The Prince's Pregnant Mistress. Maisey Yates

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      “Don’t touch me,” she said, pulling away from him. He complied, removing his hands from her face. She hated it. Hated that when he touched her she still felt something. Hated that he wasn’t touching her anymore. Hated herself for caring.

      “Have you been passing out regularly?”

      “No,” she said, trying not to watch him as he stood up and crossed to the bar. Trying very, very hard not to pay total and complete attention to his every movement. “I’ve had a little bit of a shocking day. I walked into a grocery store and saw that my ex-lover was a prince. Seeing as I knew I was having his baby, it suddenly occurred to me that I was having a prince’s baby. Then I went home, and said prince was in my bedroom. Then he dragged me onto a private plane, all the while demanding that I marry him or he’ll take my baby away. I think I’m just suffering the aftereffects.”

      He opened up a bottle of sparkling water and poured it into a glass, his movements deft and swift. Then he crossed the space to her, handing her the drink. “I found out I was going to be a father today, and I seem to be handling it well.”

      “Because you’re a robot,” she replied, taking a sip of the bland, fizzy liquid.

      “I think that you can attest to the fact that I’m all man, Bailey. Not a robot.”

      “Not all. Parts of you,” she said. “You seem to have Tin Man syndrome. No heart.”

      “I love my country,” he responded, his tone cool. “I am eternally loyal to it. And I will do whatever is necessary to preserve the legacy. There is no reason for me to panic about the situation we find ourselves in. There is no question that I must marry the mother of my child. And while who you are will require a little bit of damage control, I was already set to be married in the next month. And, presumably, sometime after my wife would have given birth to a child. That has always been the course plotted out before me. All in all, only the bride has changed.”

      “So...women and the children they bear are interchangeable to you?” she asked.

      “A wife and child are necessary components to my life,” he said, his tone hard. “Essential to the continued health of the kingdom and bloodline. The importance cannot be overstated.”

      “But who the woman...”

      “Matters in terms of bloodline, political affiliation and the ability to have children. You have one out of three—I think you’re smart enough to guess which.”

      He said it with such calm. As though the bride were the most incidental part of the marriage. As though he didn’t care at all whether he was married to her or to the shiny brunette she’d seen in the tabloids. “You’re horrible. Just horrible. How did I manage to convince myself for eight months that you were Prince Charming? No reference to your actual royalty intended.”

      “We see what we want to see, Bailey. You wanted to see me as something that I wasn’t. It was convenient for you at the time. I was an easy lover for you to have. Don’t pretend that it didn’t suit you on some level to be with a man who was only around part of the time.”

      “Or I was an idiot virgin who had finally found a man that she wanted to sleep with, and had her judgment completely clouded by her orgasms.”

      Her words hung between them, tense and heavy. She despised herself for bringing that up. For bringing up the pleasure they had found together. She would rather forget it. It kept her up at night. All day, she would drag herself around, feeling exhausted and heartbroken. But night was worse. Because then she would dream. And when she dreamed, it was that Raphael was in bed with her. Touching her, kissing her. And when she woke up, she was alone. Hideously, depressingly alone, and she ached. For a touch she would never have again.

      “I am sorry you were hurt,” he said, his tone clipped. “That was never my intention. But I have known who I was to be, what sort of woman I was to marry, from the time I was a boy.”

      “And that woman isn’t me.”

      “No.” He pushed his hand through his dark hair. “It is important to make the best choices I can for my country. And someday my child will do the same. It is what was instilled in me from the beginning. My mother reinforced my father. She had been raised to be the wife of a prince, and she knew her place. That is what it takes to raise the heir to a throne, Bailey. You must understand it is not snobbery on my part—at least not entirely—when I say you are not suited.”

      “I...” She swayed slightly in her seat. “I really don’t even know how to have this conversation.”

      “You should get some rest,” he said, stunning her with that declaration. “When we land we will be very close to the palace, and you can get settled in. In the meantime, I am afraid that you are overtaxed.”

      “I don’t feel like you’ve earned the right to comment on my level of taxation.”

      “As ruling government of an entire nation, taxation falls under my purview.”

      “Oh, well, that’s fabulous. I guess we know which things are certain. Death, taxes and Raphael.”

      “I’m hardly going to kill you, cara. I’m going to make you a princess.”

      Suddenly, she felt so tired she could barely hold her head up. She could not be a princess. She was a waitress. And waitresses didn’t become princesses. “I’m going to have that nap now.”

      Bailey wandered to the back of the plane, opening the door to the bedroom, then closing it tightly behind her. It was bigger than her bedroom in her apartment. With a large, ornate bed that looked like it was designed for much more than sleeping. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. This whole thing was ridiculous.

      She kicked her shoes off, crossing to the bed before throwing herself down on her face like some tragic cartoon princess. She shut her eyes tight, trying not to give in to the tears that were building behind them.

      This had to be a dream. All of it. When she woke up in the morning, her head would be clearer. She would be single, alone and pregnant. Her ex-boyfriend would be nothing more than that jerk pharmaceutical rep from Italy who had left her in the lurch. He would absolutely not be the prince of some obscure country, and she would not be a future princess.

      The alternative was unthinkable.

      * * *

      When they disembarked in Santa Firenze, Raphael had them pull the car right up to the plane. He was feeling more than slightly concerned for Bailey’s health. Or, at the very least, the health of their unborn baby.

      She had been especially pale ever since he had first seen her in her apartment, and she had gotten only more waxen as the trip had worn on. Though he had only seen her once after she had gone to the bedroom to sleep, and that was only to use the restroom about a half hour before they landed.

      He was confused by her. By their every interaction. She was not grateful for the offer of marriage. Not especially pleased that he was giving her the chance to be a princess. His wife. A position of great honor. One that most women would fight over.

      And yet the two who’d had it offered to them both seemed to have rejected it.

      Allegra was a separate issue.

      “The СКАЧАТЬ