One Night Heir. Lucy Monroe
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What all this talk meant was that she was losing Maks.
“That is not true. I am a prince who will one day be king. I was born to a burden of duty none but elected officials in country can begin to understand. And even they live in their roles only temporarily whereas I will never know a day when my small country does not have to come first and foremost in my thinking.”
She knew that. One of the few truly ruling monarchies left in the world, as Crown Prince of Volyarus, Maks’s life was not his own. But his choices were.
“You do not love me.” It was the only thing that really mattered and incidentally made absolute sense of his unwillingness to pursue fertility options.
He liked her, he desired her, he might even be as sad as he appeared at first over breaking up with her, but he did not love her.
“Love is not an emotion I have the freedom or inclination to pursue.”
“Love either is, or is not. You don’t have to pursue it.” She’d learned as a small child, no matter how hard you tried, you could not make someone love you.
No. Love could not be forced. Nor could it be denied. Though she would give up her next visit with her grandparents and any hope of ever seeing either of her biological parents again if she could deny the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown her now.
“You said you love me. I am sorry.” Genuine regret reflected in the espresso depths of his eyes.
That regret hurt her as much as the words that came with it because the remorse proved their sincerity. Pain was a vise around her heart, radiating through her body in an unexpected and equally undeniable physical reaction to the emotional blow.
She could barely breathe for the agony. It was by sheer will she remained on her feet.
He was sorry.
She wanted to cry, felt like screaming, but she held it all in along with the pain building toward nuclear meltdown.
“Get out.” She spoke quietly, but she knew he heard her.
“You are not thinking rationally.”
“Since our first date, you’ve been very careful to keep us out of the eyes of the media.”
“Yes.”
She didn’t ask, “Why?” Didn’t really care about his reasoning anymore.
She just wanted him gone so she could let the pain out. He didn’t get to see it.
“Do you think me calling the building’s security to have you removed from my apartment would blow all those efforts to hell?”
His eyes widened at her oblique threat. “You’re not going to call security.”
He really didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.
She spun around and pressed the panic button on her bedroom’s security box.
“You have about a minute, maybe two, before they arrive. If you want to be caught here, by all means, stay.” She didn’t turn to face him as she spoke and she didn’t raise her voice, either.
If she did, she’d end up screaming. She just knew it. And Gillian had never screamed a day in her life. She wasn’t going to start now.
Not with him.
Not when the anguish inside her was already so close to imploding and taking her heart with it.
Ukrainian curses sounded along with the brush of clothing being yanked over naked limbs.
He paused at the doorway. She could sense it, though hadn’t turned to watch his departure.
“I am sorry.” Then he was gone.
And she was alone. Unable to stand under the onslaught of emotional agony ripping through her, Gillian sank to the floor.
Every dream she’d nursed in the past months shattered, every hope she’d let herself entertain despite her past and present life that in no way matched his for brilliance ripped violently from her still bleeding heart.
Nine weeks later, dazed and disbelieving, Gillian sat on the park bench outside her doctor’s offices.
Utterly shattered by the news she’d received, she could do little more than stare at the tall buildings surrounding the small patch of nature.
Her doctor’s words seemed impossible. “You’re pregnant.”
It was terribly improbable. And yet it was true.
She was pregnant. Exactly nine weeks along.
One night of unprotected sex with a man intent on evicting her from his life and they’d made a baby.
Emotions she had spent two months trying to contain and stifle were rioting through her. For the first time in her life, she was completely unable to ignore what she did not want to face.
Okay, maybe for the second.
Her grief over Maks’s rejection had been so consuming, Gillian had no chance at ignoring it, either. Each day was a new reminder how much she’d loved, how much she’d lost and how much she missed the jerk.
But she’d worked toward some semblance of peace. She could almost sleep through the night without waking from a nightmare into the one of loss.
Pain at Maks’s rejection had simply become such a part of her, she hardly noticed it anymore.
Or so she told herself.
It was the hope she couldn’t stand. The need to feel anything at all, but most of all love for another human being, even a very tiny one.
Because unlike her parents, Gillian didn’t care how her pregnancy had come to be. Planned or unplanned. With someone she wanted to share a life, or alone. None of it mattered.
She would love her child, already did, from the moment her doctor had uttered those impossible words, even before Gillian had been sure.
She had insisted they do the test again. Her doctor’s PA had drawn Gillian’s blood, but then she’d gone one step further while they waited for the in-office lab to run the results of the second test. She’d brought out a small device called a Doppler. A mini-ultrasound, the PA used the Doppler to find the baby’s heartbeat.
Gillian had cried and nearly fainted when she heard the fast paced swoosh-swoosh-swoosh through the handheld device. There could be no denying another being was growing inside her womb. Her baby.
Maks’s baby.
Unsurprisingly, at that point, the second test had come back just as conclusively positive as the first.
Gillian’s pregnancy appeared perfectly viable, though her doctor wasn’t particularly pleased about the fact she’d lost enough weight to hollow her cheeks. She’d been quick to assure Gillian this wasn’t as uncommon as people might believe, however.
Many women lost weight in their first trimester.
Even so, miscarriage rates were higher than Gillian had ever expected. According to her doctor’s PA, one in five pregnancies ended in miscarriage.
Wasn’t that horrifically high for a country with such advanced medical knowledge and care?
Despite the early summer sun beating down, Gillian’s hands were cold and clammy.
Pregnant. Her.
Part of her mind vaguely realized she was in shock. She probably should have stayed in the exam cubicle, but Gillian had needed to get out into the fresh air.
So, she’d told the doctor she was fine and the woman was busy enough to let her leave without pushing further.
Gillian shook her head, everything about the last hour incomprehensible.
She’d