One magical night…

…could ignite a royal scandal!

In this A Crown by Christmas story, six months ago Tia Phillips and Prince Antonio of Casavalle shared one passionate night. Now she’s on the palace doorstep—pregnant with his baby! Another royal scandal is all Casavalle needs, so Antonio whisks Tia away to a secret hideaway. Soon Antonio’s falling for her, but will Tia accept his hand in marriage when she thinks he’s asking only out of duty?

KATE HARDY has always loved books, and could read before she went to school. She discovered Mills & Boon books when she was twelve, and decided that this was what she wanted to do. When she isn’t writing Kate enjoys reading, cinema, ballroom dancing and the gym. You can contact her via her website: katehardy.com.

Also by Kate Hardy

Finding Mr Right in Florence

A Nurse and a Pup to Heal Him

A Crown by Christmas series

Cinderella’s Prince Under the Mistletoe by Cara Colter

Soldier Prince’s Secret Baby Gift

And look out for the next book

Their Christmas Royal Wedding by Nina Milne

Available December 2019

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Soldier Prince’s Secret Baby Gift

Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09173-2

SOLDIER PRINCE’S SECRET BABY GIFT

© 2019 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For Cara Colter and Nina Milne—

it was such fun working with you!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

May

TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT.

Ten minutes until the charity gala was over and the guests were due to leave, and then another three-quarters of an hour to finish clearing up.

And then Tia could go home to bed.

She was exhausted. She’d already done her usual full shift at the café that day, and Saturdays were always a rushed-off-your-feet day. When she’d got home, all she’d wanted to do was to have a long bath and then curl up on the sofa with her mum to watch a movie. But her old school friend Sadie was managing a charity gala tonight and Tia had promised that she’d help out, serving canapés and clearing glasses, and Tia never went back on her promises. Particularly as the cause—supporting children who’d been bereaved—was so close to her heart; she knew first-hand how it felt to lose a member of your family in the armed forces.

Twice.

Their neighbour, Becky, was keeping an eye out for her mum—as she always did on the few occasions that Grace Phillips managed to persuade her daughter to go out somewhere. In less than an hour, Tia could go home. And tomorrow was late opening, being Sunday, so her shift didn’t start until ten. It wasn’t so bad. She’d had tougher days.

Though she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was staring at her.

She turned round and caught the eye of a tall, dark-haired man across the room.

There was something very familiar about him. Then again, half the people at the charity gala were household names: everyone from musicians to movie stars to models. All the men were wearing tuxedos, and all the women were wearing the kind of posh frocks and designer shoes Tia would never have been able to afford in a million years. This was another world, one where she was supposed to be invisible—the anonymous waitress who smiled as she served canapés and cleared glasses quickly and efficiently. The guy across the room shouldn’t even be noticing her.

As she went out onto the hotel balcony to collect glasses from the abandoned tables, still thinking about him, she realised who he was.

Antonio Valenti.

Prince Antonio of Casavalle, to be precise.

The man who had been her older brother Nathan’s best friend, who’d served with him as his team commander in an alliance of international armed forces.

The man who’d broken her heart, and her mum’s, four months ago, when he’d brought the news that Nathan had been killed in action. Antonio had delivered the news coldly and calmly: a stoic man in a military uniform who didn’t even blink as he told them that Nathan’s vehicle had hit a land mine on his last mission and he’d been killed instantly. Tia had been too shocked to say anything, but her mother had collapsed at the news that she’d lost her son the same way as she’d lost her husband, so Tia had had to damp down her own grief to support her mother.

Prince Antonio had clearly cared so little about Nathan that he hadn’t even stuck around to comfort Grace Phillips or check that she was all right. He’d left almost as soon as he’d delivered the news. He hadn’t even stayed for a cup of tea, let alone turned up at the funeral; and, apart from a formal embossed condolence card which he’d scrawled his name across, he hadn’t been in contact with them since.

OK, sure, the man was a prince and he had important official duties as well as being in the army. Tia wasn’t stupid. She understood that. But would it have hurt him to spend a few minutes with Grace after delivering the news, just to share some memories of her beloved son with her? Or show his face at Nathan’s funeral? Or later, perhaps, he could’ve sent Grace a photograph or a private note via the Palace press office. It wasn’t as if her mother was going to rush to the media and try to get money for it, or sell it online. All Grace had needed was a little gesture to let her know that Nathan had mattered.

But there had been nothing from Prince Antonio but silence.

Prince Charming? More like Prince Cold and Uncaring, Tia thought, curling her lip. How on earth had her brother been close friends with someone who was so cold and starchy?

And he was probably only here at the gala because he was attending in an official capacity; a man like him certainly wasn’t warm enough to care about the work of the charity, or about the children who’d lost their parents or siblings in war. He certainly wouldn’t be there rattling a collecting bucket along with the rest of the volunteer fundraisers or schmoozing people into buying tombola tickets.

She put him resolutely out of her mind and continued stacking glasses on a tray ready to carry through to the kitchens.

Tia Phillips looked absolutely exhausted.

Guilt balled in a hard lump in Antonio’s throat.

He’d been there when his second-in-command’s vehicle, the one in the convoy in front of his, had been blown up by a land mine. Mercifully, death had been instant, so he knew Nathan hadn’t suffered; but Antonio had been shattered by the loss. During his years in the army, his team had become like a family to him. Nathan had been his best friend as well as his second-in-command.

But Antonio had been brought up not to show any emotion in public; as a prince of Casavalle, he was expected to be cool and calm in every situation. He and his elder brother Luca had been brought up knowing their duty always came first. And you never, ever said or did anything that made you look as if you’d lost control of your emotions. That had been reinforced by his military training, so Antonio knew he’d been calm and reserved when he broke the news to Nathan’s family.

Too calm and reserved, perhaps, in their eyes.

Antonio knew how much Nathan had loved his family. He knew that Grace Phillips was poorly and that Nathan and his little sister Tia had spent their childhood as her carers rather than having the freedom to be children; and he’d promised Nathan silently by the side of his coffin that he’d keep an eye on Grace and Tia.

But he’d been called away almost immediately on another mission, so he hadn’t even been able to attend Nathan’s memorial service. He’d written a personal note and asked Miles to post it for him—but he knew that a note wasn’t the same as actually being there. It had felt horribly like a weak excuse.

And then the fallout from his own father’s death had kept him on special leave from the army. For the last four months, Antonio Valenti had been kept busy supporting Luca as his brother took over the reins of ruling Casavalle. He’d also been helping with the preparations for both the coronation and Luca’s upcoming wedding to Princess Meribel, the oldest daughter of King Jorge of the house of Asturias in the neighbouring kingdom of Aguilarez. He’d barely had a minute to himself since returning to Casavalle, so he’d let his unspoken promise to Nathan slide.

Though Antonio knew he should’ve made the time. Especially as he knew how bad Nathan had felt, leaving his sister to care for their mother while he’d joined the army at the age of sixteen so he could send money home to help them financially. He should’ve done more to help support his best friend’s family. Been there for them, because he knew they had nobody else.

Tia had glanced back at him before going out on the balcony with an empty tray, presumably to collect glasses, but he had no idea whether or not she’d recognised him.

Then again, she was clearly working and her boss wouldn’t be happy if she stood around chatting to guests at the charity gala when she was supposed to be clearing up. Given her family’s circumstances, Antonio knew that Tia needed her job. It wouldn’t be fair to risk her losing the job and having that added financial pressure, just to salve his own guilty conscience.

But he couldn’t just leave things. Not now he’d seen her again. Surely she could spare him two minutes?

‘Please excuse me. I’m expected to mingle,’ he said to the guests he was with. As the patron of the charity, he was supposed to talk to every guest and thank them for their support; but he was pretty sure he’d already done that. So his conscience was clear as he headed towards the balcony where Tia had gone.

She was standing on the other side of the door as he opened it, and almost dropped her tray.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Tia. It’s good to see you.’

‘Thank you, Your Royal Highness,’ she said coolly. ‘I would curtsey, but I’d rather avoid the risk of dropping my tray.’

He winced, knowing he deserved the rebuke. ‘You don’t need to curtsey, and it’s Antonio to you. Your brother was my friend.’

‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’

Which put him very much in his place. He’d been a stranger and he deserved to be treated like one, despite his current attempt to be friendly with her. Given how he’d behaved, the last time they’d met, maybe it wasn’t so surprising that she preferred to keep a barrier of formality against him. OK. He’d stick to formality.

‘Ms Phillips,’ he said. ‘I appreciate that you’re working right now, but perhaps we could talk when you’ve finished?’

‘I really shouldn’t be taking up guests’ time, Your Royal Highness,’ she said.

Which was a polite way of telling him he shouldn’t be taking up her time, either. Another deserved rebuke, he thought. ‘After your shift,’ he said, glancing quickly at his watch. ‘The gala finishes in five minutes.’

When it looked as if she was going to think up an excuse, he said softly, ‘Please. It’d be so good to talk to someone who knew Nathan.’

For a moment, his brown eyes were filled with pain, before his expression returned to its former careful neutrality. So maybe the Prince wasn’t quite as cold and uncaring as he’d seemed. That glimpse of pain just now told her that the Prince really had cared about her brother. Maybe she should cut the man some slack. Be kind to her brother’s friend. Even though part of her still felt he should’ve made more of an effort, for her mum’s sake.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll meet you when I’m done here. But I’m working tomorrow. I can’t stay long.’

‘Just a few minutes. Thank you.’ He paused. ‘I’m staying in the penthouse suite. I can of course arrange for a chaperone, if you prefer.’

‘That won’t be necessary, Your Royal Highness.’ Like her brother, Prince Antonio was a man of honour. Tia knew without having to ask that his behaviour towards her would be respectful. ‘The penthouse suite,’ she echoed.

‘My security team will let you in,’ he said. ‘Forgive me for being rude, but I’d better go back to the guests. I’m the patron of the charity.’

Meaning that he was here on official duties? Though the Prince had been so cold and starchy when he’d come to tell Tia and her mum the news about Nathan, she wasn’t convinced he really cared about bereaved children, the way the patron would normally have a personal interest in the cause they supported. Though maybe losing his friend had taught him a little more empathy.

To her surprise, he held the door for her so she didn’t have to struggle with her tray of glasses.

This was surreal.

She’d just made an assignation with a prince. In his penthouse suite.

A prince who’d been her brother’s best friend, though because Nathan had kept his work and his family separate this was only the second time she’d ever met Prince Antonio. They didn’t really know each other. The only thing they had in common was Nathan and the hole his death had left in their lives.

But maybe she should hear what he had to say. Maybe he’d give her some crumb of comfort she could give to her mum. That would be worth her feeling even more tired tomorrow morning.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of clearing tables and attending to the last-minute needs of guests, but finally she was done.

Sadie hugged her. ‘Thanks so much for helping tonight, Tia. I owe you.’

‘That’s what friends are for,’ Tia said with a smile. ‘And you know it’s a cause close to my heart.’ She’d been in exactly the same position as the children that the charity helped.

‘Get a taxi home. I’ll pick up the bill,’ Sadie said.

Tia shook her head. ‘It’s fine. I’ll get the night tube. The walk will give me a chance to wind down.’ After she’d met Prince Antonio. Not that she planned to tell her friend about that.

‘Then I’m buying you dinner, some time this week. No arguments,’ Sadie said.

‘That would be good. Depending on how Mum is,’ Tia added swiftly. No way was she going out if her mum was having a tough health day. Family came first.

‘Or maybe I could bring dinner round for the three of us,’ Sadie suggested.

‘That might be nicer, if you don’t mind. Mum would really like that.’ And the company would help to brighten her mum’s day.

‘Then we’ll do it. Check your diary tomorrow and text me with your free dates,’ Sadie said.

I’m free every day, Tia thought, but didn’t say it. She was just grateful that one of her old school friends actually understood her situation enough to make the effort to stay in touch. Grace had encouraged her to make a life for herself; even though her grades hadn’t been good enough for her to train as a teacher, Grace had suggested other ways into the classroom. Tia could work as a classroom assistant or at a playgroup, perhaps, or maybe she could do a foundation course at university and then do her degree and train as a teacher. But Tia hadn’t wanted to leave her mum, knowing that Grace’s health really wasn’t good. Being away from home would’ve left her worrying that her mum was struggling, and eventually Tia had convinced her mother that she was much happier staying where she was.

‘I will,’ she promised.

Instead of leaving the hotel, Tia took the lift up to the penthouse suite. A man in a very ordinary suit leaned casually against the wall opposite the lifts as the doors opened, but Tia wasn’t fooled; it was obvious that he was the Prince’s security officer.

‘Ms Phillips.’ It was a statement, not a question. He clearly knew who she was and was expecting her. ‘Would you like to come with me?’

It was a polite enough question, but she knew there wasn’t a real choice. It was accompany him or go straight back down in the lift.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He ushered her over to the door of the penthouse suite, and knocked. ‘Your guest has arrived, sir.’

Not ‘Your Royal Highness’? Or maybe he was from the Casavallian military.

‘Thank you, Giacomo,’ Antonio said as he opened the door. ‘Please come in, Ms Phillips.’

The carpet was the sort that you sank into when you walked on it. One wall of the sitting room was pure glass, looking out over the Thames; it was late enough that the lights from the bridge and the buildings on the other bank were reflected on the dark water of the river.

‘Thank you for coming. May I offer you a drink? Champagne?’

This was her cue to refuse politely and ask him to just get on with it and see what he had to say. But since he had offered refreshment and she’d been on her feet all day and all evening…

‘Actually, Your Royal Highness, I could really do with a cup of tea.’

‘Of course.’ He smiled then. ‘You’re very like your brother. At the end of the day, most of the team would relax with a cold beer. But Nathan said nothing could refresh you like a cup of tea.’

She could almost hear her brother’s voice saying the words, and it put a lump in her throat.

‘Strong enough to stand a spoon up in. One sugar. A dash of milk. And in a mug, not a cup,’ he added.

That was when she knew for sure that he really had been close to Nathan. Because it was exactly what her brother would’ve said. And all of a sudden she felt a bit less wary of him.

‘I remember,’ she said, her breath catching.

‘Do you take yours the same way?’ he asked.

Normally she was just grateful if her tea was hot. ‘Yes. Thank you, Your Royal Highness.’

And he actually made the mug of tea for her himself. No calling room service, no pretensions. Were princes supposed to be like this?

And, she noticed, he joined her in drinking tea. He didn’t take sugar in his, though.

‘Cheers,’ he said, lifting his mug in a toast. ‘To Nathan.’

She lifted her own mug. ‘To Nathan.’

‘You must miss him terribly. As do I.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch, Miss Phillips. Life is a little bit complicated at the moment.’

‘Complicated?’

He shrugged. ‘My father died not long after Nathan was killed. Obviously my older brother will be the one to succeed him, but there’s a lot of political stuff to sort out.’

She’d had no idea that he’d lost his father, too. ‘My condolences on the loss of your father, Your Royal Highness,’ she said formally.

‘Thank you. I know you’ve been in that situation.’

‘Except I was ten when Dad died,’ she said. ‘He was killed in action, too.’

‘That’s tough for you,’ he said. ‘Losing your father and your brother the same way.’

‘It’s one of the reasons why I worked here tonight,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do my bit to help the charity.’ To support children who’d been bereaved the way she had, because she knew what it felt like.

‘You were a volunteer tonight?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Yes. Though, actually, my day job’s in a café.’ A proper Italian café, run by a middle-aged couple from Naples who’d taken her to their hearts and who always sent her home after her shift with treats for her mum.

‘It’s good of you to help. Thank you.’ He paused. ‘How is your mother?’

‘Fine.’ It wasn’t strictly true, although thankfully this week Grace was having a good patch where she was fully mobile and not quite as exhausted. Chronic fatigue syndrome was the kind of illness that had peaks and troughs, and Tia knew that a good week like this would be balanced out by one where her mother could barely get out of bed and would need a lot more help with day-to-day things.

‘I’m sorry. I should’ve kept in touch.’

‘Or come to his funeral.’ The rebuke tumbled out before she could stop it.

He inclined his head. ‘My apologies. I intended to be there. But I was called away on a mission, and it wasn’t one that I could delegate to someone else.’

That hadn’t occurred to her. It was a valid excuse, she supposed, though she still thought he could’ve sent her mother a personal note.

As if he’d guessed at what she was thinking, he said, ‘I did write a letter to apologise for my absence.’

‘Mum didn’t get any letter from you.’

He frowned. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t arrive. I promise you, I did write.’

‘It must’ve got lost in the post. That’s not your fault.’ Though he hadn’t followed up on his note after his mission. Surely he could’ve found the time to at least call her mother?

He took a deep breath. ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Nothing,’ she said immediately. They didn’t need to lean on anyone. She and Grace were doing just fine on their own. They had their routines and they had good friends to support them. They didn’t need a prince throwing money at them to salve his conscience.

‘Nathan said you were proud and independent,’ Antonio said gently. ‘Which is a good thing. But your brother was part of my team. My friend. And, despite what you must think, my team are like family to me. If I can help to make life easier, Miss Phillips, please let me know. Nathan wouldn’t have wanted you to struggle.’

He was offering her a financial handout? She kept her temper with difficulty and said politely, ‘Thank you, Your Royal Highness, but we’re managing just fine as we are.’

‘I didn’t intend to offend you,’ he said. ‘Just…’ For a moment, he looked racked with guilt. ‘I couldn’t do anything to save your brother.’

‘It wasn’t your fault that he was killed. And Nathan knew the risks of the job before he signed up for it.’ She knew her brother had wanted to follow in their father’s footsteps.

‘I know. But it doesn’t stop me missing him.’

Then he looked shocked, as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

And again that bleakness was back in his eyes for a moment before he managed to hide it again.

Prince Antonio, despite his privileged upbringing, seemed lonely, deep inside. Right now she’d been given a glimpse of the man behind the cool, collected mask. And she could almost hear her brother’s voice echoing in her head: He could do with a hug.

Which would be way outside official protocol. Then again, some things were more important than protocol. So Tia put her mug on the coffee table, walked over to Prince Antonio, put his mug on the coffee table next to hers, and wrapped her arms around him.

For a long, long time, he just stood there, unmoving; but then, just as she was about to apologise and take a step backwards, he wrapped his arms around her and held her back, warm and comforting.

She really, really had intended it as comfort. Just comfort. Sharing their grief.

But one of them—she wasn’t sure which of them—moved, and his cheek was pressed against hers. Her skin tingled where it touched his. Another tiny movement—hers? His?—and the corners of their mouths were touching.

The tingle spread.

Another infinitesimally small shift, and then his mouth was brushing against hers.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

He was a prince and she was a waitress. Their lives were so far apart, it was untrue. Neither of them was in a position to start any kind of relationship. He had official duties and she was busy working and looking after her mother. Nothing could possibly come of this.

But the temptation to take comfort from him and to comfort him in turn was so strong.

Maybe this was something they both needed. Just for one night. No strings.

Because, just as Antonio had shown no emotion when he’d come to tell them the news about Nathan, Tia had locked her own tears away because she’d needed to be strong for her mother.

When he broke the kiss and looked into her eyes, she could see the tears glittering there, the emotion he was trying so hard to repress.

Maybe tonight they could cry together. Find a release together. Comfort each other. Heal each other.

Just for tonight.

‘Stay with me, Tia?’ he whispered.

Common sense said that she should leave. She was due at work tomorrow morning. And there was her mother to think about.

But Becky was only next door if she was needed. Tia could drink coffee tomorrow rather than tea to get her through her shift. Right now, Antonio needed her—and she needed him.

She laid her palm against his cheek. ‘Yes.’

He kissed her again, scooped her into his arms and carried her to his bed.

CHAPTER ONE

November

THERE WAS NO other way round it, Tia thought, curving a protective hand around her bump.

Miles Montague, the palace secretary, had been perfectly polite to her just now. But, just as he’d done with every single one of her previous calls, he’d rebuffed her, refusing to put her through to Antonio. She’d begged him to pass on a message, asking Antonio to call her. She’d told Miles that she knew the Prince, and it was really important that she speak to him.

But Miles had left her with the impression that, as an eligible bachelor, Prince Antonio had hundreds of women calling, claiming they ‘knew’ him because they had shaken his hand once or attended an event where he was on the guest list. The palace secretary clearly thought she was just another in a long line of unwanted callers, and he wasn’t going to put her through.

Miles had been kind enough. He’d asked her if he could help. He’d asked her to tell him what the problem was.

But how could she let news like this go through a third party, no matter how discreet he seemed or how well he knew Antonio? This was something she needed to tell the Prince herself. That their one night together, the night that was supposed to give them both comfort and never be referred to again, had had consequences.

She’d tried to explain that Antonio knew her brother; but Miles had asked in that kind but immovable way exactly how Antonio knew her brother, and she’d ended up in tears of frustration.

How could the palace secretary not even know the names of the people who were on Antonio’s team in the international alliance? Surely he’d know information like that?

Frustrated and miserable, she’d ended the call.

She’d tried a dozen times now to talk to Antonio, to tell him about the baby.

And failed a dozen times, too.

She didn’t have his email address, and even if she did she suspected that someone else—probably Miles Montague, or one of his team—would check through the messages before they reached Antonio, weeding out the ones they judged unimportant or inappropriate, which would definitely include hers. The same would go for letters. Any message she left would be blocked just as effectively as her phone calls had been blocked.

It left her with no other alternative. She’d have to go to Casavalle herself to tell him about the baby. Face to face.

If she sat on Antonio’s doorstep and refused to budge, they’d have to let her talk to him. And she could tell him the news—well, as she was six months pregnant, he’d be able to see that quite well enough for himself, she thought wryly—and then leave.

Originally, she hadn’t intended to tell him at all. She hadn’t realised for a couple of months that she was pregnant; then, when she’d finally realised her period was a lot later than usual and did a test, she’d seen the centre spread in the celebrity magazine she’d bought for her mum as a treat. A story about Prince Antonio of Casavalle, speculating which of the four women who’d graced his arm that month might be his future bride.

How ironic. Tia had thought she’d had a glimpse of the real Prince, the man her brother had been friends with—but maybe he was exactly what the media said he was. He hadn’t really needed her to comfort him, that night, because he had strings of women ready to comfort him. And she’d been so angry at herself for being a fool that it had taken her mum another month to talk her round into telling Antonio about her pregnancy.

Six weeks later, she still hadn’t told him—though not for the want of trying.

She grimaced. She didn’t expect anything from him, either for herself or for the baby, and she certainly wasn’t looking for a cash handout or anything like that. Antonio had been her brother’s friend, and she owed it to him to tell him that the baby existed. And that was the limit of their obligations to each other, because their lives were too different for anything else to happen.

She flicked into the Internet. The cheapest flight to Casavalle would get her in at about half-past eight tomorrow evening. She had no idea how far it was from the airport to the palace, but even though she wouldn’t have to wait to collect her luggage she would still have to go through airport security and customs. Maybe she’d get to the palace at ten p.m.—which was way too late for anyone to be admitted to the palace offices.

To get there for the early afternoon… She scanned the flight schedules. She’d have to leave London really early in the morning and change planes at Rome, and she’d have a two-hour layover in between. Plus the flight was a lot more expensive. It was money she could really do with elsewhere in her budget; but if she got the cheaper flight and stayed at a hotel overnight, it would cost even more, and she couldn’t waste money that she needed to spend on the baby.

She stroked her bump. ‘Hopefully we’ll find somewhere quiet to sit at the airport, and we’ll get a taxi from the airport to the palace.’ She’d ask to speak to Miles Montague. And as soon as he saw her he’d realise exactly why it was so important for her to talk to Antonio. Then she could deliver her message—and go home.

Wednesday. ‘Hump day’, they called it in civilian jobs. The middle of the week.

Except you didn’t get a day off from being a prince, Antonio thought.

And you particularly didn’t get a day off when you had a long-lost older sister who was very probably going to be the one taking their father’s place as the ruler of the kingdom, and an older brother whose fiancée had told him on the eve of their wedding that she was pregnant with her true love’s baby, resulting in the royal wedding that the whole country had been looking forward to being cancelled at the last minute. The Asturias family were just as keen as the Valentis to minimise the scandal, so they’d issued a joint statement to the media that the wedding had been cancelled due to ‘irreconcilable differences’ between the bride and groom.

Luca, wanting to get away from the palace, had gone to meet their long-lost half-sister Gabriella in Canada; which meant that, instead of their original plan of Antonio being the one to go over and meet Gabriella, he was stuck here.

In charge of the country.

Something he’d never really expected to happen, despite being third in line to the throne. He’d thought his father would go on for ever, and then Luca would take over, and then Luca and Princess Meribel would have children who would be next in line.

But, this last year, their lives had been turned upside down. Everything he’d thought he knew turned out not to be true.

Life at the palace was turning out to be much more stressful than taking part in dangerous missions in the army. At least as a soldier Antonio had known what he was doing. He’d had a strategy. He’d had a team he could rely on. They were all working on the same side; his team listened to him, as their leader, and he’d had a brilliant second-in-command in Nathan. In Casavalle, things were nowhere near as clear cut. It was so easy to misinterpret words and put the wrong spin on things; the most innocent comment could swiftly turn into a political nightmare.

Just one day, he thought wistfully. He’d love to have just one single day where he could have the time to gather his thoughts instead of constantly firefighting and dealing with political situations. Had it been like that for their father? Was that why King Vincenzo had always been so remote and distant, even from his sons, because he’d simply been worn out from watching every single word or expression or gesture?

At the rap on his open door, Antonio looked up to see the palace secretary standing there.

‘Good afternoon, Miles. What can I do for you?’ he asked, forcing a smile and hoping that whatever the secretary wanted from him wasn’t going to mean yet more politics and media attention.

‘Sir,’ Miles began.

The palace secretary was usually unflappable. Right now he looked distinctly nervous and Antonio’s heart sank. Was the palace about to be hit with yet another scandal? They said things came in threes, and a long-lost princess and a broken engagement because the bride was pregnant by someone else definitely counted as two…

This felt like living in a television soap opera. And Antonio wasn’t enjoying the drama one little bit. Yet again, he wished he was back in the army. Back in the job he was really good at.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I have someone asking to see you.’

Why would Miles be worried about that? ‘Who?’ he asked, narrowing his eyes.

‘A young lady. Tia Phillips. She said she knows you.’

Tia was here?

Antonio shook himself mentally and damped down that little frisson of desire. Their one night together wasn’t going to be repeated. They’d both made it clear that it was for comfort, it was for one night only, and neither of them had any expectations of the other. And Miles didn’t need to know anything about that. He just needed to know that Tia was telling the truth. ‘Yes, she knows me. I served with her brother.’

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 cold. And that tiny, daft bit of her that had been hoping for the impossible simply shrivelled and died.

Worst of all, the flare of attraction she’d felt towards him was still there. Stronger, if anything, now she knew what it felt like to spend the night in his arms. Even seeing him made her heart feel as if it was doing a somersault.

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 sheet stuff. The media is going to take one look at you, rub their hands with glee and start digging for more scandal.’

She hadn’t thought of that. ‘But they don’t know why I’m here.’

‘They’ll speculate. It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not. They’ll suggest whatever gives them the most readers. They’ll talk to anyone who knows you and dredge up any hint of scandal. Your mother is going to be a sitting target for them. From now until at least when the baby’s born, you’re all going to need my protection,’ he continued. ‘Which includes the help of Miles Montague. And, as you know, almost nothing gets through Miles. Even when sometimes it should.’

There was a rap on the office door.

‘Yes,’ Antonio said.

The palace secretary himself opened the door to his office. ‘Sir? Miss Phillips? Is everything all right?’ he asked, looking concerned.

‘It will be,’ Antonio said. ‘Miles, I’ll brief you properly later. But for now this isn’t to be discussed anywhere or with anyone—and that includes my mother, Luca and Gabriella.’

There was a slight note of warning in his tone, and the older man flushed as he walked over to his desk. ‘Of course, sir.’

Antonio sighed. ‘I’ll talk to them when I’m ready,’ he said, and this time his voice was a little gentler. ‘If anyone needs me urgently in the next hour or so, we’ll be in my apartment. But I’d appreciate it if you could stall anyone if possible, Miles. Tia and I really need to talk in private and without interruptions.’

‘Of course. If you need anything…’

Antonio patted his shoulder. ‘You’re there. I know. And I’m grateful for that.’

Miles nodded, then looked at Tia, his expression awkward. ‘I apologise, Miss Phillips, for earlier. When you called the office, and when you first came here.’

It had upset her, but she could understand why he’d acted that way. ‘You were doing your job,’ she said. ‘Protecting the Prince.’

‘And Tia’s going to be under your protection now, too,’ Antonio said. ‘I’ll brief you shortly. Tia, come with me.’ He looked at her and added swiftly, ‘Please.’

Good. Because she wasn’t Antonio’s subject or his employee, and she wasn’t going to let him order her about.

The palace had seemed daunting enough from the outside: a massive white stone building with towers and turrets and spires and huge windows; a long driveway lined with enormous Norway spruces covered alternately with blue and white lights; and huge entrance doors at the top of the sweeping granite steps. Tia had found the interior even more daunting, with the enormous foyer that felt more like a cathedral space, with a Christmas tree that had to be a good forty feet tall; the angel on top was close to touching the ceiling, and it was beautifully decorated with what looked like priceless one-of-a-kind baubles, one of which seemed to be in a special display. Crowds actually came in to the palace to see the tree, which was how Tia had managed to slip in and ask to see the palace secretary in the first place.

It was magnificent. But it was also very formal, and it didn’t leave her with the warmth she felt with their own Christmas tree back in London, with its decorations that had been collected year after year by her mother and every single one of them had meaning and memories. Their rather threadbare artificial Christmas tree didn’t go up until the week before Christmas; here, it was early November and already everything was in its place. Then again, she supposed, things were different with the public rooms of a palace; visitors would expect to see decorations on display this early.

Behind the beautiful garlands of fir and pine on the mantels and staircases, the rooms were richly decorated, with cream walls and lots of gold everywhere. There were huge windows, large mirrors that reflected the light back from the windows and the crystal and gold chandeliers and made the rooms seem even more massive, ceilings covered with priceless paintings, Christmas trees in every room whose decorations she suspected had been put in place with a ruler measuring the precise distance between each one, enormous exotic poinsettias gracing side tables, sweeping staircases leading into long corridors, luxurious carpets you literally sank into as you walked on them…

It was another world, one where the likes of Tia could never fit in.

And it was overwhelming.

Tia was aware that Antonio was talking to her as he ushered her up the sweeping staircase to his first-floor apartment, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he was saying. All she could see was the regal magnificence of their surroundings, and it left her feeling more and more out of place.

Finally he opened a door and indicated to her to enter.

His sitting room was much more ordinary than the rest of the palace. The furniture here didn’t look too antique and too priceless to touch, let alone sit on, and to her relief there was much less gold in evidence. There were photographs on the mantelpiece in what looked like solid gold frames, mainly of what she assumed was Antonio’s family; but there were also photographs of Antonio’s team in the army, and tears pricked her eyelids when she recognised her brother among them.

‘Let me get you that tea,’ Antonio said, ushering her into the kitchen—a sizeable room by normal standards, but thankfully smaller than the rooms she’d seen so far in the palace.

‘Thank you. That would be nice.’

‘What would you like to eat?’

She shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I’m not really hungry.’

He gave her a speaking look. ‘You’re pregnant. You need to eat.’

She didn’t reply but, a couple of minutes later, she found herself sitting at his kitchen table with a mug of tea made just how she liked it and a chicken salad sandwich.

‘I really didn’t expect you to—’ she began.

‘Eat,’ he cut in. ‘Then we’ll talk.’

It left her with no choice but to follow his instructions. And she had to admit that the sandwich and the mug of tea did make her feel better. He didn’t say a word until she’d finished, simply sipped his tea.

And then he looked at her. ‘OK. So, first off,’ he said gently, ‘how are you?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Really fine? Because I know some women have a tough time in pregnancy.’

She shrugged. ‘I had a bit of morning sickness in the early weeks. Nothing out of the usual.’ She opened her handbag, took out a photograph and handed it to him. ‘I wanted to give you this.’

‘Thank you,’ he said politely.

‘It’s our baby. From the twenty-week scan, last month.’

‘Our baby,’ he echoed.

She still had absolutely no idea what he was thinking, what he was feeling. His voice and his face were completely expressionless as he looked at the photograph. On the surface he was all urbane charm, just as a prince should be. But was he shocked? Horrified? Secretly pleased? She didn’t have a clue. Who was the real man behind the royal facade?

‘So,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask you the difficult question first. Do you plan to keep the baby?’

‘It’s way too late for a termination.’ Not that she’d wanted that, in any case.

‘I didn’t mean that. Were you planning to give the baby up for adoption after the birth?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re keeping him. Or her.’

Not ‘it’. She was grateful that at least he hadn’t said that. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I have financial responsibilities towards you.’

‘That isn’t why I came. I can manage.’ It would be a struggle, but she was used to that. She’d muddle through, the way she always had, working whatever hours she could fit in around the baby and her mum.

‘Tia, this is a Valenti baby,’ he said. ‘There are expectations. If nothing else, this baby…’ He sucked in a breath. ‘The way things stand, this baby could be fourth in line to the throne.’

She looked at him in shock. ‘What? How?’

‘It’s been a bit complicated around here. Which is why I didn’t get in touch with you after… London.’

The night they’d spent together.

The night that clearly hadn’t meant anything to him.

The night that had resulted in their baby.

‘Uh-huh,’ she said, in an attempt to be as cool and calm and collected as he seemed, though inside she wanted to yell at him.

‘You left me that note and I fully intended to call you later that day, after your shift,’ Antonio said. ‘But, that morning, my mother called me to tell me about Gabriella—my father’s daughter from his first marriage, except none of us had any idea she even existed until quite recently. My mother needed to talk to me about it and help her decide how to deal with the situation. She wanted to talk to me because Luca already had enough on his plate, ruling the country and preparing to be King. I had to come straight back to Casavalle, because my family needed me.’

Tia could understand that. It was the same for her and for Nathan: they’d been there for their mother because she was their family and she needed them.

‘And I’m afraid my mind was so focused on the situation at home, I didn’t think to contact you. I’m sorry.’

Tia had been hurt when Antonio hadn’t been in touch after the charity gala, even though she knew she was being ridiculous about it: of course a prince wasn’t going to fall for a mere waitress. Of course he wanted nothing more from her than their night of passion. It had been a one-off thing. But now she was seeing things from a different perspective. Antonio was part of a much bigger picture.

‘At the moment we’re waiting for DNA results, but my mother, Luca and I all think it’s very probable that Gabriella is indeed the oldest child of our father, which means she’s entitled to accede to the throne and rule Casavalle. She has no children, which makes my brother Luca her heir and puts him second in line to the throne. Luca also has no children; although Princess Meribel, his former fiancée, is pregnant, the baby isn’t Luca’s. So that makes me Luca’s heir and third in line to the throne; and that means our baby is my heir and fourth in line to the throne.’ He shrugged. ‘Though if we’re wrong about the DNA test or Gabriella decides not to accede to the throne, then everything shifts up one place and our baby will be third in line.’

It hadn’t really hit home until that moment, but Tia realised right then that her baby was of royal blood.

A baby in line for a crown.

‘I…’ She tailed off, hardly able to take in the enormity of the situation.

‘As I said,’ Antonio continued quietly, ‘it’s been a little complicated around here. Luca’s wedding to Meribel has been planned for a very long time. But Meribel told Luca on the eve of their wedding that she was in love with someone else and was pregnant with his baby, so she couldn’t go through with marrying him. We agreed with her family that we’d say the wedding was cancelled due to irreconcilable differences, though the people of Aguilarez—Meribel’s kingdom, on the other side of the mountains—assumed that meant Luca had practically jilted her at the altar, and they blamed him for the wedding not happening.

‘It was politically…’ He grimaced. ‘Let’s just say it was a bit sensitive. If we didn’t tell the truth, it could lead to a great deal of discord between our countries. Yet if we told the truth—that Meribel was the one to have the affair—then it would be putting the blame on her, and that would be dishonourable.’

Tia didn’t quite understand that. ‘How could it be dishonourable when she was the one who had the affair?’

‘It’s still dishonourable,’ Antonio insisted.

‘So whatever you did, you’d lose,’ Tia said slowly.

‘Something like that. Except then someone leaked the truth of the matter. Not from our side,’ he was quick to clarify. ‘Meribel is in hiding right now, and it feels as if the media has put Casavalle under a microscope, scrutinising every move any of us makes and spotting every potential scandal.’ He looked at her. ‘Someone in the palace will have noticed you, and they will have heard you ask to speak to Miles. They will definitely have noticed your bump. So people will be asking questions about you—who are you, and why did you want to speak to the palace secretary? Whose baby are you carrying? They’ll be watching for you to leave the palace.

‘And the paparazzi don’t play nice, Tia. They’ll strike up a conversation at the airport and you’ll think you’re simply chatting to another passenger to pass the time. They’ll ask all kinds of questions and pump you for information without you even knowing what they’re doing, and the next thing you know it’ll be all over the media. They’ll dig on the Internet and they’ll know everything about you before you get back to London—where you live, where you work, all about your mother’s health. They’ll follow you and they’ll doorstep you.’

‘Doorstep me?’ She didn’t understand.

‘They’ll wait outside your front door in a gaggle. The back door, too. There’s no escape from them. The second you open any door, the flashbulbs will go off and they’ll be yelling your name and asking you questions. If you’ve ever seen it happen in a film, I can assure you that it’s been romanticised. In real life, it’s much harsher. You have to push your way through the mob, and all the time there will be microphones shoved in your face and flashbulbs going off and people yelling.

‘If you say anything, it’ll be spun to suit their agenda. If you say nothing, then they’ll speculate, and they’ll do it with the nastiest implications—and you won’t be able to protest because they’ll claim they’re asking questions, not making a statement. Your life won’t be your own.’

That hadn’t occurred to her. She’d simply thought to let Antonio know that their night together had had consequences, then quietly go back to London. ‘I… Look, if there’s a way you can get me from the palace to the airport without them seeing me, then I promise not to talk to a single person until I’m back home with my mum.’

He shook his head. ‘It’s already too late for that. As I said, things have been complicated around here lately.’

And she’d just added another complication to his life. An illegitimate baby.

Her misery must’ve shown in her expression, because he took her hand. ‘Tia. I know neither of us planned this. But you have my support now and you definitely need my protection. I think we both need to get our heads round the situation, and the middle of a royal palace isn’t the best place to do that. I know somewhere quiet we can go for a few days that will give us a chance to think things through and talk about the future.’

‘But I wasn’t planning to stay here, not even for a night. I don’t have even a toothbrush with me, let alone any clean clothes,’ Tia protested. ‘And my mum’s expecting me back home tonight.’

‘Then call her. Tell her that you’re staying here for a little while.’ He paused. ‘Give me three days, Tia.’

‘Three days?’ Tia was horrified. ‘What if Mum needs me?’

‘Do you have a neighbour or a friend nearby who can keep an eye out for her?’ Antonio asked. ‘Or I can arrange for a nurse to come in and help her, if you prefer.’ He looked at her. ‘I apologise. Nathan didn’t tell me much about your mother’s condition, other than that she’d been poorly since you were small. And I was brought up not to ask personal questions. So I’m afraid I don’t know how ill she is.’

‘Mum has chronic fatigue syndrome,’ Tia said. ‘It used to be called ME—myalgic encephalomyelitis.’

When Antonio looked blank, she continued, ‘After Dad was killed in action, Mum went down with a virus, and we think that’s what triggered the CFS because she never really recovered. It’s a bit like having the flu, with joint pains and a headache you simply can’t shift, and absolute exhaustion—but it doesn’t go away after a couple of weeks, like the flu does. She has it all the time. So she needs to rest a lot.

‘It’s a variable condition; some days she’s fine and to look at her you’d never know she was ill, and other days she can barely get out of bed. And she’s not lazy or stupid. It’s not like when you’re feeling just a bit tired after a busy day—she gets absolutely exhausted and physically can’t do anything. If she has a day when she’s feeling really well and overdoes things, then she’ll really pay for it for a few days afterwards. She has to be careful.’

‘And you look after her?’

‘Yes, and I don’t begrudge a second of it. I love her. She’s my mum.’ Growing up, Tia had had days when she’d wished her life had been more like that of her friends, where she’d had time to do homework and hang out with her friends and meet boys, instead of struggling to keep up with her studies and worrying that her mum’s condition was getting worse, and never starting a relationship because she knew it couldn’t go anywhere. But she’d done her best to hide it from her mother, because she loved Grace and didn’t want her mother to feel as if she was a burden.

Grace had encouraged her to go out with her friends, but Tia didn’t like leaving her mum, except when she went to work and she was only just round the corner and could rush back if there was an emergency.

‘Tia,’ he said gently, ‘we’re going to need to talk about the best way to support your mother when you have a small baby to look after as well. Because you’re not going to be able to do everything.’

Oh, yes, she could. She always had. ‘It’ll be fine.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I’ll manage. We always do.’

Meaning that she’d struggle and drive herself into the ground.

Antonio was shocked by the sheer protectiveness he felt towards her. And it wasn’t just because she was his best friend’s little sister. There was something about Tia Phillips. She was brave and strong and independent, not looking for the easy way out—she’d been very explicit that she expected nothing from him. He admired her courage; yet, at the same time, he wanted to take some of those burdens away. What she’d just told him, in addition to the little that Nathan had let slip, made him realise that she must’ve spent most of her life looking after her mother. She’d never really had a normal childhood.

Well, she didn’t have to struggle any more. He could support her. Though he was pretty sure that her pride would get in the way and she’d refuse any help. So he needed to gain her trust, first. And that meant being specific rather than vague.