contempt. ‘Well, you have your wish. We cannot possibly crown you queen of Contarini now. Even if you get rid of the baby, the scandal will stick to you and damage the monarchy. I thought Raffi was the reckless one, but you—you have gone even further!’
No ‘How are you feeling?’, Melinda thought. No ‘When’s the baby due?’. No ‘How’s the morning sickness?’. No interest in anything except the wretched monarchy.
Exactly the same way it had been for her entire life.
‘As far as we are concerned,’ Viviana said, ‘you are no longer our daughter.’
Melinda blinked. Had she just heard that right? ‘You’re disowning me?’
‘Given how little loyalty you have shown to us, why do you sound so surprised?’ Viviana said scornfully. ‘You are no longer part of our family. And I wish you well with your Croatian refugee.’ She spat the word as if it were an insult. And then she hung up.
Melinda stared at the phone in disbelief.
Her family had just disowned her.
And then something really horrible occurred to her.
If her mother had seen the papers…She had to reach Dragan before he saw them. She had to tell him the news before the paparazzi scooped her.
She glanced at the clock. Half past eight. Would he still be at home? Please, please don’t let him have left for the surgery yet. She called his mobile.
‘The mobile phone you are calling is switched off. Please leave a message or send a text.’
She couldn’t tell him the news by voicemail! ‘Dragan? It’s Melinda. If you pick this up before I speak to you, please ring me urgently. I need to talk to you. It’s really, really important.’ She hung up and tried the surgery number.
Engaged.
As it always was at this time on a Monday—the rush time after the weekend, when people who’d been feeling rough over the weekend rang to get an appointment to see the doctor.
Well, she’d redial as many times as she had to until she got through.
And she’d have to hope that she caught him before his first appointment.
The waiting room was practically silent.
This definitely wasn’t normal, Dragan thought. People usually chatted to each other; Penhally was a warm, friendly place, and the surgery here wasn’t the inner city waiting rooms full of silent strangers avoiding each other’s eyes.
‘What’s happened?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ Hazel mumbled, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.
‘Have the press been harassing you again?’
She shook her head.
He glanced round at the waiting room; people shuffled in their seats and looked away. But the second he looked back at Hazel, he was aware of people staring at him. ‘Why is everyone staring at me?’ he asked softly.
She looked really embarrassed, and handed him the newspaper in silence.
The headline on the front page screamed at him: THE DOCTOR’S ROYAL LOVE-CHILD
And suddenly he couldn’t breathe.
It took a huge effort and every bit of concentration he possessed to walk into his consulting room. He stared at the page and read it over and over again, but he couldn’t take the words in.
Melinda was pregnant.
With his child.
And once again the press knew all about it before he did.
Why the hell hadn’t she told him?
So much for her promise of no more secrets.
She’d lied to him yet again.
Or was this some elaborate bluff, some excuse to get her out of being the queen of Contarini?
Or—even worse—had she planned the whole thing? Was this why she’d asked him to make love to her without protection the night before she’d gone away, knowing what her family would ask of her? She’d been so emphatic about it being her safe time. Had it been yet another layer of lies? Had she deliberately tried to get pregnant by a man she knew her family would never accept?
Feeling used and angry—and convinced now that Melinda had never really loved him at all—he picked up his mobile phone and speed-dialled her number.
It was engaged.
Great. Just great. His world had been turned upside down and shaken like a child’s snowglobe, and he couldn’t even talk to her about it.
To hell with the paparazzi and playing nice. He wanted answers. If he had to kick her door down to get them, he damned well would. Grimly, he keyed in a short message—a message he knew would get a reaction—and sent it to her mobile phone.
He flicked the intercom to let Hazel know he was ready for his first patient.
And then, after surgery, he’d have it out with Melinda.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I’M SORRY, Melinda, he’s with a patient,’ Hazel informed her. ‘Oh, and congratulations, by the way.’
Oh, no.
Oh, no, no, no.
If Hazel knew, that meant everyone in the surgery knew.
Including Dragan.
She was way, way too late.
And he was going to be so hurt and angry because he was the last one to know. After she’d promised him no more secrets, too—just to rub salt into his wounds.
But how on earth had the paparazzi found out?
‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘Um, could you tell him I called?’
‘Of course, love. And I’ve got this lovely pattern for a little matinee jacket—I’ll knit you some in lemon and white. Because we don’t know if you’re having a girl or a boy yet, do we?’
‘Thank you, Hazel. That’s very kind.’ It was a real effort to chat and be nice when all she wanted to do right now was get off the phone.
Her mobile phone beeped, telling her that someone had sent her a text.
‘Um, Hazel, I won’t hold you up because I know how busy the surgery is on a Monday morning,’ she said quickly.
‘Well, I’m sure I’ll see you soon, dear,’ Hazel said.
With relief, Melinda said goodbye, hung up and switched to the message.
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