Five
M ichael smiled and waved at the crowd, but even as he went through the motions of opening the new hospital wing, his mind swirled around what he’d learned.
A father.
He was going to be a father.
Michael rolled the idea over and over in his mind but couldn’t quite get beyond the shock.
“We’d like to welcome our prince…” the hospital director droned.
Michael knew that, despite what Cara claimed, this was his baby—their baby—just as he’d known the moment he met her that Cara was his destiny.
Now she’d come back to him and they were going to be parents.
Marstel elbowed him and he realized it was his turn to talk. He tried to concentrate on remembering his speech. “I’d like to thank you all for coming out today. But more than that, I’d like to thank you all for your support and donations….”
He fell into the rhythm of the speech. He’d made public appearances all his life. He’d given his first speech at the age of fifteen. This was a role he was at home with.
But, father?
He was going to be someone’s father.
So many emotions jangled through his head. Fear. Wondering if he could do it, if he could juggle a very public life with the very private role of father.
Anticipation. He couldn’t wait to meet his son or daughter.
Love.
Overriding all his other emotions there was love.
His child.
There was nothing he wouldn’t do for it.
Him.
Her.
His baby.
And it moved when he kissed Cara. As if it knew he was its father.
He hated calling the baby it.
Weren’t there tests to discover what the baby’s gender was? Maybe Cara knew. Maybe he should go find her and see.
But no. She was still claiming there was a Stuart in the picture. Michael didn’t believe it for a minute, but he could understand why she’d created her decoy-dad.
Marrying into a royal family wouldn’t be a piece of cake.
He finished his speech, then took a ceremonial pair of oversize scissors from the hospital director and cut the ribbon, officially opening the new cardiac unit.
He nodded and shook hands as he made his way through the crowd. Another ceremonial duty attended to. It was just another facet of his life.
But not everyone was cut out for this life.
Look at Parker—she’d been born into it and wanted nothing to do with being scrutinized by the media, having each action, each decision weighed and judged. But somehow he knew Cara would realize it was worth it in the end.
That he was worth it.
He was positive she’d figure it out.
Well, almost positive.
Actually, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach just might be something less than positive.
It might be something akin to fear.
What if Cara didn’t figure out that what they had was worth any difficulties that came along with being royalty?
What would the paparazzi make of her? She was pregnant and unwed. He was a prince, destined to be king.
They would have a field day.
What if she wouldn’t weather that sort of media frenzy and left?
How could he be a father to the baby if she went back to Erie?
This baby would need a father, and he knew there was no Professor Stu waiting in the wings. This was his baby.
Again, he wished he knew if it was a boy or girl, and decided that for now he’d just think of it as the baby.
His baby.
“Michael,” Marstel said loudly, with more than a tinge of impatience.
Michael realized they’d cleared the crowd and were headed toward the exit.
“Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“I could see the smoke as those wheels ground together. What’s wrong?”
“I—” He wanted to shout out to his friend, to the whole world, that he was going to be a father. But he knew he had to wait and settle things with Cara first.
Most especially they had to resolve the whole Stuart question.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said.
They climbed into the limo and the security got into a sedan behind them.
Marstel did a nice grimace and head-shake of disbelief as the limo started back to the castle. “I didn’t need to ask what was wrong. I know exactly what it is…. It’s her. You’ve been wrapped tight since she arrived. Face it, the woman doesn’t want to renew your relationship.”
“That’s what I thought, but now I’m not so sure. We’ve kissed twice.”
Marstel looked surprised. “I thought you couldn’t find her, what with the way she’s been hiding from you?”
“How dare you doubt your prince,” Michael teased. “I did find her and we did kiss. And it’s still there. That spark we had three months ago. The only difference is it’s grown larger.”
Cara was going to grow larger.
Michael imagined her stomach rounding, his baby growing inside and something in him spoke to him. “As a matter of fact, I’d like you to do something for me.”
“What?”
Michael laid out his plan and Marstel nodded. “Wine or champagne?”
“Neither,” Michael said. “Cara doesn’t drink. Sparkling grape juice will be fine.”
He knew pregnant women couldn’t drink, but what other accommodations did they need to make? What else did they need to be careful of?
All of a sudden he realized how much he didn’t know about pregnancy.
“All right. I’ll have it all ready by seven,” Marstel assured him. “Where do you want it? Your rooms?”
Michael doubted Cara would come talk in his private wing of the castle, and tried to think of a private, more neutral place. “On the roof.”
That was perfect. Fresh air. He might not know as much as he wanted to know about pregnancy, but he was pretty sure pregnant women should have plenty of fresh air.
Marstel smiled. “It’s good to see you’re done moping and are going after what you want.”
“I’m not just going after her, I’m going to win her.” He was going to take care of her and take care of their baby starting here and now.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some reading I need to get done.”
When they arrived at the castle, he hurried toward his office. He doubted they had any baby books lying around, but he was sure there would be information on the Internet.
Cara finished the menu discussion with the queen and Marta, the cook Tommy had mentioned. The woman was actually a five-star chef. A sweet woman who’d blushed when Cara mentioned Tommy had spoken of her.
Maybe Marta really did have a crush on the doctor.
She was smiling at the notion as they called it a day.
“We’ll pick this up in the morning then?” the queen said.
“I’ll meet you in your office about eight,” Cara assured her.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own for dinner tonight?” the queen asked with motherly concern.
“I’ll be fine. A quiet night is just what I need.”
“Then I’ll say good-night now, and see you in the morning.” She gave Cara a brief kiss on the forehead and left.
As Cara made her way into the hall where her room was located, Michael’s assistant was waiting. He handed Cara a note, then hastily made his escape.
When she opened it and read, Meet me on the roof, Michael, she knew why Marstel had been in such a hurry to leave.
Short. Terse. An order.
Cara tried to tamp down the burning in her stomach as she glanced at the small map that was guiding her to the proper staircase.
She went in her room and slammed the door.
Tamping wasn’t working. The burning flamed for the umpteenth time.
The arrogant, thinks-he-rules-the-world prince thought he could just order her and she’d do as she was told?
Just who did he think he was to boss her around?
Actually, the answer was pretty clear. Michael thought he was a prince because, truth be told, he was.
But still, the roof?
Cara didn’t know what to make of that.
It got even stranger when he’d added a postscript to his royal, bossy decree. Dress to the nines.
You dressed to the nines for dates, and she was definitely not dating Michael.
So the nines were out. She knew that the minute she read the command.
However, even though she wasn’t dating Michael, it didn’t mean she couldn’t be neat and tidy. The problem was deciding how dressed was dressed enough, but not quite what he asked for.
No, not asked, commanded.
After agonizing for a ridiculous amount of time in front of her closet’s contents, she finally decided a seven was neat and tidy, but definitely wasn’t a nine.
And she had decided her plain black sheath dress was simply neat, tidy and seven-ish. Definitely not nine-ish.
And the pearls?
Well, her grandmother had left them to her and they weren’t so much to spice the dress up, but simply a reminder that she was loved.
If the dress hadn’t suddenly become more snug than normal, it might have even made an eight. But sevens and eights weren’t nines, so Michael wouldn’t assume she’d dressed for a date.
Cara decided she was a well-dressed, prompt navigational goddess when she found herself walking up the stairs at six fifty-nine.
She’d have to tell Michael the truth tonight. He’d have realized by now that he couldn’t claim the baby as his. They could keep Stu as a public cover.
She wasn’t sure why she’d made him up. Professor Stu.
Fear maybe?
Actually, no maybe about it.
She was scared. She’d had time to adjust to the idea of carrying a baby, of being a mother. Well, adjust as much as any pregnant woman could. She couldn’t wait for her baby to arrive.
But finding Michael, and finding out her baby’s father was a prince? It was going to take longer than just one short week to adjust to that.
Longer than the rest of her pregnancy, she was pretty sure.
Still, he deserved the truth. Together they’d work out what would be best for all of them.
“Hello?” she called as she opened the door. The roof was dark.
Maybe she’d gotten the directions wrong? Maybe there was another section of roof where she was supposed to be. Goodness knows this place was big enough to have any number of roof sections.
“Hello?” she called again.
Lights snapped on.
Tiny white lights, like the kind she used on her own Christmas tree, twinkled in the small trees and hedges that lined the perimeter of the large, flat roof.
A small flash of more light from the center of the roof caught her eye. There he was.
Michael was lighting candles that were gracing an elaborately set table.
He was dressed in a tux and wasn’t merely a nine. He was a ten. An eleven even.
“Michael?” she said.
He smiled at her and simply said, “I’ve been waiting for you, Cara. Come in.”
“Said the spider to the fly,” she muttered as she moved toward the table.
She knew she should leave, that she needed a clear head to figure out what to do about Michael and that whatever he had planned was bound to do anything but clear things up.
Yes, this looked like a muddy-the-waters sort of evening if ever she’d seen one.
“Have a seat,” he said, pulling the chair out with old-world chivalry.
“What on earth is this, Michael? I was hoping you’d come to your senses and simply wanted to talk.”
“We can talk as we eat, right?” Michael smiled again, the picture of innocence.
“Don’t dinner me, Your Highness,” Cara said. “You’re up to something.”
“What on earth could I be up to?” He took the seat across from her and smiled again.
It was a smile that a cat might use after it had swallowed the canary. But Michael was about to learn that Cara was no bird to be had.
“What could you be up to? I don’t know. Maybe, this.” She gestured to the ultra-romantic setting.
“This?” he repeated, as if he didn’t have a clue in the world what she could possibly be talking about.
“This is Dinner with a capital D. Something you’d plan to impress a woman. We’re here to discuss…” She paused. “Things.”
“Our baby,” he supplied.
Tell him.
Tell him, a voice in her head urged.
Say the words our baby. Confirm that it’s his baby and that Professor Stuart was just a figment of your overly active imagination.
“And, there’s another pressing matter we need to discuss.” He poured something into her wineglass. “It’s just sparkling grape juice,” he assured her.
“What other pressing matter?” She took a sip of the liquid.
“Our baby and our wedding, of course.”
“Wedding?” she squeaked.
He’d had time to think about the situation and surely he realized they couldn’t marry.
The look in his eyes said more clearly than words that he didn’t realize any such thing.
“ My baby,” she said, standing.
There would be no retiring the professor tonight. Stuart would just have to stick around a bit longer.
“Our baby,” he said again, with a smile. He put some puffy-looking pastry thing on her plate.
“Sit down before you fall down. Please,” he said.
Cara sat, not because she liked being told what to do, even if he did say please, but because he was right, she was feeling a bit shaky on her feet.
“Listen,” she said. “I’m sorry if the truth hurts your feelings, but there is a Stuart at home.”
That wasn’t really a lie. She was sure there was a Stuart somewhere within the Erie city limits.
“He’s a good man,” she added.
Not so much a lie either. There had to be a good Stuart somewhere in Erie.
But for the next part she crossed her fingers firmly. “I met him the day after you left me—”
“I didn’t leave you.” Michael was frowning now. “I came back with your breakfast and you were gone. A misunderstanding. I thought we settled that.”
She uncrossed her fingers and looked him full in the eyes. “I’m sorry. We did.”
She was sorry for so much more than that. Sorry that Michael wasn’t just some ordinary man. Although, before she’d even known he was a prince, she’d known he was extraordinary.
“Really,” she said, “I am sorry.”
His expression softened. “Now, let’s settle the rest of it.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, though she did. Another lie. Once you told that first one, it was a slippery slope.
“Our baby,” he said.
“My baby.” Michael wasn’t thinking straight or he wouldn’t be so obstinate. She was giving him the perfect out, the fictional Stuart.
She’d tell him the truth later when he realized that his responsibility was with his country. For now, it was up to her to protect him when he wouldn’t protect himself. She cared about him too much to see his reputation suffer.
“ Cara mia, there is no Stuart, some wimpy boy—”
“Professor,” she interrupted, feeling insulted on the fictitious Stuart’s behalf.
“Professor,” he corrected, sneering the word. “Some wimpy professor-boy who claimed your affections.”
“Not a boy. A man. All man. A manly man. Not a wimpy bone in his body.”
She waited to see jealousy on his face, but instead there was laughter.
“What?” she asked.
“Cara, that night was your first time, so I know you’re not one to share your affections lightly. Which would lead me to believe you’re also not one to move from my bed directly into someone else’s. The baby is mine. What I don’t understand is why you’re denying it.”
“I’ve told you, you’re a prince,” she said, feeling utterly defeated. “I’ve known Parker long enough to know a lot about you. You’re your father’s heir. Heir to a throne, to a kingdom. You can’t go around having children out of wedlock.”
“You’re right I can’t.”
“So, there’s Stuart. My big, manly, burly professor who wooed me with his brilliant mind.”
“Or, we could marry as soon as possible. I had hoped we could elope tonight after dinner.”
It was as if every breath she’d taken since coming onto the roof whooshed out in one swift exhale.
For a moment she wondered if she’d forgotten how to inhale. She couldn’t seem to draw any oxygen back in. The room started spinning, and suddenly she remembered. She inhaled and exhaled a couple more times for good measure, then said, “Pardon me?”
“Marriage,” he said slowly. “It makes sense, cara mia. For us. For our baby. Come away with me tonight and make me an honest man.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I would never get married because I have to. When I marry I want what Parker and Shey have found.”
“And you don’t think you can find that with me?” He sounded hurt.
Hurting Michael wasn’t her intent, but marrying him? Eloping tonight?
She meant what she said—when she married she wanted the whole nine yards. A man who loved her. A man she loved.
She knew she felt something for Michael. Something that pulled at her. Something more than she’d ever felt for any man. But love?
They simply hadn’t known each other long enough for it to be love.
And until she could find what her two friends had found, she’d remain single and raise this baby alone.
“Michael, Parker adores you and thinks the world of you. Even though you’re her brother, she wouldn’t care so much if you weren’t a nice guy, but—”
“ But. I hate that word. Nothing good has ever come after a but. ”
“But,” she said again, “the truth is, we don’t know each other well enough. We certainly don’t…” She paused, not wanting to use the L word, even as a denial of the way they felt. “Don’t have the same feelings that Parker and Shey have found with Jace and Tanner.”
Michael shook his head. “What we had was an immediate spark, a connection on a primal level. And that one night, the spark grew to something more. When I saw you at the airport, it blazed back to life, bigger, brighter than ever before.”
“You were imagining things,” she protested.
It was easier to believe that than to admit she felt the spark as well.
“No,” Michael insisted. “I wasn’t imagining anything. In my family we fall hard and fast. We know when we’ve met the right person. Look at my sister and Jace, at how quick that was. All I had to do was see her in person and hear her talk about him to know it was meant to be.”
“That’s different.”
“No. I was coming to look for you as soon as the wedding was over. Back in Erie, I had to leave that next day, I had duties. But Jace was looking for you, and like I said, I was coming back. I’ve been crazy, wondering where you were, what you were doing. Wondering who you were. Do you know how much it hurt that I didn’t even know your name? That night, you were just my cara mia, but in the light of day, I couldn’t wait to learn everything about you. To know your name, who you were, what you wanted.”
“You did know my name, after all.” She remembered how his casual pet name had shaken her.
“Yes. I never called anyone that before you. But there’s still so much I want to learn about you.”
“But Michael, whatever you felt, whatever you think you still feel, it’s just some chemical reaction. We haven’t known each other long enough for it to be anything more. And the baby doesn’t change that.”
“But maybe some time will,” he said. “Time to get to know each other, to let whatever this is grow.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“Conversation and dinner. You’re looking far too pale for my liking. I don’t want you passing out like you did at the airport. So we eat and we let all our worries about the future go for now. Let’s just talk, and learn more about each other.”
“But—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he scolded. “Let it go, Cara. You’ve been working yourself crazy with wedding plans, and you’ve obviously been worrying over our situation.”
“ My situation.”
“Stubborn.” He shook his head. “I never would have thought you’d be so stubborn.”
“See, it just goes to show how little you know me.”
“Shh. Eat. The chef has outdone herself.”
Michael watched as Cara picked at dinner as they talked, sharing childhood stories. She was pushing things around on her plate more than really eating.
It was driving him mad. Didn’t she know she needed to eat properly for her sake and their baby’s? There had been pages and pages online about nutrition during pregnancy. Things their baby needed to be healthy.
Folic acid.
Plenty of protein and calcium. All the recommendations plagued Michael as he watched Cara not eating. Their baby needed that food.
Their baby.
The words sounded sweet in his head, but he kept them to himself. For the time being.
He’d remembered a sweetness about Cara. A gentleness that had robbed him of common sense. But he was discovering a certain hardness under that. She wasn’t a woman who was going to be pushed into anything.
And as much as it was frustrating his plans, he respected it.
It was going to take time and effort to show her that they belonged together. But in the end she’d see.
She had to see, because he couldn’t lose her again.
“You got quiet,” she said, as she played with the asparagus on her plate.
“Just thinking.”
“Something tells me that’s dangerous.” She offered him a quick smile. “So what were you thinking about? Or do I not want to know?”
“I was wondering if the food isn’t to your liking. You’ve spent more time moving things from one side of the plate to the other than eating.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to be rude, but the sauce is a little rich and I’ve had problems with heartburn—” She clamped a hand over her mouth and looked decidedly embarrassed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t think discussing my stomach upset is the kind of dinner conversation a prince is used to.” Her cheeks were a bright pink.
“It is when it’s the mother of his child he’s conversing with. It’s a pregnancy thing. I read about that this afternoon. You’re entering your second trimester and the morning sickness and fatigue should get better, but you’ll start having more breast tenderness and—”
“I think you can stop right there,” Cara said.
She was blushing furiously.
Michael found it endearing. “Fine. But I also know our baby is about an inch long and has its organs by now. It’s such a miracle, Cara.”
She didn’t bring up her ridiculous Stuart. She simply nodded and said, “It is.”
“But you still need to eat sensibly. So, if you’ll finish your vegetables, I think I have just the thing for dessert.”
“You’re bribing me like some child?”
“I’m urging you for the sake of our child.”
She ate the last of the asparagus. “There.”
He got up and moved to a cooling unit the staff had provided. “Homemade ice cream. The chef claims all Americans have a love affair with the sweet. And you’re supposed to be getting plenty of calcium, so it’s actually good for you.”
“I like how you think.” She studied the glass bowl. “What kind is it?”
“Some chocolate-cheesecake concoction she swears will leave you swooning at my feet.”
“I think your chef overestimates my love of ice cream. There’s no way I can eat all this.”
“Try it,” Michael commanded.
With agonizing slowness, Cara raised the spoon to her mouth, slid it in and savored the taste.
“Oh, my,” she whispered after she’d swallowed.
“Told you,” Michael couldn’t help but point out.
“I don’t know if I’m exactly swooning.” She was grinning, teasing him.
Michael loved seeing her like this, and kept his tone light, hoping to maintain the growing ease. “It was close. And by the end of the bowl I have no doubt you will be.”
She laughed. “You definitely have a healthy-sized ego.”
“It’s not ego, it’s simply having watched you savor that first bite, I have to acknowledge the chef was right.”
Cara was still smiling as she took the next bite, then the next. Michael took a few bites himself, and though he thought it was as good as anything the chef made, he obviously wasn’t as in love with the frozen confection as Cara was.
“Are you going to finish that?” Cara asked, eyeing what was left of his dessert.
“No.”
“Good.” She slid the bowl across the table and took a bite.
Her reaction to the ice cream was going to feature prominently in his dreams tonight.
“You do know that’s going to cost you?” he asked, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.
“What’s the going price for a half-eaten, rapidly melting bowl of ice cream?”
“A kiss.”
She pushed the bowl back into the middle of the table. “No way.”
“Sorry. You’ve already eaten some of it, so you owe me the going price. I don’t think you’re the type of woman who doesn’t pay her debts.”
“There’s no debt. You didn’t tell me there was a price. That’s not fair.”
He laughed. “Every one knows the going rate for ice cream.”
“You weren’t eating it,” she protested. “If I hadn’t helped you out, it would have gone to waste and your chef might have been insulted.”
“Is kissing me such a hardship?” he asked softly.
She sighed and didn’t look at all happy as she admitted, “You know it’s not. And that’s the problem when you get down to it. Kissing you isn’t a problem at all, and it should be. It should be a big problem.”
“Just a little kiss. Nothing big at all.”
She hesitated another moment, and Michael was sure she was going to say no again, but she didn’t say anything. She merely leaned across the table and planted a light kiss on his lips, then immediately pulled back.
“There. We’re even,” she said.
“I don’t think you can call that much of a kiss.” He shook his head. “I’m not even sure if it could be called a peck.”
“Ah, but I didn’t eat much of your ice cream, so even by your warped logic it didn’t require much of a kiss for repayment.”
“Are you going to eat the rest?” he asked, hopefully.
Cara couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Ha. You wish. You can’t catch me like that again.”
“Coward.”
“No. Just too smart for the likes of you.” She rose. “And now, if you don’t mind, I think it’s time that I left.”
He rose and followed her to the door. “Good night, cara mia. ”
“We didn’t solve anything,” she said.
“We can’t solve anything until you’re willing to agree to marry me.”
“Michael, it could never work.”
Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but Michael thought he heard a bit of wistfulness in her voice.
“I won’t stop asking you,” he assured her. “I can’t.”
“And I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for. So where does that leave us?”
“A stalemate.”
She turned and left. Michael simply stood there watching her.
Yes, they’d reached a stalemate, but eventually she would see the sense in his proposal.
Soon she’d say yes.
He was sure of it.
Well, almost sure.