that, and still...
‘She’s mine,’ he said. ‘My child. My blood. My responsibility.’
The bottom line in all of this.
And yet.
And yet...
Could he really expose the child to the dangers that awaited her here in Byzenmaach?
‘There’s one more thing.’ Rudolpho eyed him warily. ‘We weren’t the only ones watching them. Anastasia Douglas and her daughter were already under surveillance. There was a team on the house, and another in place at the girl’s school. As far as we could ascertain, their focus was the girl rather than the mother.’
Dread turned his skin cold and clammy. ‘Who were they?’
‘We don’t know. They disappeared before we could deal with them. They’re good.’
Not good.
‘I’ve ordered a covert security team to watch and wait for additional orders,’ said Rudolpho. ‘I don’t think it wise to involve your father in any decision-making at this point.’
His father only had days to live. That was what Rudolpho meant. ‘I’ll handle it.’
‘If you need additional counsel—’
Casimir smiled bleakly. ‘I don’t.’
ANASTASIA DOUGLAS DIDN’T usually attend black-tie fundraising events at the director of the United Nations Secretariat’s request. She was a lowly interpreter, one of many, even if she did have a reputation for being extremely good at what she did. She commanded five languages instead of the average three and was conversationally fluent in half a dozen more. She could navigate diplomatic circles with ease, courtesy of the training she’d received at her Russian diplomat mother’s knee. She had an intimate understanding of world politics, and enough corporate mediation experience to be of use when conversation got heated. All good things for a career interpreter’s toolkit.
It still didn’t explain why she was here in Geneva’s fading Museum of Art and History, talking black tulips with the Minister for Transport’s wife. The ticket would be held for her at the door, the director had said. It was important for her to be there, he’d said. Someone wanted to meet her in person, in advance of securing her services.
It would help mightily, Ana thought grimly, if she knew who that person was.
Twenty more minutes and Ana would cut her losses and make her exit. She was drawing enough unwanted attention as it was—possibly because she’d put her hair up and was wearing the simple black gown her mother had bought her for Christmas. It had a discreet boat neckline, no sleeves, and clung to her curves like a lover’s hand. Very little skin was showing. The dress was more than appropriate for such an event, and yet...
It didn’t matter that she never particularly wanted to draw the male gaze, she drew it regardless. And the female gaze and the gaze of the security guard stationed at the door. Sex appeal, mystery, an air of worldliness—whatever it was, people always stared. Some envious, some dazzled, others covetous. No one was ever neutral around her.
When Ana had fallen pregnant at nineteen, with barely any knowledge of the father and no way to contact him again, her mother had been horrified. All those plans for Ana to make a powerfully advantageous marriage, gone. All Ana’s formidable allure spent on a man who didn’t want her.
Only he had wanted her.
For one glorious week Ana had been the centre of a laughing, passionate, attentive man’s world and she’d gloried in it. He’d smiled at her in a bar and she’d felt the warmth of it all the way to her toes. He’d put a hand to the small of her back and held the door open for her on their way out and she’d stumbled beneath the heat of it all.
Clumsy Ana, when she’d never been clumsy before. All lit up at the touch of his hand.
So young. So utterly confident that the pulsing connection between them would last for ever. For one unforgettable week she’d found heaven here on earth. And then he’d left without a word, no farewell and no forwarding address.
He’s married, nothing surer, her mother had said.
You don’t have to have this baby, she’d said months later. You could move on with your life. Continue with your study plans.
Wise words from a woman Ana had always respected, only Ana had never quite been able to turn that stolen week into nothing. Never quite been able to wipe it from her consciousness.
She’d been nine months pregnant before she’d even figured out who Cas, her Cas, was. Not married. Not some feckless con man who’d needed a place to stay for a week.
He’d been the Crown Prince of Byzenmaach.
She’d woven that information into something she could live with; of course she had.
He hadn’t left her because he wanted to; he’d left her because duty to his crown demanded it. His father had forbidden it, and he’d fought for her, hard, but been overruled. He’d spent weeks in a dungeon, clamouring to get out and return to her. Yeah. Ana smiled ruefully. That last fantasy had always been a favourite.
Far better than the bitter knowledge that she simply hadn’t been a suitable choice for him and that he’d known it from the start and chosen to love her and leave her regardless.
She hadn’t got in touch.
The Transport Minister’s wife had exhausted the topic of tulips. By mutual consent they headed towards a larger circle of people, allowing Ana to drift away, towards a Grecian bust, champagne glass in hand. She rarely drank, although at an event such as this she would often take a glass of whatever they were offering. She liked to think it made her fit in.
The sculpture wasn’t the most impressive one in the room but studying it served the purpose of separating her from the crowd. She stood alone. Approachable. Any potential employer could introduce themselves now, in private, assuming they wanted to. If they didn’t, not a problem. She had enough work lined up to keep her and Sophia living comfortably for quite some time.
No one could accuse her of not giving her daughter a good start in life.
She felt the presence of someone at her side before she saw them. The movement of air, a dark shape in her peripheral vision. She turned to look at him, and felt the bottom drop out of her world.
She’d have known him anywhere, never mind that it had been years since she’d seen him last. She’d mapped that face with her lips and fingertips, and left not one inch of his body unexplored. Broad of shoulder and long of leg, his shoes were black and shiny and his shirt was snowy white beneath his black suit. His hands were in the pockets of his trousers, stretching the fabric taut across his abdomen and the top of his thighs.
Hurriedly, she turned her attention back to the Grecian bust, giving it far more attention than it deserved. Her palms felt suddenly slick and she longed to wipe them down the sides of her gown. Instead she wrapped both hands around her glass and tried to ignore the thunderous beating of her heart.
She
