A swarm of butterflies winged around in her stomach as she logged onto the Internet and typed the words “Tesoro del Mar,” “Eric” and “naval accident” into the search engine.
She’d barely clicked Enter when the results filled the page.
Tesorian Navy News. Coast Guard Newsletter. Navy News—International Edition. MedSeaSecurityReport. Royal Watch. Naval Briefs. The Spanish Sailor.
She clicked on the first result, scanned the headline.
Prince Eric Injured in Naval Training Accident.
Prince Eric?
Definitely not the right Eric, she decided, and started to close the document when she noted the photo a little bit farther down on the page.
Her breath caught and her brow furrowed as she leaned closer to the screen for a better look.
It was him.
Her heart started to beat harder, faster.
She skimmed the article, barely noting any details of the accident that had resulted in the end of his career. Nothing seemed to matter beyond the title that jumped out at her from beneath his picture. “First Officer Prince Eric Santiago.”
It occurred to her that maybe “prince” wasn’t a royal title but a naval title. It certainly seemed a more feasible explanation than a member of a royal family wandering into her restaurant—and ending up in her bed.
She tried a different search this type, entering only “prince eric” and “tesoro del mar.”
Again, the results were almost instantaneous, and her hand trembled as she clicked on “theroyalhouseofsantiago.”
The site opened to a home page that showed a stunning castle of gleaming white stone in front of a backdrop of brilliant blue sky. She clicked on a link labeled “Members of the Royal Family,” which popped up a row of photos with names and links beneath them—one of which was Eric, “Principe de la Ciudad del Norte.”
She stared at the image, stunned by this confirmation that Eric wasn’t just a guy in a bar—he was a member of the royal family of Tesoro del Mar.
She’d slept with a prince.
And now she was pregnant with his child.
She had to tell him—the logical, rational part of her brain wouldn’t let her consider anything else. And now she knew where to find him, though she couldn’t imagine that she’d simply be permitted to walk up to the front door of the royal palace and announce that she was carrying the prince’s baby.
She couldn’t think about this right now—just the thought made her head spin.
Pushing away from the desk, she grabbed her cell phone before heading downstairs to make sure the restaurant was set up for dinner. She noticed the voice mail icon on the display and sighed as she dialed into her mailbox, determined to ignore whatever crisis had her sister tracking her down now. But it wasn’t Abbey’s number on the display, it was Fiona’s, and her cousin’s voice was quiet and muffled, as if she was trying not to cry.
Fiona wasn’t prone to dramatics, so her brief and teary “the wedding’s off” message had Molly detouring through the restaurant only long enough to make sure that Karen could stay behind the bar until she returned. As she drove the familiar route to her cousin’s ranch, it occurred to her that whatever had Fiona in a panic, it had succeeded in taking Molly’s mind off of Prince Eric Santiago.
At least for the moment.
When Eric contacted Scott’s fiancée to let her know that he was coming back to San Antonio, Fiona promised that a room would be ready for him and chatted excitedly about the final preparations for the wedding. But something happened between the time of his phone call and his arrival at the door so that she was no longer bubbling over with happiness but with tears.
Having spent most of his adult life in the navy, Eric felt completely out of his element when confronted by a weeping woman. Not that it was his job to comfort his friend’s fiancée—and thank God Scott was there to do that—but he still felt helpless. And clueless.
“We got a call from the manager of Harcourt Castle,” Scott explained, when Fiona’s sobs had quieted enough that conversation was possible.
“That’s where the wedding’s going to be, right?”
His friend gave a small shake of his head as he continued to pat Fiona’s back consolingly. “We’ve had a lot of rain over the past couple of days and some of the lower lying areas experienced flooding, including Harcourt.”
Eric knew a flood indicated water damage, which meant the venue was likely out of commission for several months—definitely past the date of the wedding.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” Fiona sniffed.
“It’s not a sign,” Scott soothed his bereft fiancée. “Except for the fact that we’ll need to find another location for the wedding.”
She brushed her tears away and looked up at him, incredulous. “Less than a month before the date?”
For the first time since Eric had arrived on the scene, Scott looked uncertain. “Does that seem unlikely?”
“Not unlikely—” the tears began falling again, her words barely comprehensible “—impossible. And—” she gulped in a breath “—you know why I wanted the castle.”
“We met at Harcourt,” Scott explained to Eric.
“And he took me back there to ask me to marry him,” Fiona said, suddenly sobbing harder.
Yeah, Eric was definitely out of his element, and desperately wracked his brain for a solution—any solution—to stop the tears.
“Okay, so we’ll postpone the wedding for a few months,” Scott suggested.
“We’ve already sent out the invitations, ordered the cake, the flowers and—”
“I said postpone,” her fiancé interjected, “not cancel.”
She sighed. “It seems like we’ve been waiting so long already, and I just want to be married to you.”
“Then let’s do it,” Scott said impulsively. “Let’s forget all the chaos and crises, hop onto a plane to Vegas and get married.”
Fiona’s nose wrinkled. “Vegas?”
“I know it’s not what we’d planned, but we can have a big, blowout reception back here in a few months, when Harcourt Castle is reopened.”
His fiancée still hesitated.
Eric had never been to Vegas, but he’d seen enough movies to form an impression of the city and he could understand Fiona’s reluctance. She wanted ambience and elegance, and what Scott was offering was loud and garish. Okay, maybe that wasn’t an entirely fair assessment considering that he’d never stepped foot in the town, but he thought he’d gotten to know his friend’s fiancée well enough during his last visit to be certain it wasn’t what she’d envisioned.
“Vegas,” she said again, more contemplative than critical this time.
He figured it was a testament to how much Fiona loved Scott that she was even considering it.
“Or you could hop on a plane to a picturesque island in the Mediterranean and have a quiet ceremony on the beach and an intimate reception at the royal palace,” Eric offered as an alternative.
The future bride and groom swiveled their heads in his direction.
“Could we?” Scott asked.
“You