Pregnant With A Royal Baby!. Susan Meier

a warm smile. “Are you going to invite me in?”

      She motioned for him to come in with a wave of her hand and kept hyperventilation at bay only by a miracle of self-discipline. She had a prince entering her house. A good-looking, good-natured, good everything prince.

      As she closed the door, he said, “I’d actually come here tonight to see if you’d like to have dinner with me.” He shrugged. “And show me your town.”

      She had to work to keep her eyes from bugging. He wanted to take her out? Then she realized his request made sense. She’d shown him the school. Of course, she was the prime candidate to show him the town. He was not asking her out.

      “Then I thought maybe we’d fly to Los Angeles and go to a club.”

      She let her eyes bulge. Okay. He was asking her out. “You want to go clubbing?”

      “Don’t you like to dance?”

      Her heart tripped over itself in her chest. “I love to dance.”

      He smiled. “Me, too. I’m afraid I don’t get to dance often, though. Duty supersedes fun. Please say you’ll come with me.”

      “I’d love to.”

      Though he was in jeans, he looked good enough to eat, so she slithered into her prettiest red party dress, put on her best makeup and slid into tall black sandals.

      They had dinner at the local Italian restaurant, with his bodyguards unobtrusively eating at the tables beside theirs, then they actually got on his royal jet and flew to LA, where they’d danced until three. He should have dropped her off at her building lobby. Instead, he came up to her condo, and the few kisses they’d shared in his limo turned into passionate lovemaking. The best sex of her life. She’d kissed him goodbye at the door in her one and only fancy robe—which she’d retrieved from her closet when he made the call to his driver that he was ready. Then just when she was about to shower for school again, he called her.

      “Thank you.”

      The sweetness of his words caused her throat to tighten. Her voice was soft and breathless when she said, “You’re welcome.”

      “I’m sorry we’ll never meet again.”

      “Me, too.”

      But in a way she wasn’t. She’d had a wonderful fairy-tale night with a prince, something she could hold in her heart forever. There would be no need to worry if he would be a good king or a bad king; no need to know if he did stupid things like hog the bathroom; no need to worry if the stress of his job would make him an alcoholic, as her dad had been. No need to know the real Prince Dominic Sancho.

      There had been one glorious, wonderful night. No regrets and no worries about the future. The way she liked all her relationships.

      They hung up on mutual sighs. In the process of setting her phone on her bedside table, she realized that because he’d called her, she had his number. She clicked a few buttons and when the digits came up caller ID said private line. She smiled. She didn’t just have his number she had his private number.

      That pleased her enormously. If she ever got curious or lonely, she could call him...

      Or not. Best to sit and stare at his number and imagine good things. Not bad. Never bad. She’d had enough bad in her life.

      Knowing there was no time to sleep, she dressed for school, hugging her secret to herself. For two weeks she walked on a cloud of happiness, then one morning she woke and realized she hadn’t gotten her period, and she knew there really was a good reason to have his private number.

      * * *

      “Thank God our country isn’t like Britain used to be where the future king had to marry a virgin.”

      Prince Dominic Sancho held back the anger that threatened to rise up in him. He’d been the perfect royal for nearly thirty years and one slip, one reckless night in America, had wiped all that away. His father might be angry, but it was his life plan that had been changed. In order to ensure the integrity of the line and the safety of his child, he had no choice but to marry Ginny Jones, a woman he didn’t know.

      “Yes. Thank God I’m permitted to marry the mother of my child.”

      “I was being facetious.” Short and bald, with a round belly, his father, the king of Xaviera, was an imposing, strict man. He hated mistakes. Couldn’t even tolerate slipups. Especially not from the son who was his successor.

      “And I was being sarcastic.” It wasn’t often that he got smart with his father. In fact, he probably hadn’t done it more than five times in his entire life, including his teen years. But discovering a simple one-night stand had resulted in a pregnancy had pushed him over the edge. His brother was the king of playboys but did he ever suffer a consequence for his actions? No. Yet the first time Dom stepped out of line, he was punished.

      “I’ve arranged for you and Ms. Jones to meet with the protocol officials whenever you’re ready. But no later than tomorrow morning.” King Ronaldo caught his gaze. “Prepare your bride.”

      The insult in his father’s voice cut through Dom like a knife. He just barely succeeded in not sniping back.

      He rose from his seat across from the ornate desk that was the seat of power for the king. He should have said, “Thank you for your time, Your Majesty.” A good prince would have done that. Instead he said, “I’ll get back to you.”

      “See to it that this wedding is done right. I will not be so easy on you if you screw up again.”

      He bowed and headed out of the room. I will not be so easy on you if you screw up again?

      Anger coursed through him. He stifled it. His father was the king. Dominic was heir to the throne. He knew there were protocols and rules. He’d broken them. He deserved this.

      Still...the penalty for one misstep was marriage?

      Marriage.

      After the way his father had fallen apart when his mother died, Dominic understood why his dad was careful, rigid now. His grief had been so intense that he hadn’t come out of his quarters for six weeks and in that time the country had begun to crumble. Parliament nearly took his crown, and, watching it all unfold, Dominic had promised himself he would never marry, never soften so much that a loss nearly destroyed him.

      When an opportunity for a treaty had arisen, the price being his marriage to a princess of a country that had been an enemy for centuries, he’d thought why not? Not only was the feud between their kingdoms old enough that it was time to retire it, but also there’d be no real emotional ties in a marriage that was part of a treaty, and he’d get an heir who would be a prince in two countries. But now here he was. Forced to marry a woman he didn’t know, ruining his design for a double royal heir, because of his own carelessness.

      His life plan really had gone to hell.

      He sucked in a breath and walked to the back stairway that led to his private quarters, buying time before he had to talk to Ginny. If he was angry, he couldn’t imagine how she felt—

      Unless she’d gotten pregnant deliberately?

      The horribleness of the thought froze his blood, stopped his breathing, and he told himself to calm down. Too many things had to align for her to have orchestrated the pregnancy, including the fact that he was the one who had gone to her condo that night. And she’d been a cute mess. Wet hair. Sweatpants. She obviously hadn’t been planning on seeing him that night.

      Reaching the top floor of the east wing of Xaviera’s palace, he strode in the direction of the white double doors with intricate scroll designs carved down the sides. The huge square “waiting” area between the top of the stairs and his apartment had scant furnishings, though the walls were adorned with art. Picasso. Rembrandt. Monet. Hidden treasures. Mostly for his viewing. Because that’s what his life was. Special. Honored. In spite of the awkward meeting with his father, he knew that he was different. Some day he would be a king.