The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ don’t believe you truly loved him.” Alex drew a ragged breath. “Hell,” he said softly, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

      “You spoke the truth, my son. I didn’t truly love Aegeus, nor did he truly love me.” The queen’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “And that’s exactly the reason you must not let love slip through your fingers, Alexandros. Even a royal is entitled to happiness.”

      The New York weather was harsh and uninviting.

      Snow, slush, sleet and grey skies were daily companions. The sun seemed reluctant to put in even a cursory appearance. The weather was a reflection of Maria’s despair. She was lonely for Alexandros, for Aristo, for the happiness she had found with him there.

      It was good that she was busy. Shops that had not wanted any part of her in the past clamored for her designs. L’Orangerie headed the list.

      And, well, yes, there was one other good thing. A miraculous thing that had, at first, terrified her and now made her heart sing with joy.

      A visit to her doctor had confirmed that she was pregnant. She was carrying Alex’s child. A little girl, Sela had said, smiling.

      “Morning sickness at the beginning of your pregnancy. And look how high you’re carrying. Absolutely, a girl.”

      Maria didn’t believe in the old superstitions but it didn’t matter. She would love her baby whatever the sex, and she would name it for Alexandros even though he was gone from her life.

      He, and Aristo, were moving forward. Sebastian was the Prince Regent, though there was no mention of the missing diamond. She’d followed the funeral on TV. The royal family had looked saddened but composed. Alex had been his mother’s strong, handsome escort.

      Just seeing him had made Maria’s throat constrict.

      She would never stop loving him.

      But she would have his daughter to love. It saddened her that her baby would never know her daddy but when Alexandra was old enough, she’d tell her what a fine man he was, what a loving man, what a good man—and never mind that he hadn’t called or written or tried to find out how she was, where she was…

      “Maria? You okay?”

      She looked up at Joaquin, working at the end of the bench. He and Sela had been wonderful. Though they knew about the baby, they hadn’t asked questions. A good thing, too, because if they had, she might have broken down and wept.

      Tears filled her eyes and dripped onto the wax she was working.

      “Maria?”

      “Yes,” she said briskly, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes and flashing a smile, “I’m fine. I just—I think I got a bit of wax in my eye.”

      “Want me to do that mold?”

      “No. No, thanks. I’m almost finished. You know, it’s getting late. Why don’t we call it a day, hmm?”

      “Well, if that’s okay… I promised Sela I’d pick up some stuff from the Chinese market on the way home.”

      “Better get going, then, before the market closes.”

      Joaquin nodded, cleaned up his end of the workbench, then put on his coat. He kissed her cheek and she managed to keep the tears from building again until the door closed behind him.

      Why was she weeping? She’d wanted to end things cleanly. To keep Alex from contacting her. And she’d succeeded.

      She just had to stop crying every five minutes. Sela said it was her hormones. It wasn’t. It was her inability to accept that she would never lie in her lover’s arms again, but she’d sooner have died than admit that to Sela or even to herself because it wasn’t true, it wasn’t true, she had a wonderful, fulfilling life now and—

      Someone knocked at the loft door.

      Maria grabbed the edge of her work-apron and wiped her eyes. Had Joaquin forgotten something? Why didn’t he use his key? Unless it was a reporter. They were still driving her crazy, hoping for an interview about life on Aristo and the death of its king.

      The knock came again. She sighed, smoothed down her apron, fixed a polite smile to her lips and marched to the door.

      “Yes?” No answer. Maria rolled her eyes. “Look, I’ve said I won’t do interviews so whoever you are—”

      “Open the door, Maria.”

      Her heart leaped. No. It couldn’t be.

      “Maria. Did you hear me? Open this door.”

      She shook her head, as if Alex could see her. “Go away,” she said in a shaky voice.

      “I’m not going anywhere. Either you open this door or I’ll break it down.”

      He would, too. He was angry—she could hear it in his voice, and she remembered what his anger had been like that night he’d first come here.

      Bam! The door, heavy as a chunk of steel, shuddered under the blow.

      “I don’t want to see you.” Maria licked her lips. “Joaquin is here. He says—”

      “He says I’ve been a fool. And he’s right.”

      Maria stared at the door. “You talked to Joaquin?”

      “Just now. On the stairs.” Alex’s voice softened; she had to put her ear to the door to hear him. “He’s been a good friend to you. You’re lucky to have him to turn to. Maria, glyka mou, let me in.”

      She swallowed hard. Then she undid the bolt and opened the door.

      “I don’t want to talk to you,” she started to say, but the sight of her Alexandros, so tall, so powerful, so much the lover she remembered, stole the words away. To her horror, her eyes flooded with the tears she’d fought only minutes before. She couldn’t let him see her cry, she couldn’t, she told herself, and she slapped her hands against the door and started to push it closed.

      Alex was too quick. He jammed his shoulder between the door and its frame and pushed. Maria staggered back, the door swung open and he stepped into the loft.

      He’d had plenty of time to consider how he would handle this meeting. The flight from Aristo had taken longer than usual. Bad weather had meant putting down at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris for a few hours. Just as well, he’d thought. The delay had given him extra time to decide what to say.

      He’d come up with a list of questions. A little speech, though he tried not to call it that, in which he’d let Maria know that a woman did not simply walk out on him without explanation.

      He would be cautious in expressing his feelings, never mind his mother’s insistence that Maria and he were in love. The sad truth, as Tia had admitted, was that his mother didn’t know a damned thing about love. If Maria loved him, why had she left him?

      A woman who loved a man didn’t walk out on him without so much as a handshake.

      He СКАЧАТЬ