Expecting the Prince's Baby (Harlequin Romance\Princes of Europe) (2 page)

Instead of the attorney-like persona she generally presented, she reminded Vincenzo of the lovely teenager who’d once flitted about the palace grounds on her long legs.

“Abby?”

She turned a face to him filled with the kind of sorrow he’d seen after her mother had died. “Your Highness,” she whispered, obviously shocked to see him. A glint of purple showed through her tear-glazed blue eyes. She studied him for a long moment. “It’s good to see you again.”

Because of the extreme delicacy of their unique situation, it frustrated him that she’d addressed him that way, yet he could find no fault in her.

“Call me Vincenzo when the staff isn’t around. That’s what you used to shout at me when you were running around the gardens years ago.”

“Children are known to get away with murder.”

“So are surrogate mothers.” There was something about being with Abby. “After such a long trip, I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to talking to you in person.”

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

Though he appreciated her words, he wished he could say the same about her. “What’s wrong? I noticed you hardly ate your dinner. Are you ill?”

“No, no. Not at all.” Abby got up from the chair, rubbing the palms of her hands against the sides of womanly hips. To his chagrin the gesture drew his attention to her figure. “Please don’t think that finding me in this state has anything to do with the baby.”

“That relieves me, but I’m still worried about you. Anything troubling you bothers me.”

She let out a sigh. “After I watched your live television appearance a little while ago, they replayed a segment of the funeral. I shouldn’t have watched it.” Her gaze searched his eyes. “Your suffering was so terrible back then. I can’t even imagine it.”

Diavolo.
The media never let up. “To say I was in shock wouldn’t have begun to cover my state of mind,” he said.

Abby hugged her arms to her chest, once again drawing his attention to her slender waist. So far the only proof that she was pregnant came from a blood test. She studied him for a moment. “Michelina loved you so much, she was willing to do anything to give you a baby. I daresay not every husband has had that kind of love from his spouse. It’s something you’ll always be able to cherish.”

If he could just get past his guilt over the unhappy state of their marriage. His inability to return Michelina’s affection the way she’d wanted weighed him down, but he appreciated Abby’s words.

Little did Abby know how right she was. In public his wife had made no secret of her affection for him and he’d tried to return it to keep up the myth of a love match. But in private Vincenzo had cared for her the way he did a friend. She’d pushed so hard at the end to try surrogacy in order to save their marriage, he’d finally agreed to consider it.

Needing to change the subject, he said, “Why don’t you sit down while we talk?”

“Thank you.” She did as he asked.

He subsided into another of the chairs by her desk. “How are you really feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Rest assured that during my trip I insisted on being given a daily report on your progress. It always came back ‘fine.’”

“It doesn’t surprise me you checked. Something tells me you’re a helicopter father already,” she quipped.

“If you mean I’m interested to the point of driving you crazy with questions, I’m afraid I’m guilty. Since you and I have known each other from the time you were twelve, it helps me to know I can have the inside track on the guardian of my baby. Dr. DeLuca said your blood pressure went up at the time of the funeral, but it’s back to normal and he promises me you’re in excellent health.”

Abby had a teasing look in her eye. “They say only your doctor knows for sure, but never forget he’s a man and has no clue.”

Laughter broke from Vincenzo’s lips. It felt good to laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“So what does the crown prince’s
personal
physician have to say about the state of the expectant father?”

He smiled. “I was disgustingly healthy at my last checkup.”

“That’s good news for your baby, who hopes to enjoy a long, rich life with his or her daddy.”

Daddy
was what he’d heard Abby call her father from the beginning. The two of them had the sort of close relationship any parent would envy. Vincenzo intended to be the kind of wonderful father his own had been.

“You’re veering off the subject. I told you I want the unvarnished truth about your condition,” he persisted.

“Unvarnished?” she said with a sudden hint of a smile that broke through to light up his insides. “Well. Let me see. I’m a lot sleepier lately, feel bloated and have finally been hit with the
mal di mare.
”

The Italian expression for sea sickness. Trust Abby to come up with something clever. They both chuckled.

“Dr. DeLuca has given me medicine for that and says it will all pass. Then in the seventh month I’ll get tired again.”

“Has he been hovering as you feared?”

“Actually no. I check in at the clinic once a week before going to work. He says everything looks good and I’m right on schedule. Can you believe your baby is only one-fifth of an inch long?”

“That big?” he teased. Though it really was incredible, he found it astounding she was pregnant with a part of him. He wished he could shut off his awareness of her. Michelina’s death had changed their world.

Vincenzo suspected Abby was also having to deal with the fact that the two of them were now forced to get through this pregnancy without his wife. No doubt she felt some guilt, too, because they were treading new ground neither of them could have imagined when they’d had the procedure done.

A laugh escaped her lips. “It’s in the developmental stage. He gave me two identical booklets. This one is for you. Anatomy 101 for beginner fathers.”

Abby...

She reached in the desk drawer and handed it to him. The title said
The Ten Stages of Pregnancy at a Glance.

“Why ten, not nine?”

“A woman wrote it and knows these things.”

He appreciated her little jokes more than she could imagine. Her normally lighthearted disposition was a balm to his soul. Vincenzo thumbed through the booklet before putting it in his pocket. When he went to bed tonight, he’d digest it.

“Thank you. Now tell me about your law cases.” A safe subject that intrigued him. “Which one keeps you awake at night?”

“The Giordano case. I have a hunch someone’s trying to block his initiative for political reasons.”

“Run it by me.”

Her arched brows lifted. “You’d be bored to tears.”

“Try me.” Nothing about Abby bored him.

She reached in one of the folders on her desk and handed him a printout on the case, which he perused.

As has been stated, major constraint to import into Arancia is nothing more than bureaucracy. Import certificates can take up to eight months to be released, and in some cases are not released at all. However, if the procedure is simplified, an increase of imports could particularly benefit Arancia, providing high-value high-season products.

That made even more sense to Vincenzo since talking to important exporters on his trip.

At present, the hyper/supermarket chains do not operate directly on the import market, but use the main wholesalers of oranges and lemons as intermediaries. Signor Giordano, representing the retailers, has entered the import market, thus changing some long-established import partnerships. He’s following a different strategy, based on higher competition, initial entry fees and spot purchases, thus bringing more revenue to Arancia.

Vincenzo knew instinctively that Signor Giordano was really on to something.

Signor Masala, representing the importers, is trying to block this new initiative. He has favored cooperative producers and established medium-to long-term contracts, without requiring any entry fee. The figures included in this brief show a clear difference in revenue, favoring Signor Giordano’s plan.

I’m filing this brief to the court to demonstrate that these high-quality products for fast-track approval would benefit the economy and unfortunately are not unavailable in the country at the present time.

Vincenzo handed her back the paper. Her knowledge and grasp of their country’s economic problems impressed him no end. He cocked his head. “Giuseppe Masala has a following and is known as a hard hitter on the trade commission.”

Abby’s brows met in a delicate frown. “Obviously he’s from the old school. Signor Giordano’s ideas are new and innovative. He’s worked up statistics that show Arancia could increase its imports of fuel, motor vehicles, raw materials, chemicals, electronic devices and food by a big margin. His chart with historical data proves his ideas will work.

“I’d like to see him get his fast-track idea passed, but the lobby against it is powerful. Signor Masala’s attorney is stalling to get back to me with an answer.”

She had him fascinated. “So what’s your next strategy?”

Abby put the paper back in the folder. “I’m taking him to court to show cause. But the docket is full and it could be awhile.”

“Who’s the judge?”

“Mascotti.”

The judge was a good friend of Vincenzo’s father. Keeping that in mind, he said, “Go on fighting the good fight, Abby. I have faith in you and know you’ll get there.”

“Your optimism means a lot to me.”

She was friendly, yet kept their relationship at a professional distance the way she’d always done. To his dismay he discovered he wanted more, in different surroundings where they could be casual and spend time talking together like they used to. Her suite wasn’t the right place.

Her bodyguard already knew he’d stopped by to see her and would know how long he stayed. He wanted to trust Angelina, but you never knew who your enemies were. Vincenzo’s father had taught him that early on. So it was back to the business at hand. “The doctor’s office faxed me a schedule of your appointments. I understand you’re due for your eight weeks’ checkup on Friday, May 1.” She nodded. “I plan to join you at the clinic and have arranged for us to meet with the psychologist for our first session afterward.”

“You mean you’ll have time?” She looked surprised.

“I’ve done a lot of business since we last saw each other and have reported in to the king. At this juncture I’m due some time off and am ready to get serious about my duties as a father-in-waiting.”

Laughter bubbled out of her. “You’re very funny at times, Vincenzo.”

No one had ever accused him of that except Abby. He hated bringing the fun to an end, but he needed to discuss more serious matters with her that couldn’t be put off before he left.

“Your mention of the funeral reminds me of how compassionate you are, and how much you cared for Michelina. I’ve wanted to tell you why we decided against your attending the funeral.”

She moistened her lips nervously. “My father already explained. Naturally, none of us wanted the slightest hint of gossip to mar your life in any way. Just between us, let me tell you how much I liked and admired Michelina. I’ve missed my daily talks with her and mourn her loss.”

He felt her sincerity. “She cared for you, too.”

“I—I wish there’d been a way to take your pain away—” her voice faltered “—but there wasn’t. Only time can heal those wounds.”

“Which is something you know all about, after losing your mother.”

“I’ll admit it was a bad time for Dad and me, but we got through it. There’s no burning pain anymore.”

When he’d seen Carlo Loretto’s agony after losing his wife, Vincenzo had come to realize how lucky they’d been to know real love. Abby had grown up knowing her parents had been lovers in the true sense of the word. Obviously she could be forgiven for believing he and Michelina had that kind of marriage.
A marriage that had physically ended at the very moment there was new hope for them.

“Did your father explain why I haven’t phoned you in all these weeks?”

“Yes. Though you and Michelina had told me we could call each other back and forth if problems arose, Dad and I talked about that too. We decided it will be better if you and I always go through your personal assistant, Marcello.”

“As do I.”

It would definitely be better, Vincenzo mused. She understood everything. With Michelina gone, no unexplained private calls to him from Abby meant no calls to be traced by someone out to stir up trouble. They’d entered forbidden territory after going through with the surrogacy.

Vincenzo had to hope the gossip mill within the palace wouldn’t get to the point that he could no longer trust in the staff’s loyalty. But he knew it had happened in every royal house, no matter the measures taken, and so did she.

“I mustn’t keep you, but before I go, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

“Michelina’s mother and brothers flew in for the festival.” It was an excuse for what the queen really wanted. “She would like to meet with you and me in the state drawing room at nine in the morning.”

His concern over having to meet with his mother-in-law had less to do with the argument Michelina and the queen had gotten into before the fatal accident, and much more to do with the fact that he hadn’t been able to love her daughter the way she’d loved him. He was filled with guilt and dreaded this audience for Abby’s sake. But his mother-in-law had to be faced, and she had refused to be put off. “Your father will clear it with your boss so he’ll understand why you’ll be a little late for work.”

“That’s fine.”

It wouldn’t be fine, but he would be in the room to protect her. “Then I’ll say good-night.”

She nodded. “Welcome home, Vincenzo, and
buonanotte.
” Another smile broke out on her lovely face.

“Sogni d’oro.”

CHAPTER TWO

T
HE
PRINCE
’
S
FINAL
words, “sweet dreams,” stayed with her all night. Seeing him again had caused an adrenaline rush she couldn’t shut off. She awakened earlier than usual to get ready, knowing Michelina’s mother would ask a lot of questions.

Abby always dressed up for work. Since the law firm of Faustino, Ruggeri, Duomo and Tonelli catered to a higher-class clientele, Signor Faustino, the senior partner, had impressed upon her and everyone else who worked there the need to look fashionable. Though her heart wasn’t in it this morning, she took her antinausea pill with breakfast, then forced herself to go through the motions.

Everyone knew she was the daughter of the chief of security for the palace, so no one questioned the royal limo bringing her to and from work. Except for her boss and Carolena, her coworkers were clueless about Abby’s specific situation. That’s the way things needed to remain until she took a leave of absence.

After the delivery, the palace would issue a formal statement that a surrogate mother had successfully carried the baby of their Royal Highnesses, the new heir who would be second in line to the throne. At that time Abby would disappear. But it wouldn’t be for a while.

Vincenzo had been a part of her life for so long, she couldn’t imagine the time coming when she’d no longer see him. Once the baby was born, she would live in another part of the city and get on with her life as a full-time attorney. How strange that was going to be.

From the time she’d moved here with her family, he’d been around to show her everything the tourists never got to see. He’d taken her horseback riding on the grounds, or let her come with him when he took out his small sailboat. Vincenzo had taught her seamanship. There was nothing she loved more than sitting out in the middle of the sea while they fished and ate sweets from the palace kitchen. He had the run of the place and let her be his shadow.

Abby’s friends from school had come over to her parents’ apartment, and sometimes she’d gone to their houses. But she much preferred being with Vincenzo and had never missed an opportunity to tag along. Unlike the big brothers of a couple of her friends who didn’t want the younger girls around, Vincenzo had always seemed to enjoy her company and invited her to accompany him when he had free time.

Memories flooded her mind as she walked over to the closet and pulled out one of her favorite Paoli dresses. When Abby had gone shopping with Carolena, they’d both agreed this one had the most luscious yellow print design on the body of the dress.

The tiny beige print on the capped sleeves and hem formed the contrast. Part of the beige print also drew the material that made tucks at the waist. Her friend had cried that it was stunning on Abby, with her silvery-blond hair color. Abby decided to wear it while she still could. The way she was growing, she would need to buy loose-fitting clothes this weekend.

After arranging her hair back in a simple low chignon with three pins, she put on her makeup, slipped on matching yellow shoes and started out of the bedroom. But she only made it to the hallway with her bone-colored handbag when her landline rang. Presuming it was her father calling to see how she was doing, she walked into the den to pick up and say hello.

“Signorina Loretto? This is Marcello. You are wanted in the king’s drawing room. Are you ready?”

Her hand gripped the receiver tighter. It sounded urgent. During the night she’d worried about this meeting. It was only natural Michelina’s mother would want to meet the woman who would be giving birth to her grandchild. But something about the look in Vincenzo’s eyes had given her a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Yes. I’ll be right there.”

“Then I’ll inform His Highness, and meet you in the main corridor.”

“Thank you.”

Because of Vincenzo, Abby was familiar with every part of the palace except the royal apartments. He’d taken her to the main drawing room, where the king met with heads of state, several times. Vincenzo had gotten a kick out of watching her reaction as he related stories about foreign dignitaries that weren’t public knowledge.

But her smile faded as she made her way across the magnificent edifice to meet Michelina’s mother. She knew the queen was grieving. Marcello met her in the main hallway. “Follow me.”

They went down the hall past frescoes and paintings, to another section where they turned a corner. She spied the country’s flag draped outside an ornate pair of floor-to-ceiling doors. Marcello knocked on one of the panels and was told to enter. He opened the door, indicating she should go in.

The tall vaulted ceiling of the room was a living museum to the history of Arancia, and had known centuries of French and Italian rulers. But Abby’s gaze fell on Vincenzo, who was wearing a somber midnight-blue suit. Opposite him sat Michelina’s stylish sixty-five-year-old mother, who was brunette like her late daughter. She’d dressed in black, with a matching cloche hat, and sat on one of the brocade chairs.

“Come all the way in, Signorina Loretto. I’d like you to meet my mother-in-law, Her Majesty the Queen of Gemelli.” Abby knew Gemelli—another citrus-producing country—was an island kingdom off the eastern coast of Sicily, facing the Ionian Sea.

She moved toward them and curtsied the way she’d been taught as a child after coming to the palace. “Your Majesty. It’s a great honor, but my heart has been bleeding for you and the prince. I cared for your daughter very much.”

The matriarch’s eyes were a darker brown than Michelina’s, more snapping. She gave what passed for a nod before Vincenzo told Abby to be seated on the love seat on the other side of the coffee table. Once she was comfortable, he said, “If you recall, Michelina and I flew to Gemelli so she could tell the queen we were pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“To my surprise, the unexpected nature of our news came as a great shock to my mother-in-law, since my wife hadn’t informed her of our decision to use a surrogate.”

What?

“You mean your daughter never told you what she and the prince were contemplating?”

“No,” came the answer through wooden lips.

Aghast, Abby averted her eyes, not knowing what to think. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty.”

“We’re all sorry, because the queen and Michelina argued,” Vincenzo explained. “Unfortunately before they could talk again, the accident happened. The queen would like to take this opportunity to hear from the woman who has dared to go against nature to perform a service for which she gets nothing in return.”