right person—for Lycander’s sake. A woman like Lady Kaitlin Derwent. I am the antithesis of Kaitlin.’
For an insane moment the knowledge hurt. But she was no longer a child, desperately trying to measure up to her half-sisters and always failing. High academic grades, musical ability, natural intelligence... You name it, Sunita lacked it. But in this case she needed to emphasise her failings with pride.
‘I haven’t got an aristocratic bone in my body, and I don’t have the gravitas that you need to offer the Lycander people.’
‘You are the mother of my son.’
‘Your illegitimate son. Plus, I was a model. Your father married or was associated with a succession of models, actresses and showbiz people, and all his relationships ended in scandal. Your people will tar me with the same brush.’
‘Then so be it. I agree that you do not have the background I was looking for in my bride, but I believe you will win the people over. In time.’
‘I don’t think I will.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘For a start, I want to resume my modelling career—and I can’t see that going down a storm with the people.’
Or with him. He masked his reaction, but not fast enough—he hadn’t taken that into the equation.
‘You don’t like the idea either?’
‘I neither like nor dislike it. I agree it might be problematic for the people to accept, but it’s a problem we can work around.’
‘But it doesn’t have to be a problem. Don’t marry me—marry someone like Kaitlin...someone with the qualities to be a true consort.’
Even as she said the words a strange pang of what she reluctantly identified as jealousy shot through her veins. Jealousy? Really? She didn’t even know who she was jealous of. It meant nothing to her if Frederick married someone else. Nothing. As for being jealous of Kaitlin—that was absurd.
Sunita forged on. ‘You know I’m right. Tell me about your agreement with Kaitlin. What else did she bring to the table apart from her background?’
‘This is not a constructive conversation.’
‘I disagree. This isn’t only about Amil. This is about us as well. Your life and mine. You want to make me a princess—I deserve to know what that entails, what your expectations are. You said it yourself.’
‘What I expected from Kaitlin and what I would expect from you are different.’
Ouch. ‘In what way?’ Ice dripped from her tone as she forked up a piece of succulent fish with unnecessary violence.
‘You are two different individuals—of course I would have different expectations.’ Frustration tinged his voice, along with what looked like a growing knowledge that he’d entered stormy waters and was in imminent danger of capsizing.
‘Well, I’d like to know what you expected from Kaitlin.’ From your ideal candidate, her treacherous heart cried out.
‘Fine. Kaitlin was brought up for this role—she has dozens of connections, she speaks four European languages, she has diplomacy down pat. I planned to use her as a royal ambassador—she would have played a very public role. I also hoped she would be influential behind the scenes—play a part in turning Lycander round, in shaping policy.’
For Pete’s sake! Sunita didn’t think she could bear to hear any more. Lady Kaitlin had obviously been on a fast track to royal sainthood, and the role of Lycander princess would have fitted her like a silken glove. Whereas Sunita was more fitted for the lost sock that languished behind the radiator.
The realisation hollowed her tummy and she shook her head in repudiation. ‘There you have it. I think you owe it to Lycander to marry someone else.’
Surely she’d made her case? She understood that Frederick wanted to be part of Amil’s life, but he had to see that Sunita was quite simply not princess material.
‘No.’ His voice was flat. ‘I have already considered everything you’ve said. And, incidentally, you and my chief advisor are in complete agreement. But you are Amil’s mother, and that trumps all other considerations. He is my son. I want him to live with me—I want him to be Lycander’s Crown Prince after me. I also want him to live with his mother. So marriage is the only option.’
‘No, it isn’t. What if I decide not to marry you?’ He couldn’t actually force her to the altar. ‘You would still be an important part of Amil’s life.’
‘Stop!’
‘What?’ Her stomach plummeted as she saw the expression on his face—weariness, distaste, sadness.
‘Don’t do this.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if you don’t marry me I will fight for joint custody.’
Joint custody. The words sucker-punched her. ‘You promised that you wouldn’t take him from me. You said he needs me.’
‘I also told you I will be a real part of his life. What would you suggest? A weekend here and there? He is my son as well.’
‘Yes. But you’ll marry someone else—have another family.’
‘And you think that should make me want Amil less—is that the message you want to give our son?’
‘No!’
Damn it—she couldn’t think. Panic had her in its grip, squeezing out any coherent thought. All she could think of now was losing Amil for half of his childhood. Of Amil in Lycander with a stepmother—whichever new multilingual paragon of virtue Frederick eventually married—and half-siblings.
History on repeat with a vengeance.
Memories of her own humiliations, inflicted by the hands of her stepmother and her half-sisters—the put-downs, the differentiation, the horror—were chiselled on her very soul. No way would she risk that for Amil.
‘I won’t agree to joint custody. I can’t.’
But she could see his point. She had already deprived him of fourteen months of Amil’s life—how could she expect him to settle for the occasional week? Regular phone calls and Skype? Would she settle for that? Never in a million years.
She inclined her head. ‘All right. You win. I’ll marry you.’
It looked as if Princess Sunita was about to enter the land of fairy tales. It was a good thing she knew that happy-ever-afters didn’t exist in real life.
‘ALL RIGHT. YOU WIN. I’ll marry you.’
The words seemed to haunt his dreams, and by the time the distinctive fluting whistle of a golden oriole penetrated his uneasy repose it was a relief to wake up, hop out of the slatted wooden bed and head for the shower. He could only hope the stream of water would wake him up to common sense.
He
