mind whir. This had always been her forte—she’d used to play the press like a finely tuned instrument, and had always orchestrated publicity for maximum impact with impeccable timing.
‘Prince Frederick and I are delighted to announce that fourteen months ago our son Amil was born. Obviously we have a great deal to discuss about the future, which we will be doing over the next few days. My press office will be in touch with details of a photo opportunity with the three of us tomorrow.’
‘Photo opportunity?’ Three of us...? The words filled him with equal parts terror and anticipation.
‘Yes. Better to arrange it than have them stalk us to try and get one. And I assume you want to spend time with Amil before we go?’ She clocked his hesitation before he could mask it. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘No.’ Liar.
Her eyes filled with doubt. He racked his brain and realised that in this case only the truth would suffice.
‘I don’t want to upset Amil or confuse him just before you leave him.’
He didn’t want his son to believe on any level that it was his father’s fault that he was losing his mother. Even for a few days.
For the first time since his proposal she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and he blinked at the warmth it conveyed. If he were fanciful, he’d swear it had heated his skin and his soul.
‘You won’t upset him. Truly. How about we take him to the Hanging Gardens? He loves it there—the press can take their photos and then we can take him for a walk.’
‘Sounds great.’
But the warmth dissipated and left a cold sheen of panic in its wake. What if the meeting didn’t go well? What if they couldn’t connect?
Then he’d fake it. If he could close his emotions down—and he was a past master in the art—then surely the reverse would be true too. ‘My school visit is planned for seven a.m., so if we schedule the press for midday that should work.’
‘I’d like to come with you to the school. It’s a cause I’d love to be involved in, and now...now I can.’
Her smile broadened and it occurred to him that, whilst he couldn’t condone what she had done, hiding Amil had impacted on Sunita’s life heavily. She’d lost her career, had to subdue her identity and become anonymous.
Sheesh. Get a grip. Any minute now he’d start to feel sorry for her.
The point now was that Sunita would be an asset to the charity.
His phone beeped and he read the message.
‘Amil and your grandmother are in the hotel. So are Sam and Miranda. So let’s go and face the press.’
And then he’d face the music. He had no doubt his chief advisor had set up a veritable orchestra.
‘YOU’VE DONE WHAT?’ Marcus Alrikson, hot off a private jet, scooted across the floor of the hotel suite. ‘The whole existence of a secret baby is bad enough—but now you’re telling me you have proposed marriage!’ Marcus paused, pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply. ‘Why?’
Frederick surveyed him from the depths of the leather sofa. ‘Because I have a son, and I want my son to live with me and his mother. I realise that flies in the face of Lycander tradition, but there you have it. I want Amil to inherit his birthright. The only way to achieve both those goals is marriage.’
‘If this marriage loses you the crown he won’t have a birthright to inherit.’
‘It won’t.’ Frederick imbued his voice with a certainty he was far from feeling—but he was damned if he would admit that to Marcus. ‘This is the right thing to do and the people of Lycander will see that.’
‘Perhaps...but that doesn’t mean they will accept Sunita or Amil.’
‘They will have no reason not to. Sunita has proved herself to be an exemplary mother. And she will be an exemplary princess.’
Marcus shook his head. ‘She is a supermodel with a reputation as a party girl. You have no idea what she may or may not do—she would never have made my list in a million years. She is as far from Kaitlin Derwent as the moon is from Jupiter.’
‘And look what happened with Lady Kaitlin. Plus, don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical? What about my reputation?’
‘You have spent two years showing that you have changed. The reforms you are undertaking for Lycander are what the people want. You may have been a playboy with a party lifestyle, but you also founded a global business—Freddy Petrelli’s Olive Oil is on supermarket shelves worldwide. At least you partied on your own dime.’
‘So did Sunita. And her party days were over by the time we met.’
‘Sunita has spent two years hiding your son from you,’ Marcus retorted. ‘There is nothing to suggest she will be good for Lycander and plenty to suggest she will plunge the monarchy straight back into scandal. She could run off with Amil, file for divorce before the honeymoon is over...’
‘She won’t.’
He couldn’t know that, though—not really. He’d known Sunita for a couple of weeks two years ago. Doubt stepped in but he kicked it out even as he acknowledged the sceptical rise of his chief advisor’s eyebrow. ‘Or at least it’s a risk I am willing to take.’
‘It is too big a risk. The women on my list are open to the idea of an arranged marriage—they have been brought up to understand the rules. Dammit, Frederick, we had this discussion. We agreed that it was important for the Lycander bride to be totally unlike your father’s later choices and more in line with his first wife.’
Axel’s mother, Princess Michaela, a princess in her own right, had been a good woman.
‘We did. But circumstances have changed.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You plan to present your people with a bride who may well cause a scandal broth of divorce and custody battles.’
‘I have no choice—none of this is Amil’s fault.’
‘I am not suggesting you turn your back on Amil. Provide for him. See him regularly. But do not marry his mother.’
‘No.’ It was as simple as that. ‘I will be a real father to Amil and this is the way forward. I’m doing this, Marcus—with or without your help.’
Silence reigned and then Marcus exhaled a long sigh and sank into the seat opposite. ‘As you wish.’
* * *
Sunita surveyed her reflection in the mirror, relieved that there was no evidence of the tumult that raged in her brain. Frederick...discovery... Amil...Crown Prince...marriage...Goa...disaster.
There was potential disaster on all fronts—the thought of marriage was surreal, the
