The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт Хьюит
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when he held her close, he wanted to tell her—to tell her—
“Alex?” Andreas was hurrying toward him. “Change in plans. Last-minute stuff. Sebastian’s meeting with that guy from the BBC, I’m going to talk to CNN. Kitty’s doing a piece with The New York Times. Lissa was going to deal with Newsweek but Mother needs her, something about the flowers. Can you take her spot?”
Alex looked at his watch. “I have to get home, Andreas.”
“You mean,” his brother said, smiling, “you want to see Maria.”
“No, of course not. It’s just that my tux is at home …” Alex sighed. “You’re right. I do.”
“Well, you’ll see her soon enough. The party starts in a couple of hours. Let your driver pick up your tux, okay? If you don’t take over for Lissa, we’ll be up the creek without a paddle.”
Alex hesitated, but what choice was there? He couldn’t walk away from his duty, no matter what his own needs. He hoped Maria would understand.
She did more than understand. She said that it was just as well, she still had to do her nails and her hair. He said fine, he was glad it had all worked out, but he was lying.
What he’d wanted her to say was that she’d been longing for him. That it was agony to know they would not have half an hour alone.
He had no way of knowing that Maria was lying, too. She’d been counting the hours until Alex came to her, but she couldn’t tell him that. She needed the feel of his arms around her. And then there was her pregnancy. She had to find the right time to tell him about it.
But when?
He was, after all, a man with all the responsibilities of a life completely different from hers. He might see her as an exciting lover but that was all she was, all she ever could be…
Her throat tightened.
Maybe she wouldn’t tell him about the baby. Not just yet, anyway.
Not until the time was right.
The evening started with a flourish.
A dozen royal heralds played a trumpet fanfare at the top of the marble steps that led into the huge ballroom. A velvet curtain at the far end was drawn back and the queen swept in on the king’s arm. The hundreds of guests smiled and applauded her arrival. Every eye was on the radiant Tia.
Every eye but Alex’s.
He was waiting at the opposite end of the enormous room, waiting and watching for Maria. Where was she?
“Alexandros,” a voice whispered, and he turned and there she was, standing behind him, so gorgeous in a silk gown the color of fine sherry, her dark hair tumbling down her back in a profusion of waves and curls accented with tiny ruby and diamond stars he’d had sent to her, that the sight of her almost stopped his heart.
He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate but took her hands, drew her through the crowd and out to the terrace, took her in his arms and kissed her.
She melted against him.
“Maria,” he said softly, “kardoula mou, you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Her mouth curved against his. “And you, my prince, are the most handsome man on the planet.”
He kissed her again. “I hoped you’d be here before the celebration started.”
“The car,” she said, on a little laugh. “We had a flat tire. Don’t let on that you know, Alex. Poor Alastor felt awful.”
“As he should,” Alex said, but he smiled. “Never mind. You’re here now. That’s what matters. Did you give the necklace to my father?”
Maria nodded. “He seemed pleased with it. He said he’ll give it to your mother at midnight.” She hesitated. “Is he all right? He looks—”
“Terrible. I know. We tried to convince him to cancel but he refused.” Alex gathered her closer against him. “Let’s not talk about that,” he said softly. “Not when I have something important to discuss with you.”
Now was the time to say that she did, too.
“Maria.” Gently, he brushed a curl from her forehead. “I know you’re supposed to… I mean, I know we agreed you would …” Alex groaned. “I’m making a mess of this, glyka mou. What I’m trying to say is—”
“Your Highness! Prince Alexandros!”
An equerry was running toward them. Alex knew, before the man said another word, that the news was of his father.
“The king?”
The equerry nodded. “He’s been taken ill, sir.”
Alex ran into the ballroom. Maria hiked up her skirt and ran at his side.
“Where is he?”
“The throne room, sir. There’s a helicopter on its way. Your Highness?” The equerry, running with them, caught Alex by the sleeve just before they reached the throne room. The simple action was so unprecedented that it startled even Maria. “The king wishes to see Ms. Santos.” He swallowed audibly. “Alone.”
“Me?” Maria said, in amazement. “That can’t be.”
The Karedes family was gathered outside the closed doors of the throne room, faces white and puzzled. When Maria hesitated, the queen motioned her forward.
“My husband wants to see you, Ms. Santos.” Tia bit her lip. “Please. I don’t think there’s time to waste.”
“Go on,” Alex said softly, and touched his hand to her cheek.
The doors closed behind her with an audible click.
This was Maria’s first visit to the throne room. It was not as big as she’d imagined, the size, perhaps, of half her loft, but it was elegant. A red carpet stretched toward a pair of ornate chairs that stood on a raised platform but the chairs—presumably, the thrones—were empty.
“Here,” a weak voice said.
The king was alone. He lay on a crimson velvet sofa, head elevated on a blue silk pillow.
Maria moved slowly toward him. Her heart thumped. He’s dying, she thought, and, as if he’d read her mind, Aegeus struggled up against the pillow.
“I am not dead yet, Ms. Santos. Come forward.”
“Your Majesty. Your family is outside. Surely, you want to see them—”
“You were not supposed to learn that the diamond in the crown is false.”
Maria caught her breath. “You knew?”
The king’s face contorted. He groaned and Maria swung toward the door to call for help but Aegeus’s fingers wrapped around her wrist with the steely grip of command.
“My son is in love with you.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Alexandros loves you, Ms. Santos. I’m not sure he knows it yet, but he does.” He drew a rasping breath. “But you must not return that love.”
Maria shook her head. “Your Majesty. Please. You’re very sick—”
“All the more reason for you to pay attention to what I say,” he said, a touch of the old sharpness edging his words. “You must understand that there is no room in a royal’s life for love.”
“Sir. This is hardly the time—”
“A prince is not born to his mother or father, Ms. Santos, he is born to his nation and his people. His life, from birth, is one of responsibility. Commitment. Obligation.” Aegeus took another labored breath. “Someday, my sons will marry. They will marry young women born of blood as royal as theirs,