to see her. He had no curiosity about his twenty-three-year-old daughter. No curiosity at all.
She hadn’t expected a grand reunion or anything but his outright rejection...
It hurt. Really, really hurt. Now all she wanted was Tonino’s strong arms holding her tightly and his breath whispering into her hair that everything would be okay.
At least something good had come from her time in Sicily. She’d met the man of her dreams.
Ten days ago she’d taken one look at her room in the budget hotel she’d checked into and gone back to the reception. Orla was not one for complaining but the state of it would have driven a saint to boiling point. The bed sheets were stained and crumpled, the carpet sticky under her feet and the bathroom...well, the less said about that, the better.
She’d stood at that reception desk for exactly six minutes before a tall, imposing figure had appeared from a door marked Privato and Orla had found herself face-to-face with the sexiest man she’d ever set eyes on.
Until that first sight of Tonino, she’d never understood what it meant to meet someone and feel as if you’d been struck by lightning.
When she’d returned to the hotel much later that day, her first attempt to meet her father scuppered due to him being abroad, she’d found her room hadn’t just been cleaned but sanitised. New furniture and furnishings had been installed, including a brand-new carpet. Her melancholy mood had lifted when the gorgeous hotel manager had knocked on the door and asked if she would like to meet for coffee in the morning.
What had followed had been the most wonderful week and a half of her life, right until two hours ago when she’d returned to her father’s home for her second attempt. All those glorious hours with Tonino had infused her with a sense of optimism. She had become certain that her first meeting with her father would be the stuff of Hollywood; all tight embraces and schmaltzy words.
