Royal Babies: Claiming His Secret Royal Heir / Pregnant with a Royal Baby! / Secret Child, Royal Scandal. SUSAN MEIER
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in. Let’s talk.’
He followed her inside and closed the door, draping his dark grey jacket over the back of a chair. ‘Actually, I thought we could talk somewhere else. I’ve booked a table at Zeus.’
Located in one of Mumbai’s most luxurious hotels, Zeus was the city’s hottest restaurant, graced by celebrities and anyone who wanted to see and be seen.
Foreboding crept along her skin, every instinct on full alert. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’
‘Because I am taking the mother of my child out for dinner so we can discuss the future.’
Sunita stared at him as the surreal situation deepened into impossibility. ‘If you and I go out for dinner it will galvanise a whole load of press interest.’
‘That is the point. We are going public. I will not keep Amil a secret, or make him unofficial business.’
She blinked as her brain crashed and tried to change gear. ‘But we haven’t discussed this at all.’
This was going way too fast, and events were threatening to spiral out of control. Her control.
‘I don’t think we should go public until we’ve worked out the practical implications—until we have a plan.’
‘Not possible. People are already wondering where I am. Especially my chief advisor. People may have spotted us at the café, and April Fotherington will be wondering if my presence in Mumbai is connected to you. I want the truth to come out on my terms, not hers, or those of whichever reporter makes it their business to “expose” the story. I want this to break in a positive way.’
Sunita eyed him, part of her impressed by the sheer strength and absolute assurance he projected, another part wary of the fact he seemed to have taken control of the situation without so much as a by-your-leave.
‘I’m not sure that’s possible. Think about the scandal—your people won’t like this.’ And they wouldn’t like her, a supermodel with a dubious past. ‘Are you sure this is the best way to introduce Amil’s existence to your people?’
‘I don’t know. But I believe it’s the right way to show my people that this is good news, that Amil is not a secret. That I am being honest.’
An unpleasant twinge of guilt pinched her nerves—she had kept Amil secret, she had been dishonest. She had made a decision that no longer felt anywhere near as right as it had this morning.
‘So what do you say?’ he asked. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’
The idea gave her a sudden little thrill, brought back a sea of memories of the dinners they had shared two years before—dinners when banter and serious talk had flown back and forth, when each word, each gesture, had been a movement in the ancient dance of courtship. A courtship she had never meant to consummate...
But this meal would be on a whole new level and courtship would not be on the table. Wherever they held this discussion tonight, the only topic of conversation would be Amil and the future.
And if Frederick believed this strategy was the best way forward then she owed him her co-operation.
‘Let’s get this show on the road.’ An unexpected fizz of excitement buzzed through her. She could do this; she’d always relished a fight and once upon a time she’d revelled in a show. ‘But I need to change.’
‘You look fine to me.’
His voice was deep and molten, and just like that the atmosphere changed. Awareness hummed and vibrated, shimmering around them, and she had to force herself to remain still, to keep her feet rooted to the cool tiles of the floor. The hazel of his eyes had darkened in a way she remembered all too well, and now it was exhilaration of a different sort that heated her veins.
Stop.
All that mattered here was Amil and his future. Two years ago she had tried and failed to resist the magnetic pull that Frederick exerted on her—a pull she had distrusted, and this time would not permit. Whatever her treacherous hormones seemed to think.
Perhaps he realised the same, because he stepped backwards and nodded. ‘But I appreciate you want to change.’
‘I do. You need a show, and a show is exactly what I can provide. Luckily I kept some of the clothes from my modelling days.’
Even if she’d never once worn them, she loved them still. Silk, chiffon and lace, denim and velvet, long skirts and short, flared and skinny—she had enjoyed showcasing each and every outfit. Had refused to wear any item that didn’t make her soul sing. And now there was no denying the buzz. This was what she had once lived for and craved. Publicity, notice, fame—all things she could spin and control.
Almost against her will, her mind fizzed with possibility. Amil was no longer a secret, no longer in danger—they could live their lives as they wished. She could resume her career, be Sunita again, walk the catwalks and revel in fashion and all its glorious aspects. Amil would, of course, come with her—just as she had accompanied her mother to fashion shoots—and Nanni could come too.
Life would take on a new hue without the terrible burden of discovery clouding every horizon. Though of course Frederick would be part of that life, if only a minor part. His real life lay in Lycander, and she assumed he would want only a few visits a year perhaps.
Whoa! Slow right down, Suni!
She had no idea what Frederick’s plans were, and she’d do well to remember that before she waltzed off into la-la land. She didn’t know this man—this Frederick.
Her gaze rested on him, absorbed the breadth of his body, his masculine presence, the determined angle of his stubbled jaw, the shadowed eyes crinkled now in a network of lines she thought probably hadn’t come from laughter. Her breath caught on a sudden wave of desire. Not only physical desire, but a stupid yearning to walk over and smooth the shadows away.
A yearning she filed away under both dangerous and delusional as she turned and left the room.
FREDERICK CHANGED INTO the suit he’d had delivered to him whilst he was waiting and prowled the flat on the lookout for evidence of Amil’s life.
Amil. The syllables were still so unfamiliar—his only knowledge of his son that brief glimpse a few hours earlier. But there would be time—plenty of time—to catch up on the past fourteen months. Provided Sunita agreed to his proposition—and she would agree.
Whatever it took, he would make her see his option was the only way forward.
He paused in front of a framed photograph of Sunita and a newborn Amil. He looked at the tiny baby, with his downy dark hair, the impossible perfection of his minuscule fingernails, and the utter vulnerability of him twisted Frederick’s gut.
Shifting his gaze to Sunita, he saw the love in her brown eyes clear in every nuance, every part of her body. Her beauty was unquestionable, but this was a beauty that had nothing to do with physical features and everything to do with love.
Perhaps he should feel anger that he had missed out on that moment, but his overwhelming emotion was relief—gratitude, even—that his son had been given something so vital. Something he himself had never received. His mother had handed him straight over to a nanny and a few scant years later had disappeared from his life.
For a long moment Frederick gazed at the photo, trying to figure out what he should feel, what he would feel when he finally met Amil properly, held him... Panic hammered his chest and he stepped backwards. What if he was like his mother—what if he quite simply lacked the parenting gene?
The click of heels against marble snapped him to attention and he stepped back from the photo, turning to see Sunita advance into the room. For a moment his lungs truly ceased to work as his pulse ratcheted up a notch or