Guilt flooded through Antonio. In a way, he’d abandoned Tia twice, now—the first time after he’d told her that her brother had been killed, because he hadn’t known how to deal with it; then he’d been called back to work, and after that his father had died and he’d been busy with official duties. The second time had been that night in London following the charity gala, when they’d ended up comforting each other in bed. Tia had vanished early the next morning before he’d awoken, leaving him a note explaining that she was due at work.
Which had pretty much let him off the hook.
Part of him had felt relieved, because it meant he didn’t have to unpick his feelings and deal with them; but part of him had felt guilty about sleeping with his best friend’s little sister. It had been mutual comfort, but he still felt responsible. And he’d planned to call her to see if there was anything he could do to help her mother. He wasn’t that much of a cad, no matter that the media liked to call him a playboy who would never settle down. The only true bit about the media’s claims was that he didn’t want to settle down; he kept his love affairs short and very discreet. And he always made it very clear that he wasn’t offering his girlfriends a future. That the relationship was just for now, not for ever.
But, as he’d been about to call Tia, that morning, his mother had called him with the news about Gabriella and her potential claim to the throne. Queen Maria had needed her youngest son to come home to discuss the situation with her and help her to plan what they should do next; and it would all have to be done confidentially because she hadn’t wanted to put the extra pressure on Luca, who they both thought had quite enough on his plate ruling the country. All thoughts of Tia had flown out of his head and he’d gone straight back to Casavalle without getting in touch with her.
Antonio and the Queen had been close to working out how to deal with the situation about Gabriella when Princess Meribel dropped her bombshell and Luca’s wedding was cancelled. Everything had gone haywire after that, and in the last month Antonio felt as if he’d barely had a moment to breathe.
‘She’s telephoned the palace a few times,’ Miles said, ‘but I didn’t expect her to turn up here.’
Tia had called a few times? Why? ‘Why didn’t you put her through?’ Antonio asked.
Miles winced. ‘I didn’t want to repeat the mistake I made with Gabriella’s letter to Queen Maria.’
Gabriella’s letter. The bombshell that had made it through to the Queen because it was marked ‘Personal and Confidential’. Luca had been quite hard on the palace secretary about it, and Miles had been extremely vigilant about which messages made it through to the family ever since.
But Antonio was the youngest child, and he was pretty sure he was more approachable than his father had been—or even his elder brother. And surely Miles had known him for long enough to realise that Antonio wouldn’t go all cold and icy on him if he made a mistake? Things happened unexpectedly; you just had to deal with them efficiently and effectively as they came up.
‘And now she’s here, wanting to see you,’ Miles continued.
Antonio smiled, wanting to reassure the secretary. ‘That’s fine. As I said, I worked with her brother. He was a good friend. I can spare a few minutes to talk to her. Where is she?’
‘In my office,’ Miles said. ‘But, sir, before you go to meet her, you need to know that she’s making some quite outlandish claims. She says she’s six months pregnant—and she says the baby is yours.’
‘She what?’ Antonio felt as if someone had just winded him.
‘She’s pregnant. Very pregnant.’ Miles winced. ‘You can see the baby moving in her stomach.’
Antonio counted back in his head. May. They’d slept together in May.
And now it was November.
Six months.
Antonio was pretty sure that this wasn’t a situation like his brother’s, where Princess Meribel had been at the point of possibly passing off another man’s baby as Luca’s. Nathan had been proud of his little sister, proud of her independence and her loyalty and her resourcefulness. Antonio believed that Tia wouldn’t lie about something like this.
Plus the timing fitted exactly.
‘But of course the baby can’t be yours,’ Miles said.
Oh, yes, it could.
Six months.
Tia must’ve known she was pregnant for at least three of those months, probably more. Why on earth hadn’t she said anything to him before?
Then again, Miles had said she’d called a few times but he hadn’t put her through. Clearly Tia had tried to talk to him and she’d been gently put aside by the palace secretary.
‘How long has she been trying to get in touch with me?’ Antonio asked.
‘A few weeks,’ Miles admitted.
So she must’ve tried to tell him almost as soon as she knew about the baby, then. If Miles had been stonewalling her for weeks, coming here must’ve been the last resort for her because she’d had no other way to get in touch with him—apart from going to the media and causing his family maximum embarrassment, and that just didn’t fit with what he knew of Nathan’s little sister.
‘I spoke to Prince Luca about it,’ Miles continued, ‘and he agreed it was most likely she’d seen your photograph in a magazine, decided she was in love with you and made up a story to—’
‘Hang on. Luca knew about this?’ Antonio cut in.
‘That she’d called you. Not about the baby.’ Miles squirmed. ‘I only found out about that today, when I saw her. The bump is, um, quite noticeable.’
Antonio groaned. ‘We’ll discuss this later. Luca, too. But I need to see her. Now.’
‘You mean she’s telling the truth, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Antonio said grimly, the guilt he felt at sleeping with his friend’s little sister intensifying by the second. Not only had he slept with her, he’d made her pregnant. ‘The timing matches up, so I’m pretty sure the baby’s mine.’ And he sprinted out of the room towards Miles’s office.
Tia felt sick—and it was nothing to do with her pregnancy and everything to do with the situation. What had she been thinking, coming here? Now Miles Montague had left her in his office, her surroundings sank in. She was in a palace—a palace, for pity’s sake. People like her didn’t go to palaces, not unless they were visiting a stately home or museum while on holiday. This was surreal.
And just how was Antonio going to react to the news? With shock? Dismay? Horror? She’d told herself all the way here that his reaction didn’t matter, that she’d deliver the news and walk away—but it did matter, now she was here. And a tiny, very foolish part of her couldn’t help hoping that he’d be thrilled to see her and would sweep her into his arms…
Of course that wasn’t going to happen. She was six months pregnant, and he certainly wouldn’t try to lift her. And this was his territory. He’d be every inch the cold, snooty Prince who’d told her that her brother had been killed.
Right on cue, Antonio strolled into the room, all cool and calm and unruffled. He didn’t even bat an eyelash or look remotely shocked; just as she’d guessed, he was totally