How stupid was she? He was a prince and she was a waitress. The stories about Cinderella, Snow White, and Beauty and the Beast were just that: fairy stories to entertain children. This was real life; and her life was about as opposite from Antonio’s as it was possible to get. They didn’t have a future together.
‘Good to see you, Tia,’ he said.
Was it? His face was so unreadable, she didn’t have a clue.
‘I trust Miles has offered you some refreshment?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ And she’d refused. All she’d wanted was to see Antonio, deliver her message and leave so she could catch her plane home. Now she was here, she really wanted to leave.
He looked at the clear desk in front of her and frowned. ‘I’ll organise some tea. That is, assuming you can drink tea?’
She knew what he was referring to; but she was well past the morning sickness stage. ‘Thank you, but no thank you. I’m not staying.’
He said nothing, simply tipped his head slightly to one side to indicate that he was listening to whatever she had to say. He looked every inch a prince, and incredibly remote and forbidding.
She lifted her chin. ‘I just came to let you know the situation.’
‘That you’re six months pregnant, according to Miles. You could have—’
Told him? OK, so she’d waited a month, not wanting to talk to the Playboy Prince. But for the six weeks since her mother had persuaded her to talk to him, she’d been trying, and it stung that he was making her feel as if she was the bad guy. ‘I tried,’ she cut in quietly. ‘I rang the palace. More than once, actually. But I didn’t want to leave a message about this. I wanted to tell you myself. Mr Montague wouldn’t put me through to you when I called. In case you’d lost my number, I left it again. But, as you didn’t call me back, I assumed he didn’t tell you that I’d called.’
She didn’t have a clue about how he was reacting to this. Was he shocked, angry, horrified? This man had inscrutability down to a fine art.
‘It meant that coming to tell you in person was my only option. So now you know.’
He hadn’t made a single move towards her. That night in London… Well, obviously Antonio had drawn a line under that, a long time ago. They both had. Neither of them had expected consequences. Although she’d left him that note, and a tiny bit of her had hoped that he’d call her, she hadn’t really expected him to do anything. That night was what it was. A one-night stand.
Then the reality of it hit her. She’d assumed that Miles Montague hadn’t passed on the message. Maybe he had given Prince Antonio the message, but the Prince simply hadn’t wanted to return her call. How could she have been so stupid?
She clearly wasn’t wanted here, and neither was the baby.
Though she’d expected Antonio not to want to know, she’d had time to get used to the idea of being a single mum. She’d cope. Coping was what she’d done every day since Nathan had left to join the army and she’d become her mother’s sole carer at the age of thirteen. She’d find a way to juggle motherhood, a job and continuing to care for her mum. Giovanni and Vittoria, her bosses at the café, were kind and sympathetic. It would be fine.
She suppressed the memories that had rushed into her head when Antonio had walked into the room—the surge of desire, the memory of the way his skin had felt against hers, his strength combined with surprising gentleness. Although this man was the father of her baby, she had to remember that first and foremost he was a prince—and her feelings towards him were completely inappropriate, as well as completely unwanted by him.
She didn’t even know what to call him.
Your Royal Highness? Prince Antonio?
Considering that they’d spent the night together…
It was all too much for her. She didn’t want to stay in this cold, formal palace a minute longer than she had to. She wanted to leave. Now. ‘Excuse me. I have a flight to catch.’ She stood up, gathered her coat under her arm and turned away.
Antonio reached out and touched her shoulder, gently making her turn to face him again. ‘Tia. Please stay. We need to talk.’
Even though there was soft cotton between his skin and hers, the contact was enough to stir up old memories, making her skin tingle. Which was completely inappropriate, and it made her feel so out of sorts that she snapped, ‘There’s nothing to talk about.’
His gaze flicked down to her bump and up to her face again. ‘I rather think there is.’
‘Look, I’m not expecting anything from you. I haven’t come here looking for financial support or anything like that. I’m not planning to sell an exclusive to the gossip columns. I just thought you had a right to know about the baby’s existence, that’s all.’
‘Thank you for telling me. And I’m sorry that the palace made it difficult for you to get in touch with me.’
So was she. But, when she thought about it, she could kind of understand it. ‘You’re a prince. For all they knew, I could’ve been some crazed stalker.’
‘You’re the sister of my best friend,’ Antonio said.
And the mother of his child. Though he hadn’t said as much.
‘And yet again I owe you an apology. I seem to be making a habit of not contacting you.’
He could say that again.
He’d done it twice now. She wasn’t setting herself up for a third mistake, where Antonio Valenti was concerned. How did the saying go? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
She’d been quite enough of a fool. Though at least he wasn’t offering some flimsy excuse. On the other hand, a simple ‘sorry’ might have been nice. He’d said he owed her an apology, but he hadn’t actually given her an apology, had he?
‘Tia, please stay. I’m still in the middle of processing the fact that I’m going to be a father,’ he said. ‘And we have a lot to talk about. But, first, I’m going to organise that cup of tea. And you’ve come all the way from London, so I’m guessing you haven’t had anything to eat.’
‘I had a sandwich on the plane.’ Half a sandwich. It had made her feel sick. Or maybe that had been nerves at the idea of coming here to tell Antonio about the baby.
‘Airline food,’ Antonio said, ‘isn’t the most wonderful.’
‘I don’t want to bother your kitchen staff.’
He smiled. ‘You won’t be bothering them. Come to my apartment. I’ll make you a mug of tea and a sandwich myself. Or pasta.’ He spread his hands. ‘Or whatever it is you’d like to eat.’
She blinked at him, trying to take it in. He was offering to make her some food? Seriously? ‘But princes don’t cook.’
‘They do if they’re in the army,’ he said. ‘If they want their team to respect them, they take their turn doing everything. And I mean everything. I’ve done my share of cleaning duties, too.’
‘Oh.’ She really hadn’t expected that. Even though he’d made her a mug of tea himself, that night in London.
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘And I’ll carry your bags.’
‘I don’t have any luggage. I have a seat on the late flight back to London via Rome, tonight,’ she said. ‘I only came to tell you about the baby. I wasn’t planning to stay.’
‘Don’t go. Please.’ He blew out a breath. ‘We really do have a lot to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve followed the news about Casavalle, but an awful lot has been going on here. It’s wall-to-wall scandal