wishing to provide service, but at a loss, Antonia lingered. Except for the attendant’s fidgety movements the suite was quiet, the sounds of activity outside the door silenced by the thick stone walls.
“A refreshing candle, then,” Antonia said.
The rasp of match against striker sawed at Sara’s raw nerve endings. A teardrop flame flared, and then the smell of sulfur mingled with the clean scent of vanilla.
“If you are certain you don’t require anything—”
“Nothing.” Sara lifted a limp hand, but the effort was too much and she let it fall to her lap. “Thanks.”
“If you should change your mind, please ring. Prince Aleksandre left specific orders that you are to have everything you desire.”
Yeah, right, anything but her son. Sara gave a short, joyless laugh. “Your Prince Aleksandre is a royal jerk.”
Antonia gasped and with a polite bow made a hasty exit, apparently disturbed that anyone would speak ill of the prince. Sara supposed she should be more careful. After all, this was not America. For all she knew, she may have just committed a crime punishable by stoning.
No, Aleks wouldn’t hurt her. She knew that for certain, not because of the love they’d once shared, but because he needed her.
She reached for a strawberry but didn’t eat it. How could she eat with this enormous wad of hope and fear and longing filling up her insides? When she could touch her son and hear his voice and see him smile, then she would be filled in a way that had nothing to do with food.
If only Aleks would hurry, but she knew he would not. He was no longer the kind and playful and fiercely protective man she remembered. He was a ruling prince, unyielding and cold. Perhaps the war had done that to him. She’d been shocked to hear that he’d fought beside his men, and yet her Aleks would have done exactly that.
Her Aleks. A bitter laugh escaped her, sounding loud in the large, quiet room. This Prince Aleksandre was not her Aleks.
Her Aleks had loved her, and she had loved him.
But she had to face the truth and her own culpability. She had killed his love by putting his son up for adoption.
She picked at the strawberry’s leafy cap.
A new fear crowded into an already overwhelmed mind.
Aleks had agreed to let her spend time with Nico now. But what would happen after the surgery, after Nico was well again?
Aleksandre d’Gabriel was the absolute law and ruler of Carvainia. She, a simple bookshop owner from Kansas, had no legal rights in this place. Once Aleks had what he wanted from her, would she ever see her son again?
Chapter Four
SARA SAT ON A PLUSH CHAIR at Nico’s bedside, waiting for her son to awaken. After two impatient hours with the doctors and a miserable thirty minutes hashing over the details of Aleks’s contract, she’d insisted on coming to Nico’s room.
“He sleeps most of the time,” Aleks had said, obviously trying to forestall her visit.
She’d hitched her stubborn chin. “Then I will watch him sleep.”
“I have a nation to run.”
After four years and thousands of miles, Sara was not about to let Aleks’s reluctance keep her away from her baby. He’d promised and he would deliver.
“The decision to be present was yours.”
Finally, he’d conceded and escorted her to this wing, which Sara understood to be a medical floor fully staffed for the royal family.
Both thrilled and terrified, but utterly determined to make up for lost time, she gazed at the sleeping baby face and waited. She may have appeared calm with her hands resting serenely in her lap, but her heart hammered and she could barely breathe.
The tension was magnified by the imposing ruler who stood like a stone sentry at the foot of Nico’s bed. Sara’s gaze flicked briefly to him. Jaw rigid, Aleks never even glanced her way. He treated her with cold courtesy and little else. She was grateful that his staff was more inclined toward friendliness. Though none of them voiced their knowledge of her unique situation, she was certain they at least suspected the reasons for her presence. Antonia knew Sara was the hoped-for organ donor. Beyond that, Sara had no idea what Aleks had told his employees about her.
Having only seen Nico briefly at birth, it was surreal to realize this was the baby she’d carried beneath her heart, the baby she’d mourned and hunted and prayed for. Over the years, she’d imagined what he would look like. She’d dreamed of finding him again, certain she would recognize her own son. She wouldn’t have. He was all Aleks and nothing of her.
And yet he was everything she’d dreamed and more.
At a movement from the pillows, Sara’s heart, already pounding out of her chest, galloped even harder. He was waking. She would meet him. Finally. She pressed her hands into her knees to keep from leaping from the chair and rushing forward.
Nico’s thick lashes fluttered upward. Glazed, feverish eyes locked on the man at the end of the bed. His thin face brightened. “Papa.”
That one small, breathy word held such power. Sara’s whole being heaved toward the sick child. And the hard and mighty ruler of Carvainia melted like butter left too long in the sun.
Aleks tweaked the boy’s sheet-covered toe. “Ah, the great and lazy Prince Nico has awakened.”
The joke must have been a familiar one for the child offered a feeble grin, his sick eyes twinkling. “A growing boy needs his rest.”
Aleks laughed softly. “Indeed. A growing boy also needs food. Maria tells me you refused your meal.”
“Food tastes nasty, Papa.” His tone apologized as though he was aware of his father’s worry and sad to make it worse.
Aleks moved to the boy’s side. “I know, son, but you must try.” He touched Nico’s cheek. “Promise Papa you will try.”
Sara shared the pleading despair in Aleks’s voice. Nico was far too thin. His arms, resting along the sides of his body on top of the damask coverlet, were like sticks and his cheekbones stood out above the hollows of his face.
The small handsome head nodded. His tongue flicked over dry lips. “I promise.”
Carefully perching on the bed’s edge so that the mattress barely shifted, Aleks reached for a glass of water. “Have a drink for Papa.”
Gently cradling Nico’s head, the prince raised the boy enough for a few sips. Then he brushed a hand over Nico’s temple, smoothing bed-tumbled hair. “Do you feel like playing a game?”
“I’m a bit tired, Papa.” For indeed, he seemed to have expended all his energy on a simple drink of water.
Aleks’s chest rose and fell in a heavy sigh. He patted the child’s fragile chest and sat back in the chair, shoulders angled toward Sara. Her pulse
