Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride: Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride! / Valentine Bride
the guard called in again.
“Uh, sorry, Sergeant Fromer.” She looked at Monte again and knew she wouldn’t do it. She shook her head, ashamed of herself. “About seven would be best,” she called to him. “The hairdresser should be here by then.”
“Will do. Thank you, miss.”
And he was gone, carrying with him all hope for sanity. She stared at the area of the gate.
There it was—another chance to do the right thing and rid herself of this menace to her peace of mind forever. Why couldn’t she follow through? She turned and looked at Monte, her heart sinking. Was she doomed? Not if she stayed strong. This couldn’t be like it was before. She’d been vulnerable the last time. She’d just had the horrible fight with her father that she had been dreading for years, and when Monte had jumped into her life, she was in the mood to do dangerous things.
The first time she’d seen him, he’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere and found her sobbing beside her fountain. She’d just come back to her chambers from that fight and she’d been sick at heart, hating that she’d hurt the man she loved most in the world—her father. And so afraid that she would have to do what he wanted her to do anyway.
Her father’s health had begun to fade at that point, but he wasn’t bedridden yet, as he was now. He’d summoned her to his room and told her in no uncertain terms that he expected her to marry Leonardo. And she’d told him in similar fashion that she would have to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar. No other way would work. He’d called her an ungrateful child and had brought up the fact that she was looking to be an old maid soon if she didn’t get herself a husband. She’d called him an overbearing parent and threatened to marry the gardener.
That certainly got a response, but it was mainly negative and she regretted having said such a thing now. But he’d been passionate, almost obsessive about the need for her to marry Leonardo.
“Marry the man. You’ve known him all your life. You get along fine. He wants you, and as his wife, you’ll have so much power…”
“Power!” she’d responded with disdain. “All you care about is power.”
His face had gone white. “Power is important,” he told her in a clipped, hard voice. “As much as you may try to pretend otherwise, it rules our lives.” And then, haltingly, he’d told her the story of what had happened to her mother—the real story this time, not the one she’d grown up believing.
“Victor Halma wanted her,” he said, naming the man who had been the Granvillis’ top enforcer when Pellea was a very small child.
“Wha-what do you mean?” she’d stammered. There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach and she was afraid she understood only too well.
“He was always searching her out in the halls, showing up unexpectedly whenever she thought she was safe. He wouldn’t leave her alone. She was in a panic.”
She closed her eyes and murmured, “My poor mother.”
“There was still a lot of hostility toward me because I had worked with the DeAngelis royal family before the revolution,” he went on. “I wasn’t trusted then as I am now. I tried to fight him, but it was soon apparent I had no one on my side.” He drew in a deep breath. “I was sent on a business trip to Paris. He made his move while I was gone.”
“Father…”
“You see, I had no power.” His face, already pale, took on a haggard look. “I couldn’t refuse to go. And once I was gone, he forced her to go to his quarters.”
Pellea gasped, shivering as though an icy blast had swept into the room.
“She tried to run away, but he had the guard drag her into his chamber and lock her in. And there, while she was waiting, she found a knife and killed herself before he could…” His voice trailed off.
Pellea’s hands clutched her throat. “You always told me she died during an influenza epidemic,” she choked out. She was overwhelmed with this news, and yet, deep down, she’d always known there was something she wasn’t being told.
He nodded. “That was what I told you. That was what I told everyone. And there was an epidemic at the time. But she didn’t die of influenza. She died of shame.”
Pellea swayed. The room seemed to dip and swerve around her. “And the man?” she asked hoarsely.
“He had an unfortunate accident soon after,” her father said dryly, making it clear he wasn’t about to go into details. “But you understand me, don’t you? You see the position we were in? That’s what happens when you don’t have power.”
“Or when you work for horrible people,” she shot back passionately.
Shaking his head, he almost smiled. “The strange thing was, the Granvillis started to trust me after that. I moved up in the ranks. I gained power.” He looked at his daughter sternly. “Today, nothing like that could happen to me. And what I want for you is that same sort of immunity from harm.”
She understood what he wanted for her. She ached with love for him, ached for what he’d gone through, ached for what her own mother had endured. Her heart broke for them all.
But she still hadn’t been able to contemplate marrying Leonardo. Not then.
To some degree, she could relate to his obsession to get and hold power. Still, it was his obsession, not hers and she had no interest in making the sort of down payment on a sense of control that marrying Leonardo would entail.
But this had been the condition she’d been in when she’d first looked up and found Monte standing in her courtyard. She knew she’d never seen him before, and that was unusual. This was a small country and most in the castle had been there for years. You tended to know everyone you ran into, at least by sight. She’d jumped up and looked toward the gate, as though to run.
But he’d smiled. Something in that smile captivated her every time, and it had all begun that afternoon.
“Hi,” he’d said. “I’m running from some castle guards. Mind if I hide in here?”
Even as he spoke, she heard the guards at the gate. And just that quickly, she became a renegade.
“Hurry, hide in there,” she’d said, pointing to her bedroom. “Behind the bookcase.” She’d turned toward the gate. “I’ll deal with the guards.”
And so began her life as an accomplice to a criminal—and so also her infatuation with the most wrong man she could have fallen in love with.
Monte didn’t really appreciate the effort all this had cost her. He’d taken it for granted that she would send the guard away. She’d done the same thing the last time he was here—and that had been more dangerous for them both—because they’d already seen him in the halls at that point. The whole castle was turned upside down for the next two days as they hunted for him. And the entire time, she’d had him hidden in her bedroom.
No one knew he was here now except Pellea—so far.
“Was that the DeAngelis tiara you were talking about just now?” he asked her. “I thought I heard Leonardo bring it up.”
She glared at him. “How long have you been here spying on me? What else did you hear?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What else didn’t you want me to hear?”
She threw her hands up.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “The wedding-dress-design discussion and your talk with Leonardo were about it.”
They both turned to look at the beautiful gown hanging against a tall, mahogany wardrobe. “Is this the gown you’re wearing to the ball tonight?”
“Yes.”
It was stunning. Black velvet swirled against deep green satin. It hung before him looking