Royal Baby. Trish Morey

old wounds and laying them bare. ‘If I did agree to marry you, why shouldn’t it look that way, when that’s exactly what it is?’

      ‘I prefer to call it a marriage of convenience, for both of us.’

      ‘And I call it like I see it. You may not be holding a shotgun to my head, but you might as well be. What choice have you given me?’

      Candlelight flickered in his dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Maybe coming out tonight was premature and you are not yet ready to see sense.’

      ‘As you are not yet ready to see my point of view!’

      He sighed and leant back in his chair, throwing his napkin down onto the table. ‘And what is your point of view? That you can go on your merry way carrying two royal babies and somehow continue your life as a helicopter pilot as if nothing had happened?’ He cursed under his breath and stood, signalling to the waiter for the car to be brought around.

      She remained exactly where she was and jagged her chin up higher. ‘I don’t know any more. Two babies—I just don’t know. But I do know that whatever you call it, a marriage between us will have no chance of success while we remain virtual strangers. Look at our conversation tonight, we don’t know the first thing about each other.’

      For a moment his jaw looked so set she thought he might just turn and leave without her, and then he breathed out on a sigh and folded himself into his chair again, nodding. ‘Si. You are right. I am rushing you. Would a month be long enough, do you think?’

      He was giving her a month to decide? She rolled the proposal around in her head, looking for the catch but happy to take any concession going given the way she’d been railroaded up until now. ‘That would certainly help.’

      It did help. Rafe had Sebastiano rearrange his diary to free up his evenings over the course of the next week, taking her to the opera, to the opening of a play and countless magnificent dinners overlooking the lights of the city or the harbour or sometimes even both. They were photographed wherever they went, a buzz around them whenever they were spotted, and while Sienna knew there would be pictures in magazines and articles written about them, she wasn’t uncomfortable with the attention. She’d made no commitment to him. She had her month and she had the time to get to know Rafe better.

      At every event, Sienna was reminded of what it was that had put her under Rafe’s spell from the very beginning. He could be so utterly charming, his attention focused one hundred per cent on her and her alone, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. She’d missed that attention, especially lately. Missed the feeling that she was special for herself. And all the while he’d been the perfect gentleman, never pushing her for so much as a kiss, even though there were times she saw his need in a glance or in the tightness of his movements, like he was trying to keep it in check. She appreciated it. They’d known each other’s bodies before they’d known the first thing about each other. Now they could redress the balance.

      And at every outing she saw the people’s reaction when they met their Prince. There was respect there, to be sure, but there was joy too as he mixed with his people, and a kind of elation lifted the crowd.

      And she decided he was a good prince for Montvelatte.

      They were just leaving an exhibition at an art gallery one day when it happened. A small crowd had assembled outside, cheering behind a cordon of palace guards as they made their exit. A small girl squirmed out from between a guard’s legs and ran towards them carrying a hand-picked posy of flowers that she held up for Sienna to take, her dark eyes wide as if begging her to accept her gift. Sienna smiled and reached down. ‘Grazie,’ she said, and the little girl beamed before throwing herself at Rafe’s legs and wrapping her arms around them in a bear hug. A guard came closer, but Rafe shooed him away, instead picking up the small girl and hoisting her into his arms as he made his way to the crowd and her parents. ‘Ringraziarla, la bella ragazza,’ and the child’s smile widened before she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek.

      Sienna’s grip had tightened around the posy, just as a band had twisted around her heart. He wasn’t just a good prince. He would make a damn fine father as well.

      Rafe was nothing like her own father. Though it wasn’t as if he’d wanted children so much as heirs, at least he would never tell these babies that they’d ruined his life.

      Was that enough?

      Could she risk it?

      She was almost tempted.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      SIENNA sat in the library, a half-eaten sandwich and a forgotten cup of tea by her side, but it wasn’t morning sickness curbing her appetite. Neither was it the Italian language study book, a handbook on royal protocol, and a short history of Montvelatte in twelve volumes that Sebastiano had so generously decided might be worth her while flicking through while Rafe was busy in Rome presenting his fiscal rescue package for Montvelatte to international financiers.

      It was the parchment in her hand that had anger welling up inside her until there was space for nothing else. He’d given her a month, he’d said, to give them a chance to get to know each other, but the date on the invitation in front of her told her nothing of the sort.

      She would become Rafe’s bride and the new Princess of Montvelatte in less than two weeks. Rafe certainly wasn’t wasting any time inducting her into the family firm or in waiting for her to make up her own mind. Neither was he wasting any time keeping her informed.

      But, then, why would he? He still hadn’t asked her to marry him. Simply taken it for granted that she would fall in with his plans.

      And, damn it, why the hell should she? She was pregnant with his babies, but that was where his interest in having her as his wife began and ended. She’d never been on that list of potential wives Sebastiano had been scouting, and she never would have been considered but for one unprotected moment and an unplanned pregnancy that had resulted.

      And until he’d discovered her condition, he’d been prepared to let her leave the island so he could resume his search for a princess. He’d made it clear that he was willing to bed her and that was all.

      She’d only been promoted to the top by default. By an accident. A mistake.

      It wasn’t good enough.

      It wasn’t enough.

      Sienna let her hands drop into her lap and squeezed her eyes shut. What was she thinking—that this marriage might work, that if she and Rafe got to know each other properly, they might make a go of it? Because she could marry him and still end up with nothing. There were no guarantees. And babies simply weren’t enough to hold a marriage together. She was living proof of that. Only love could cement a marriage together—love on both sides.

      Once upon a time, in a bed in what seemed for ever ago, she thought she’d found those first magical stirrings of love. But she’d been wrong. Her sense of wonder at a wave of new-found feelings had been misplaced. Apparently it had only ever been about the sex.

      And when she’d arrived on the island and was prevented from leaving, that had all been about the sex as well. Rafe had wanted to use her—and discard her—all over again.

      And soon, unless she found another solution, they would be married, and still love had nothing to do with it.

      Marriage. How could she do it? How could she marry a man she didn’t love and who didn’t love her, a man who saw her as either his personal sex toy or his personal incubator and to hell with her career, a career he was only too happy to throw on the trash heap in his pursuit of his own goals? A man who lied to her and who gave her no choice?

      How could it ever work?

      ‘Sebastiano said you wanted to see me.’

      Sienna jumped, so deep in thought that she hadn’t heard Rafe’s approach. He obviously hadn’t been back long. He was tugging at his tie, still wearing a dark suit and crisp white shirt that accentuated his olive