didn’t miss the part of a wealthy, devastatingly handsome prince begging her to have dinner with him. But as much as she wanted to spend more time with him, there was another part of her that worried about what would happen when he learned of the baby. Would he reject her? Would he reject his own flesh and blood? Or would he try to take the baby from her? The thought of it sent a chill through her.
Proceed with caution.
The only way she would find the answer to any of these questions was if she were to do as he asked and dine with him. Not sure if it was the right decision or not, she said, “Okay. I’ll have dinner with you.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll send a car for you at seven.”
She shook her head. “I can drive.” And then she recalled that she’d left her car back in the village. “Except my car is still in the village.”
“I’ll send my car. And if you give me your keys, I’ll make sure your car is picked up and waiting for you at my condo.”
That would be convenient, but it would also make her an easy target for the paparazzi. And she wasn’t ready to be a headline on every gossip site.
She checked the time on her phone. “You may send your car for me at...seven fifteen.” That should give her just enough time to sort through her purchases to find something appropriate to wear and do an internet search. “Does that work for you?”
Both his brows rose. She wasn’t sure if he was surprised that she hadn’t fallen all over herself to do as he wanted. If that’s what he expected of her, he was in for a surprise. With a baby on the way, she had to stand firm and speak up when necessary.
Max gave a curt nod. “I’ll see you then.” He turned for his vehicle. A few steps later, he paused and turned back. “Is there anything specific you would like for dinner? Perhaps something you’ve been craving?”
Craving? Did he know about her pregnancy? She sucked in her stomach. As he continued to stare at her with an expectant look on his face with no hint of suspicion, she realized he’d meant nothing by his choice of word.
She shook her head. “Anything is fine. I’m not a picky eater.”
That response rewarded her with another surprised look on his face. Apparently the prince wasn’t used to women who weren’t picky. She wondered just what sort of women he normally dated, but she resisted the urge to ask.
“I’ll pick something special.” He turned and walked away.
The desire to run in the house and head straight to her computer was overwhelming, but she restrained herself. She waited until he was inside his vehicle before she let herself in the chalet. With the door shut, her movements became rushed. She threw off her hat and coat before kicking off her snowy boots. And then she took the steps two at a time.
She grabbed her laptop from the desk and threw herself down on the bed. Her fingertips moved rapidly over the keyboard. Maybe it wasn’t right snooping on the internet, but now that she knew her baby’s daddy was a famous royal, she had to learn more. From her own dealings with the paparazzi, she knew most of the articles would be fiction or wildly exaggerated. But that didn’t stop her from looking—
Noemi’s breath caught in her throat as she caught sight of headlines splashed across the screen that were worse than she’d allowed herself to imagine. In fact, with photos to back up the headlines, she wondered if she’d been wrong about Max.
“Twin Blonde Bombshells for the Prince!”
“Prince Maximilian with Woman Number Five in as Many Evenings!”
“The Playboy Prince Strikes Again!”
“Prince Max and His Harem!”
Disheartened, Noemi closed her laptop. She’d thought the night their baby was conceived that they’d shared something special. She never imagined that she was just one more notch on his bedpost. The thought hurt—a lot.
She placed her hand upon her midsection. “What have I gotten us into?”
MAYBE HE SHOULDN’T have pushed. After all, he wasn’t a man to beg for a woman’s company—until now. What was it about Noemi that had him acting out of character? Was it her dazzling smile? Her bewitching eyes? Or her sweet, sweet kiss?
As Max sat at the desk in his bedroom suite, he gave himself a mental shake and tried to concentrate on the plethora of emails awaiting his attention. He checked the clock for what must be the hundredth time. It still wasn’t even close to when Noemi was due to arrive. He sighed.
He may not be at the palace, but that didn’t mean his responsibilities ceased to exist. In fact, he was beginning to think his parents gave him more than his fair share of work to make sure he didn’t stray too far from the business of governing Ostania.
He still had two hundred and seventy-nine unopened emails. He groaned. How was that possible? He’d checked his email last night because he knew he’d be traveling most of today. He’d had it semi under control, but not any longer.
He wished his email was like other people’s and full of spam that he could readily dismiss. However, his email was directed through the palace, where it went through stringent screenings. That meant all two hundred and seventy-nine emails would need to be dealt with personally or would require forwarding to someone else with directions.
He worked his way through the emails in chronological order. And then his gaze strayed across an email from his mother—the queen. She didn’t email him often as she was a bit exasperated with him. She thought he should be at the palace acting the part of proper crown prince. She had no idea how hard it was for him to act his part because the royal court knew that when the time came, he would not be crowned king.
That role would go to his younger brother, Tobias, who at this moment was being meticulously groomed to step up and assume Max’s birthright. He didn’t blame his brother. If anything, he felt indebted to Tobias. His brother was the one sacrificing his youthful adventures in order to learn the rules of governing and the etiquette for dealing with foreign dignitaries.
And yet his brother had stepped up to do what was expected of him without complaint. Max would do no less. He checked the time once again and found that he still had close to an hour and a half before Noemi showed up. It was plenty of time to work through some of these emails.
He opened the email from his mother. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t the very cold businesslike email telling him the schedule of Christmas events and how he was expected to take on a prominent role in the festivities. He hated pretending to the whole nation that he was something he wasn’t—the heir to the throne.
He closed his mother’s email without responding because there wasn’t anything for him to respond to. There hadn’t been one personal word in the whole email. In fact, he would have thought that his mother’s personal secretary had written and sent the email except for the fact it had come from his mother’s private email that not even her secretary could access.
So the cold, impersonal email
