that there was more to the relationship than he’d admitted.
“And these are my parents, King Luciano and Queen Elisabetta.” Maximo gestured to his parents who were still sitting, rigid as stone, at the head of the table.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Alison said, grateful at least for Isabella’s enthusiastic greeting. “All of you.”
Maximo pulled a chair out for her and she sat gingerly, feeling unbearably self-conscious. It was one thing to stand in front of people in a courtroom—that was her domain. She was confident there. She was in control. Here, she was very much the colloquial fish out of water, and she felt as if she was gasping for air.
Isabella offered Maximo an impish smile. “You didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend, Max.”
Maximo took her hand beneath the table, twining his long fingers with hers and lifting their hands, joined, onto the table. “I was trying to keep it just between Alison and myself until we were certain how serious things were.”
Alison nodded—any words she might have spoken jammed in her tightened throat. She hated this. Hated feeling so out of her depth. But, dear heaven, this was as far outside of her experience as anything could have possibly been. She’d never met a man’s parents; not in this sense. And these weren’t just any parents: they were royalty. And their faces were so stiff she had no doubt they felt she was quite patently beneath them.
“Is it serious?” his mother asked, her eyebrows raised, her lips unsmiling.
“I’ve asked Alison to marry me,” said Maximo simply. It was all the answer anyone needed.
“So soon after Selena’s death?” His father’s tone and expression were rebuking, and Alison felt a knot of guilt tighten in her stomach.
“It’s been two years,” Maximo said, his voice firm, “and I have chosen Alison to be my wife.”
“It would be best,” Elisabetta said slowly, “if you would wait at least a year for the wedding, out of respect to Selena.”
“The three-year mourning period is outdated,” Maximo said. “I have no intention of waiting another year to make Alison my wife. It is not possible for us to wait so long.”
“That’s very romantic of you, Max.” His younger sister looked positively moonstruck over the perceived romance of the whole situation. If only she knew.
“Romance has very little to do with it,” Maximo said, obviously taking no issue with disabusing his sister of her fantasies. “Alison is pregnant. The wedding needs to take place before she starts to show.”
Alison wanted to crawl under the table and die of mortification. She was treated to a very shocked look from Isabella and to a couple of very disapproving glares from the king and queen.
“Has there been a paternity test?” The king gave her an assessing glare that made her stomach roll.
“That won’t be necessary,” Maximo said through gritted teeth. “I am sure the child is mine, and I never want to hear you suggest otherwise again.”
Maximo’s rage shocked her. It wasn’t as though they were a real couple. He didn’t even necessarily like her all that much. It was probably more related to his masculine ego than anything else.
Luciano gave his son a hard glare. “Then there is nothing else to be done,” he said. “We will begin planning the wedding immediately.”
Queen Elisabetta narrowed her eyes, her mouth pursed. “We know nothing about her, Maximo. Is she suitable? Who are her people?”
Alison shifted in her chair, extremely uncomfortable being discussed as though she wasn’t in the room.
Isabella’s blue eyes lit with anger. “What does it matter who her people are, Mamma? If Max loves her he should marry her. That’s the only reason people should ever marry.”
“This is not about you, Isabella,” Luciano said curtly. “But she is right. It is of no consequence who her people are, or where she comes from. She is pregnant with Maximo’s heir and that is all that matters.”
If King Luciano had stood up from his place at the table and walked over to check her teeth she wouldn’t have been surprised. She felt like some sort of royal broodmare. She was acceptable because of the baby she carried. She imagined that if she really had been the woman Maximo loved, if there hadn’t been a baby, the king wouldn’t be so sanguine about the marriage. He would probably take the stance his wife had. If the damage hadn’t already been done she would have been found wanting based solely on her bloodline or her background. She couldn’t help but wonder if that were the situation, if they were in love and she were the woman Maximo had decided he wanted to marry, whose side he would have taken.
She couldn’t imagine Maximo being intimidated by anyone. He would never give in to his parents’ demands simply because he felt pressured to do so. But he had proven that, above all else, he had the ability to be coldly logical if he needed to be. He didn’t want marriage any more than she did, and yet he had immediately accepted that it was the best course of action for the sake of their child. Would he have made the same choice if he felt that marrying the woman he loved conflicted with the best interests for his country?
Oh, what does it matter?
She would never know. She didn’t need to know, or want to know. She didn’t love Maximo. She didn’t have any feelings for him at all. She respected him. Respected his strength, his drive to do the right and moral thing, his love for their unborn child. But that was all.
He moved his thumb over the tender skin of her wrist and a team of butterflies took flight in her stomach, calling her a liar.
So she was attracted to him? It didn’t mean anything. He was an attractive man. And then there were the pregnancy hormones. But that was all it was. And thank God for that.
“I’m glad we can agree on this,” Maximo said, his tone containing a hint of warning that Alison assumed was meant for his mother.
“We will not have you marry in some civil ceremony,” Luciano said, his tone imperious. It was obvious where Maximo had inherited his arrogance from. “You will marry in church, and we will make a formal engagement announcement. We will not treat it like a dirty secret. You are giving our country an heir and we will celebrate that.”
His mother looked as though she had swallowed a lemon. “I suppose a wedding is preferable to the birth of a royal bastard.”
Alison sucked in a sharp breath. It was no less offensive hearing it said now than it had been to hear Maximo say it earlier. And she knew now that he’d been telling the absolute truth about how their child would have been viewed had they not married. And it wouldn’t have just been the people or the media, but his own family who would have branded their child with that label.
“I won’t tolerate hearing our baby talked about like that!” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I won’t allow anyone to hurt my child. Ever.”
Maximo cupped her chin and turned her face to him. “No one will hurt our child, cara. I will not allow it.” He gave his mother a dark look. “This is your grandchild, Mamma. Think about that before you ever say such a thing again.”
