to having a family.” “Just not a large family.” “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Personal preference. Why do you want a large one?”
“Because I enjoyed having brothers. Their friendship and companionship meant a great deal to me.” His lashes lowered concealing his expression as he toyed with the delicate stem of his wine goblet. “Do you ever think your fear of pregnancy might stem from your mother’s death after childbirth?”
Hannah froze, suddenly chilled.
Emmeline’s mother had died in childbirth?
But how was that possible? Emmeline’s mother, Queen Claire, was alive and well and had just been in Spain on holiday last week.
“My mother is alive,” she said numbly, finding the subject too close to home as Hannah’s own mother had died in childbirth as well.
“I’m sorry. I should have said your birth mother. You were adopted by your parents, King William and Queen Claire d’Arcy, when you were just six days old.”
“How did you find out?” she whispered.
“Your father told me several months ago when we hit that impasse in our contract negotiations. He wanted me to understand that your reluctance to have children wasn’t out of selfishness, but probably fear.”
“So if my father gave you a reason, why put me through this?” Hannah fought to hang on to her temper.
“I wanted you to tell me.”
“Why?”
He was angry now, too. “Because just once I’d like to hear the truth from you. I’d like to know the real you. I don’t know who that person is, or what she wants, or what she really feels.”
She flinched at the words, real you, but wouldn’t linger on them.
“You want to know what I think?” she blazed. “I think it’s a crime that women still die in childbirth. We can put men on the moon. Create weapons of mass destruction. Produce miracle drugs and design modern hospitals. So why can’t we make childbirth safe? How can we allow women to die while creating life?”
“Because we’re mortal. Life eventually ends for all of us.”
Hannah’s father, Jake, had said the same thing regularly while Hannah was growing up. “It’s tragic.” Her voice dropped, deepening. “Children need their mothers.”
“Just as mothers need their children.” His broad shoulders shifted uncomfortably. “It broke my mother’s heart that she couldn’t save my older brother. I heard her say more than once, that she wished she could switch places with Stephen.”
“Didn’t that hurt you?”
“Stephen was her firstborn. She’d always been close to him.” “Weren’t you two close?”
“Not as close as I would have liked. But I was the middle child and my younger brother needed my mother more.” “Where is your younger brother?”
“Here, in the palace.” “Why haven’t I met him?”
He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “Constantine has special needs and requires round-the-clock care. He forms attachments easily and doesn’t comprehend loss.”
Hannah frowned, puzzled. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt him?”
“Not deliberately. But in order to protect him, I’ve decided to wait to introduce you until I know you’re staying.”
LATER that night, tucked in bed, Hannah took out her phone and researched the Patek Royal family.
There were dozens of articles online but very few references to the youngest Patek prince, Constantine. Once someone gave his date of birth—he was three years older than Hannah—and another time, he was referred to as the third son, but that was it. To the outside world, Prince Constantine didn’t exist.
Hannah could see why Zale would want to protect his brother from the world, but to keep his future wife from meeting his only surviving family? It made Hannah think Zale had no intentions of marrying Emmeline.
Hannah turned off the phone, and then the lamp next to her bed, but couldn’t sleep.
Zale wasn’t an easy man. He was tough, proud and competitive. And the more she got to know him, the more certain she was that he’d crush Emmeline. Not intentionally, of course, but simply because he didn’t understand his own strength.
He’d never win Emmeline’s heart by browbeating her, either. He needed to court her. Needed to woo her. Needed to show that he had a softer side, and Hannah knew he did because she saw glimpses of it every now and then. Just not often enough.
It was time Zale exerted himself a little bit. Time he made an effort to win Emmeline over instead of judging her and criticizing her. He might be a king, but he needed to start treating his betrothed like the queen she would be.
Hannah woke early the next morning and rang for Celine to help her dress. “Can you send word to His Majesty that I’d like to meet him?” Hannah asked, stepping from her shower to dress.
Today she chose her own clothes, selecting a pale apricot linen dress from Emmeline’s wardrobe paired with a slim-fitting cropped cashmere sweater the same hue. She slipped a gold bangle on her wrist and small gold hoops on her ears, before pulling her hair back in a ponytail. She did her own makeup, keeping it light, and was just finishing applying mascara when word arrived that His Majesty was waiting for her in the family dining room.
Hannah took a deep breath and squared her shoulders as a footman escorted her.
The family dining room was a cozy room on the second floor. Tall mullioned windows lined the walls and sunlight glazed the glass, casting bright rays across the rich walnut table and illuminating the centerpiece of pink and cream tulips in a crystal vase.
Zale sat at one end of the table reading a stack of newspapers, a cup of espresso at his elbow.
Briefly he lifted his head as she entered the room, his amber gaze sweeping over her. “This is a surprise,” he said.
“A pleasant one, I hope,” she answered, taking the chair the uniformed footman held for her and smoothing the hem of her crisp linen dress over her knees.
The footman poured her coffee and brought her fresh squeezed orange juice before handing her a small elegant printed menu. Her eyebrows arched. A printed menu for a family meal?
Zale must have been able to read her mind as he said from behind his newspaper, “Chef will make anything you like, but he also offers specialty items every morning based on what he’s picked up from the local farmers market.”
“How do you know what I was thinking?”
“You’re easy to read.” He folded the paper and set it down.
“So what am I thinking now?” she asked, stirring milk into her coffee.
Zale studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. “You’re upset that I won’t introduce you to my brother, and you’re here to convince me otherwise.”
“Not at all,” she said, lifting her cup to sip the hot, strong coffee. “I think you’re spot-on. Your brother should be protected. Until we are absolutely certain we want to proceed with the wedding, we should be careful. I’d hate to grow fond of your brother only to realize you’re not entirely suitable for me.”
His eyebrow lifted. “And now I’m not suitable?”
She offered the footman a sunny smile as he moved forward to offer her a selection of flaky pastries. She refused the pastries and turned her