Scandal With a Prince (35 page)

“Oh, I’m not.
 
But I
am
leaving the palace.”

“No.”
 
The single word came from his father.

“Is that your desire?
 
Or a command?”
 
He met his father’s iron gaze.
 
Neither of them budged or spoke.
 
Since the palace was constructed, royals lived within its walls until they married and had children.
 
Often, they stayed until the eldest ascended the throne and their own offspring needed the space.
 
But to his knowledge, the tradition wasn’t law.
 

Finally, Stefano looked to his mother.
 
“I’ll let you know where to contact me as soon as I’m settled.”

He crossed the library to his desk and neatly stacked his documents for later.
 
A thought occurred to him, and he glanced up to take in his parents’ horrified looks.
 
“Have you considered taking a family vacation like the ones we took to Sicily when I was a child?
 
We had so much freedom.
 
There was time to relax, to enjoy each other’s company, to be away from our round-the-clock public lives and have real family conversations.
 
Not like our Sunday dinners, where we’re surrounded by dignitaries.”

“What?”
 
His mother sounded confused.
 
“You want to go to Sicily?”

“Not me, us.
 
Maybe next year, in the spring, when the flowers are just beginning to bloom and we can go for walks or bicycle rides like we used to.
 
I think it’d be very good for this family.
 
Help us remember what’s most important.
 
Think about it.”

With that, he strode out of the library, made a sharp left to jog down the palace’s rear staircase, then pushed open the double doors to the gardens and the sunshine.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The text appeared on Megan’s phone at one a.m.

In New Delhi airport.
 
Flight to London with stop at BCN late tomorrow afternoon.

Would a dinner invitation be considered railroading?

Though the number was blocked, she didn’t need to ask who’d sent the text.
 
She typed back a wish for a safe flight and asked Jack to call her at her Grandspire office when he landed in Barcelona so she could make a dinner reservation.

Megan then proceeded to toss and turn all night, her brain wrestling with her career dilemma even as her sheets became a tangle around her legs, but everything pointed to the same conclusion.
 
She had to take the Grandspire job.
 
No other offers would be forthcoming.
 
It was her own damned fault.
 
She’d been in such a funk during the last two weeks she’d hardly slept, let alone done the necessary follow-up for other possible positions.
 

Thank goodness Jack Gladwell took a last-minute trip to Nepal last Thursday, buying her another week until she was obligated to give him an answer.
 
Not that it helped her in the least.

She rolled over and glanced at her bedside clock.
 
Though it wasn’t yet five in the morning, she tossed her sheets aside.
 
May as well get up and face the day.
 
When her feet hit the floor, she stifled a yawn.

After years of hard work at the Grandspire, she should be thrilled to be offered the position as manager.
 
The pay and benefits were phenomenal, she and Anna loved Barcelona, and Anna would still be able to visit with Stefano.
 
In fact, her life could continue much the way it had, but with a lot more financial and long-term job security.
 
So why did it feel underwhelming?
 

Why had she put off accepting the job for nearly two weeks?
 
Even with Jack Gladwell in Nepal, she could’ve left a message with his administrative assistant.
 

Because you fell in love with a prince, you idiot.
 
Because saying yes to the Grandspire means saying no to a chance with Prince Charming and happily ever after.

She nabbed her toothbrush from its holder on the bathroom counter, squirted on the requisite amount of blue gel, then stared at herself in the mirror.
 
Fatigue caused her own image to sway before her, spurring a flashback to her early days with Anna, when she’d walked her tiny apartment, exhausted, waiting for Stefano to call and tell her he wanted her.
 
It’d been a pipe dream then, and it was a pipe dream now.

She ran a quick stream of water over her toothbrush before shoving it in her mouth.

Once the sun rose and she dropped off Anna for her first day of summer basketball camp, Megan would make the dinner call, then tell Jack Gladwell she’d waited to let him know she was accepting the position until she could speak to him personally.
 

Time to be a realist, Hallberg.
 
Prince Charming only appears in fairy tales.

What man asked a woman to marry him, presented her with a pack of information on a potential job, then asked if
she
loved
him
without saying a word about whether he loved her?
 
Worse, what man then turned around and said he knew she didn’t want to marry him—all evidence to the contrary—and that it was best if they
didn’t
marry, all because she’d wanted to discuss marriage before letting him know about a job offer she had no intention of accepting or a grainy tabloid photo that no one corroborated?
 

A man who doesn’t know what he wants.
 
A man who doesn’t truly love you in the first place.

She scrubbed her teeth harder than necessary, as if she could cleanse the thought from her mind.
 

Stefano had been right about one thing: No more photos or reports had appeared of the two of them.
 
And with no palace confirmation of the prince’s identity in that first, hazy photo, the story had disappeared.
 
Life had continued on just as it had before Stefano’s visits.
 
Even Santi said nothing more.
 
Their conversations centered on the usual topics of upcoming banquets, his wife and children, and the streak of beautiful weather Barcelona currently enjoyed.

 
On autopilot, Megan went through her Monday morning ritual of showering, applying makeup, and selecting an outfit before making her way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
 
As she poured freshly-ground coffee into the filter and breathed in the rich scent, she resolved to embrace her life as it was.
 

When she parted from Stefano the first time, she was alone and pregnant.
 
She faced the prospect of juggling finals, a new baby, and job interviews, not to mention finding help with daycare during those first lean years.
 
Now she had none of those concerns.
 
She had everything she’d ever wanted in life, and Anna topped that list.
 
They’d had a wonderful time selecting fresh strawberries at the market yesterday morning.
 
She’d come home feeling happy and refreshed, despite the persistent feeling that Stefano should have been exploring the Saturday market with them.

Maybe she could make waffles for Anna this morning and top them with the berries, assuming the headache Anna developed last night was cured by a good night’s sleep.
 
Megan never prepared anything fancier than cereal on a weekday, so this would be a treat for them both.
 
Cooking would occupy her mind until Anna was awake.
 
Better that than thoughts of Stefano or Jack Gladwell.

As if on cue, a low groan came from Anna’s room.
 
Megan stilled, coffee pot in hand.
 
“Anna?”

She heard nothing more, only the low hum of the suite’s air conditioning.

“Anna?
 
You awake?
 
It’s early, honey.”
 
Too early.

She set the coffee pot on its burner, flipped on the power switch to start the drip, then walked to Anna’s door, which was cracked open about six inches.
 
The light was off and the lump on the bed didn’t move.
 
She watched for a few seconds, but Anna didn’t stir.
 
Megan reached for the knob to pull the door closed, but paused.
 

No, this didn’t feel right.

Carefully, she tiptoed into Anna’s room and approached the bed.
 
Anna’s hair hung over her face, as usual.
 
Megan reached to gently swipe it back.
 
Her hand was still a few inches away when she felt the heat rolling off Anna in waves.
 

“Anna?”
 
Megan looped Anna’s hair behind her ear and pressed a hand to Anna’s forehead.
 
“Oh, honey, you’re on fire.”

“I don’t feel good.
 
My neck hurts,” Anna whispered without opening her eyes.
 
“A lot.”

Megan crouched beside the bed.
 
Anna had been a little warm last night, but Megan chalked it up to the fact that, after returning from the market, Anna spent the entire afternoon on the beach with friends.
 
But this wasn’t a case of too many hours spent in the sun.
 
Megan couldn’t remember ever feeling Anna so hot.
 
“Your neck or your throat?”

“Neck.
 
It hurts to move, Mommy.”

Mommy?
 
She hadn’t been Mommy for several years.
 
“Okay.
 
Stay put and I’ll get a thermometer.”

She returned a few seconds later and a quick check confirmed what she feared, a dangerously high fever.

“Anna, I’m taking you to the doctor, all right?
 
Can you get up?”

When Anna merely blinked, Megan said, “Never mind.
 
I’ll carry you to the elevator and we’ll go straight to the car.”
 

Anxiety knotted her insides as she peeled back Anna’s covers and hefted her into her arms.
 
She made her way through the living area, taking a moment to turn off the coffee pot with her elbow and loop her shoulder bag onto her arm before stepping into her shoes and hustling toward the elevator.
 

The closer Megan got to the car, the more she worried.
 
Even when Anna had a bad case of the flu in third grade, she’d insisted she could get out of bed and take care of herself, though she only made it as far as the sofa.
 
Then there was the time in first grade that Anna lied to her teacher about throwing up her lunch because she hadn’t wanted to miss school.

Now Anna didn’t care that she was being carried.
 
She didn’t even seem to notice.
 
Worse, Megan could feel the heat of Anna’s body through the girl’s pajamas and her own blouse.
 
It was like standing under a heat lamp.

Gently, Megan set Anna down beside the car, clicked it open, then eased Anna into the backseat and buckled the belt.
 

Anna’s head rolled back.
 
She groaned without opening her eyes.
 
“Mom, that
hurts
.”

“We’re on our way to the hospital.
 
You’ll feel better soon, sweetie.”
 

Anna mumbled what sounded like
yellow tires
, but when Megan asked what she’d said, Anna didn’t answer.

Never in her life had Megan exited the parking garage or driven through the city so fast.
 
She sent a prayer of thanks skyward that the predawn streets were empty and every streetlight went her way.
 
As she pulled into the emergency entrance at the hospital, an orderly sitting on an outside bench crushed out his cigarette and approached the car.
 
He took one look at Anna and called for assistance.
 
First in Catalan, then in English when he realized Megan’s Catalan was limited, he told her to take her car to the parking lot down the hill from the hospital and meet them in the emergency room.
 
In the meantime, two nurses unbuckled Anna, moved her to a wheelchair, and whisked her into the hospital.

Megan’s heart pounded against the walls of her ribcage so hard she thought it’d burst, and not from the exertion of sprinting back up the hill from the lot.
 
The orderly’s expression when he saw Anna was troubling enough, but the utter silence from Anna as the nurses wheeled her into the emergency room terrified her.
 
This was no ordinary headache, nor was it a case of the flu.

As Megan passed through the sliding emergency room doors, a nurse approached to let her know that Anna was being evaluated in a nearby room and that Megan could join her daughter once the evaluation was complete.
 
In the meantime, the staff needed Megan to complete paperwork for admission.
 

“Admission?” Megan asked in alarm.
 
How could they know already that she needed to be admitted?