Soldier Prince's Secret Baby Gift

by Kate Hardy

  There was suddenly a volley of kicks in her stomach, and he broke the kiss, laughing. ‘I think someone wants to tell us something.’

  ‘That might be the baby equivalent of saying “Get a room”,’ she said ruefully.

  He rested his hand on her bump. ‘This blows my mind. Our baby.’

  The expression on his face was a mixture of pride and tenderness and... No, Tia didn’t dare let herself hope for anything else. But if he bonded with their baby, that would be a good thing—both for Antonio and for their baby.

  She shivered, and he brushed his mouth against hers again. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t keep you on the doorstep in the cold.’ He unlocked the front door and ushered her inside.

  Right at that moment it felt as if they were a proper couple. As if they were just coming home from an event in the village—leaving their coats on the bentwood stand in the hallway and ending up in the kitchen, where he put the kettle on while she got the mugs out.

  ‘So did you enjoy the party?’ she asked.

  ‘More than I expected to,’ he said.

  She showed him the picture she’d taken on the phone. ‘You looked as if you were having fun.’

  ‘Something so simple. I never did things like that as a child,’ he said. ‘But our baby definitely will.’

  And Tia felt as if her world had just exploded into colour.

  ‘So, we have leftovers for dinner.’ He smiled at her. ‘What sort of thing did you do as a child?’

  ‘Cold turkey, home-made chips or French bread, and salad,’ she said promptly. ‘And Mum used to make vegetable and turkey soup. We used to wrap up warm and go to the beach, the day after Boxing Day, and we’d take a flask of Mum’s soup and have a picnic.’

  He wrapped his arms round her. ‘I know it won’t be the same, but we have beaches here. I’d be happy to take you.’

  Which sounded as if he saw a future for them.

  Even though part of her wanted to be sensible and acknowledge that their lives were too far apart for them to be together, part of her was thrilled by the idea. Warmed by hope that maybe he wanted a future for them—and Antonio Valenti was the kind of man who’d make things happen. If he wanted her, really wanted her in his life, then he’d find a way through the traditions that bound him.

  And she’d meet him halfway.

  * * *

  In the end, they made turkey salad sandwiches and ate them in the kitchen, then went into the conservatory to curl up on a sofa together and watch the stars and talk about anything and everything.

  Tia was so easy to be with.

  Antonio wished it could always be like this, but he knew they’d have to go back to the palace soon and face real life, the politics and the press. Eventually she fell asleep and he sat there just holding her.

  He knew now that this was what he wanted: to be a family with her and their baby, to live out of the limelight of the palace and be part of the community of the village. He wanted her to be his wife, his partner in everything.

  But he couldn’t work out how to tell her. If he asked her to marry him now, would she believe him that he wanted her for herself, or would she still think he was asking her purely out of a sense of duty and honour?

  ‘I want to be a family with you,’ he whispered.

  She didn’t wake, so he gently eased her out of his arms, then fetched a blanket and tucked it round her. She looked so cute, curled up on the sofa. And so right. He resisted the temptation to kiss her awake, because there was something else he needed to do. A letter that he should’ve written a long time ago.

  He fetched notepaper, an envelope and a pen from his office—an impersonal typed letter was absolutely not good enough for this—and took a photograph from his wallet. And then he began to write.

  When he’d finished, Tia was still asleep.

  He knelt by her and stroked her cheek. ‘Tia? Tia, wake up, bella,’ he whispered.

  She opened her eyes, looking lost and incredibly vulnerable.

  ‘Time to go to bed,’ he said, and gently helped her to her feet.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.’ She bit her lip, looking guilty.

  ‘You’re six months pregnant and you’ve had a busy day. I think you’re allowed to fall asleep,’ he said, smiling.

  He was so tempted to carry her up the stairs, though he knew that wouldn’t be fair. But at the door to her room he couldn’t resist kissing her goodnight.

  Her eyes were huge as she stroked his face. ‘Antonio.’

  He kissed her again.

  ‘Stay with me tonight?’ she asked.

  Fall asleep with her in his arms. Wake up with her in his arms.

  How could he possibly resist?

  And this time he did pick her up and carry her to bed.

  Afterwards, it took him a long time to fall asleep, because he knew now that this was what he wanted more than anything else. To be with her. And for her to want to be with him.

  Please let her want the same thing.

  Please.

  * * *

  Later that night, Tia woke when the baby started somersaulting. Antonio’s arms were wrapped round her, and she felt safe and warm and cherished.

  Could this work out, or was it just a hopeless fantasy?

  She and Antonio had come so far over the last couple of days; but she had no idea whether his family would accept her. She knew that her father’s family had rejected her mother, and she knew how much the situation had hurt both her parents. What if this turned out to be the same sort of thing?

  Then, whatever she did, she lost. She didn’t want to make Antonio choose between his family and her, because that wasn’t fair; yet leaving him and quietly taking the baby away to live anonymously in London was no longer an option. Not now she’d seen the joy in his eyes when he’d felt their baby kick inside her.

  Please, please let this work out...

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE NEXT MORNING, Tia was woken by the sound of a phone shrilling. At first she was disoriented but then last night came rushing back to her. How she’d fallen asleep on the sofa in Antonio’s arms. How he’d ushered her up to bed, and she’d asked him to stay. How tenderly he’d held her...

  The shrilling was from Antonio’s phone, and he was sitting up in bed, frowning and speaking rapidly in Italian.

  He was speaking too quickly for her to follow what he was saying, but something was clearly wrong, because he ended the call and then appeared to be looking up something on his phone.

  She sat up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Ah, Tia. Good morning.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  He grimaced. ‘That was Gina on the phone. Apparently the media have descended on the village. There’s some stuff in the news.’

  ‘What stuff?’

  He handed her the phone in silence.

  It was a newsfeed showing the front pages of various newspapers and headlines for their stories. Someone had clearly taken photographs last night when Antonio had kissed her on the doorstep.

  One of the pages had mocked up a kind of photo love story: in the first photograph he was kissing her, the second had her sliding her arms round his neck and kissing him back, and the third showed her smiling at him while he rested his hand on her bump, obviously feeling the baby kick.

  The first one was captioned Who’s that girl? The second bore the line A kiss is just a kiss—or is it? The third had a heart drawn round them and was captioned Baby Love?

  She read through the actual article. It was asking who she was, and if this was Prince Antonio’s secret baby.

  Is this the third baby scandal to rock the kingdom of Casavalle in recent months? The oldest child of King Vincenzo, Gabriella, was kept secret for decades, Prince Luca’s fiancée was pregnant with someone else’s baby, and now it seems Vincenzo’s youngest ch
ild isn’t to be left out of the scandal...

  Horrified, Tia realised that the story was going to cause huge waves in Casavalle and also in London. If the media started digging to find out who she was, then her mother was going to be dragged into this.

  She skimmed over the speculation, and then came to the last paragraph.

  Prince Luca has confirmed that his older half-sister Gabriella will be acceding to the throne instead of him, with the coronation due at the end of the year.

  So Gabriella was definitely becoming Queen? Since when? Antonio hadn’t mentioned anything about that to her. He’d said that they were waiting for DNA test results and Gabriella’s decision. ‘Gabriella’s actually becoming Queen?’ she asked.

  ‘With the support of our family, yes,’ he said.

  She frowned. ‘Did you know about this?’

  ‘Yes. Luca sent me the press release.’

  Her stomach felt tied in knots as she took in the coolness of his expression and his tone. She’d been so sure that he was thawing out. But now he’d gone all aloof on her again. He was reverting to being Antonio the Prince, and she realised that she had just been kidding herself. Antonio was a prince first and foremost. Even if he did thaw out with her again, it would never be for long.

  ‘You didn’t say anything to me.’ The words came out before she could stop them. How stupid of her. Why would he feel he needed to tell her anything about Palace business?

  And then a really nasty thought sneaked into her head.

  If he’d known about the press release, known that the press would be asking about him... Suddenly his actions of yesterday took on a whole new meaning. ‘So you must’ve known the media would want to know where you were, when it was obvious you weren’t at the palace.’

  ‘I didn’t think they’d find me here,’ he said.

  How, when it was his family’s house so it was an obvious place to look? ‘But they did—and they took that photograph.’ She swallowed hard. ‘On your doorstep.’

  ‘I didn’t notice any flash.’

  Neither had she. She didn’t think he was lying. But she did feel manipulated, and she wasn’t sure whether she was more angry with herself for not realising that of course he was a prince and the media would follow him relentlessly, or with him for bringing her here in the first place and not letting her go quietly back to London where nobody would know about her or the baby.

  The phone shrilled again, and the palace secretary’s name flashed up on the caller ID.

  ‘For you,’ she said, handing the phone back to him.

  She couldn’t hear what Miles was saying, and she could tell nothing at all from Antonio’s side of the conversation. His face was completely impassive, and all he seemed to say was ‘Yes’, ‘No’ or ‘I see’.

  He ended the call and looked at her. ‘Miles says the media knows who you are, that you live in London and you’re a waitress.’

  She looked at him in dismay. ‘Does that mean they’re going to go after my mum now?’ And maybe her bosses. Her friends. Anyone who’d known her even vaguely in the last twenty years. The media wouldn’t care, as long as they got their story.

  ‘It’s a strong possibility,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.’

  ‘Are you?’ she asked, with the doubts still nagging at her. ‘Or did you engineer it, knowing that you’re the only one who could protect my mum so I’d have to agree to all your demands?’

  He stared at her, saying nothing, and with a sick feeling she realised she hadn’t just been hormonal and paranoid. This really was manipulation. She’d been fooling herself yesterday, thinking that he was getting closer to her and hoping that maybe, after all, this was going to work out. He didn’t love her, but she was carrying his heir, the fourth in line to the throne, so he thought it was his duty to give the baby his name. She’d already refused to marry him, so he’d put her in a situation where she’d have to agree.

  The cold, unemotional soldier was a master strategist.

  He knew that Tia would do anything to protect her mother. If her mother was in danger from being hounded by the media, then Tia would agree to anything to stop that.

  So he’d got close to her. Made her think that he cared. Put her in the perfect position for a photo opportunity.

  And now...

  This time her mobile phone was the one to ring.

  Seeing their neighbour’s name on the screen made her heart freeze for a second.

  Was Becky ringing to tell her that her mother was ill—or worse? Please, no. She couldn’t lose her last family member. Please. Please.

  ‘Hello, Becky,’ she said, trying to keep the panic from her voice. ‘Is Mum all right?’

  ‘Yes, love, she’s fine. Don’t worry,’ her neighbour reassured her.

  Which was when she started shivering, in reaction to the fear that had flooded through her.

  Antonio moved to put his arm round her, but she didn’t believe it was to warm her or comfort her. This was all about duty and control, and she’d been too stupid to see it.

  She angled herself away from him, and thankfully he took the hint and backed off.

  ‘But there’s reporters and photographers everywhere,’ Becky said. ‘I went out to get a pint of milk and everyone kept asking me about you. I just told them you were a lovely girl and to leave you alone.’

  ‘Thank you. I really appreciate that.’ With neighbours like Becky on their side, at least Tia knew that her mother was going to be OK. She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll text you when I know the flight times. And I’ll ring Mum in a second.’

  ‘All right, love. Don’t you worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.’ Becky paused. ‘Your young man’s very handsome.’

  He wasn’t exactly hers, though like a fool she’d let herself start to believe that he might be. And wasn’t the old saying, ‘Handsome is as handsome does’? But Becky was waiting for an answer. She didn’t need to know what a mess this was. ‘Yes,’ Tia said. ‘I’ll see you soon. And thank you again.’

  ‘Is your mother all right?’ Antonio asked as soon as she ended the call.

  No thanks to him. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘Don’t worry. You win. I’ll do what you want and marry you so you get your heir—but only on condition you take care of my mum and make sure the media doesn’t hassle her.’

  At least he didn’t look full of triumph.

  Then again, he wasn’t showing any emotion at all.

  How, just how, had her brother been friends with him? Or was he totally different at work?

  Not that it mattered.

  Nothing mattered any more.

  She’d been very naive to think he was starting to care for her. Antonio the Automaton. He’d just been a very, very shrewd tactician.

  Military precision.

  How stupid she’d been to tease him about that. It was exactly what it had been. Who he was.

  ‘I’ll arrange for someone to handle things for your mother in London,’ Antonio said. ‘Although I think it would be best to fly her to Casavalle.’

  ‘So she gets no say in it, either? Like the baby, she’s going to be another royal pawn in a game?’ she asked bitterly.

  ‘Tia, it isn’t like that.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ She looked levelly at him. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to shower and get dressed.’ In clothes he’d arranged for her, because she’d been so carried away with the gorgeous Christmas he’d made for her that she hadn’t done any laundry. Leaving her with no choice. Just as the rest of her life was going to be now.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Right at that second, she felt bought.

  * * *

  Tia had already made up her mind, so there was no point in arguing with her, Antonio thought. Right now it would only make matters worse. And if he upse
t her, it would be bad for the baby. He needed her to be calm. Maybe, if he didn’t escalate things, when she’d had time to think logically about it she’d realise that he hadn’t been trying to manipulate her. That he’d been caught unawares, too.

  Instead, he said neutrally, ‘I’ll arrange for a flight back to the palace.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And for you to go back to London. Please call your mother and reassure her that I’ll do everything in my power to protect her.’

  ‘Of course, Your Royal Highness.’

  That hurt. That she could be so formal with him after what they’d shared. That she could believe he’d engineered this whole thing.

  Thankfully his upbringing meant that the hurt didn’t show.

  And he’d do this logically. Get the media spotlight off them, and then once they were in the palace he could start to sort things out with her.

  ‘I’ll leave a suitcase outside your door,’ he said.

  ‘Suitcase?’ She looked surprised.

  ‘For your clothes.’ When it looked as if she was about to argue, he raked a hand through his hair. ‘Tia. There were no strings to those clothes.’

  ‘I suppose you can’t have your bride-to-be wearing cheap chainstore clothes in public,’ she said.

  Did she really think he was such a snob, that he gave a damn about money? The unfairness stung enough for him to say, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’

  ‘Ridiculous?’

  ‘I’m not a snob. It’s nothing to do with money. I was trying to do something nice for you without rubbing your nose in the difference between our financial situations or making you feel beholden to me.’

  She looked crestfallen then, and he felt guilty—because by saying that out loud he’d done precisely what he’d been trying not to do. He’d rubbed her nose in it. She’d been angry and hurt and snapping at him, but he shouldn’t have snapped back and continued the fight. Time to back off. Not because he was in the wrong or afraid of a fight, but because she was out of sorts and he needed to think of the baby. ‘I’m going to have a shower and go downstairs. I’ll make breakfast when you’re ready.’