a bit.’
He shook his head. ‘Too soon. We’re taking this slowly.’
‘And that means what…dating?’
‘It means taking it slowly and learning to trust each other,’ he said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. ‘Come on. Time to go back.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘SLOWLY’ meant frustratingly slowly, Melinda discovered. She’d drafted a statement for the press, with Dragan’s agreement, that they were ‘just good friends’. Which meant that in Penhally they couldn’t even hold hands or kiss each other goodnight. In a way, it went with Dragan’s insistence on taking things slowly, getting to know each other again—but she ached for their old, more physical relationship. She missed waking up in his arms, having breakfast with him.
Well, maybe not so much breakfast.
She’d lost her appetite, and even the scent of toast had turned her stomach.
Or maybe it was her period coming. She’d always been peculiarly sensitive to smells just before—
She stopped dead.
No.
She couldn’t possibly be pregnant. She and Dragan had only made love without protection that one time—the night before she’d gone back to Contarini. And it had been her safe time. Some couples tried for years and years to get pregnant; the chances of her falling pregnant on just that one night were low.
All the same, she couldn’t shift the thought from her head.
Thank heaven today was Saturday and she was only working in the morning—which meant she could drive out to Newquay in the afternoon, where she could be safely anonymous. There was something she most definitely didn’t want to buy in the village—the last thing she needed right now was gossip.
After surgery, she deliberately took a route through the back roads, knowing she’d be able to lose the paparazzi in the high-walled narrow lanes with all their twists and turns and little by-roads—months of living and working here meant she knew the roads so well that she no longer needed the map she kept in the glove box. Once in Newquay, she parked and browsed through a few shops, just in case she was still being followed. The second she was sure she was alone and unwatched, she bought a pregnancy test in the supermarket. The little cardboard box felt as if it was burning a hole in the boot of her car all the way back to Penhally. And she was careful to keep a very tight hold of her shopping bags when she carried them up to the flat—if she dropped them and the test spilled out, the paparazzi would go bananas.
Results in one minute. Just what she needed.
She read the instructions swiftly and did the test. And watched as the first line turned blue: good, the test was working.
And then she watched in horror as a blue line appeared in the second window.
Positive.
She was pregnant.
Expecting Dragan’s child.
Oh, Dio.
Two weeks ago, if someone had told her she and Dragan were going to have a baby, she would have been shocked but delighted. But now life was a whole lot more complicated. Her relationship with Dragan still wasn’t quite what it had been before she’d returned to Contarini, and she wasn’t sure how he’d take the news. Would it make things right between them again when he learned that they were going to have their own family?
And then there were her parents. She had no idea how they would react to the news. Would her mother be like a normal grandmother, forgive everything the second she held the warm weight of the baby and breathed in that special newborn scent? Or would her parents decide she was bringing shame on her royal lineage—for being pregnant and unmarried?
And when the press found out about this they’d have a field day.
She needed to tell Dragan first.
But she needed to know for sure before she told him. Because this would really rock his world—they hadn’t talked about having children, so she had no idea how he’d react. Delight at the idea of having a family of his own again? Or would it send him running scared?
She had to take this carefully.
Maybe the test was wrong. Maybe she’d done something incorrectly.
Luckily she’d bought a double pack. She drank water. Lots of it. Repeated the test. And watched the two blue lines slowly, slowly appear.
OK. Definitely pregnant. But how pregnant?
There was one person who might be able to tell her. One of her best friends in the village was a midwife: and Melinda knew Chloe would be discreet. She dialled the number. It rang and rang, and Melinda was just about to give up when she suddenly heard a familiar voice. ‘Hello?’
‘Chloe? It’s Melinda. Um, are you busy?’
‘Nothing I can’t can a break from. Are you all right?’
‘Ye-es. I don’t really want to talk about this on the phone.’
‘Got you. I’ll be there in a minute.’
‘You’re wonderful. Thanks. I’ll put the kettle on.’
But when Chloe arrived and noticed that Melinda was drinking water rather than coffee, she raised an eyebrow. ‘This isn’t just a girly chat, is it?’
‘No,’ Melinda admitted. ‘Though can you promise me you won’t say a word to anyone?’
Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘Of course I won’t! Apart from patient confidentiality, you know I’m not like that.’
Melinda winced. ‘I’m sorry. I know you won’t. I didn’t mean to…to make you feel bad. It’s just this paparazzi thing getting to me and my mouth isn’t acting in synch with my brain.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I’m pregnant, Chloe.’
‘Are you sure? When’s the baby due?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what I was hoping you might be able to tell me.’
‘When was your last period?’ Chloe asked.
‘Two weeks ago.’
‘Then you can’t be pregnant, Melinda—you’re only halfway through your cycle.’
‘That’s what I thought. But lately I’ve been feeling as if I want to howl my eyes out—and I’ve never been the leaky tap type.’
‘You’re under a lot of stress right now,’ Chloe reminded her, ‘what with your brother dying and these photographers following you about. It’s not surprising you want to cry.’
‘And I’ve been feeling sick. And I’m off my food.’
‘Also symptoms of stress,’ Chloe said calmly.
‘And
