Page 11 of Royal Surrogate 1

“I don’t want the world to know I’ve hired a surrogate,” he tells me again. “I’ve already explained why it’s an ideal arrangement for me, but others might not see it that way. It’s important to me that people see my son as legitimate, and that there aren’t any unfortunate rumors behind his back. And so our arrangement would be a little…un-traditional.”

“How so?” I ask, still halfway distracted by his hand on mine—and by his half-smile, which only reminds me of our accidental kiss this morning. Why do the good-looking ones have to be certifiably insane?

“I want the rest of the world to believe we’re in a real relationship, little owl,” he says. “I can’t have my son being born outside of wedlock, after all.”

CHAPTER 7

Caspar

Her hand doesn’t move beneath mine, but her mouth falls open.

“Did you say…wedlock?” She stares down at our hands. “You want to be married.” It isn’t so much a question as a statement.

“Of course,” I say, turning my hand over to entwine our fingers. “We’ll have to have a whirlwind courtship first.” I motion my head toward the door. “And the paparazzi are the perfect tool to use to prove that particular piece.” I smile at her. “It may not convince my family?—”

“Wait, your family doesn’t know about this?” Her brows draw together. “This is really…weird.”

“I swear, it isn’t as strange as it might seem. My family, as you might expect, is a bit conservative. Not that they won’t welcome my child into our family with open arms. It’s only that…” I let out a long breath. “I don’t want to argue about it with anyone. I’ve made the decision to have a son, and that is that. It isn’t something I want to have to explain for years on end. This way…” I nod toward our clasped hands. “This way it’s all legitimate. Until it’s over and ends in our divorce.”

Her phone buzzes, and she glances at the text, frowning.

“And how long will this…” She nods toward our hands. “…last?”

I shrug. “As long as it needs to. I’m aware of women’s fertility cycles. And I know the implantation doesn’t always take on the first try.”

She lifts a brow. “You really have researched this, haven’t you?”

I nod. “For months on end. I just haven’t found the right woman to join me on this journey.” My smile widens. “Until now.”

She lets out a long breath, finally pulling her hand from mine as she glances at her telephone again. “Anything else before the appetizers come?”

I barely have time to shake my head before the waiter brings the appetizers I’ve ordered.

“Scallops,” she says, her lips tilting into the slightest of smiles. “I don’t remember the last time I had scallops.”

“Enjoy,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of?—”

“Pregnant women aren’t supposed to eat seafood, right? Something about the mercury levels or something. I’m sure I read that somewhere.” She takes a bite of her appetizer, closing her eyes for a moment before looking back at me. “I’ll miss this.”

I can’t help but grin. “You’re agreeing? Truly?”

She takes another large bite of her food. “If everything works out. It’s not like I have a whole lot of other options.” She takes a drink of her wine. “So, will we live here? I can’t really work at my job from overseas.”

To be honest, I hadn’t considered the fact that the woman I ultimately found might want to work. I’d imagined that she’d be so grateful for the opportunity to provide me a son—for the opportunity to not have to work—that there wouldn’t be any discussion.

“Do you want to continue working?” I take a sip from my own glass.

“You should probably get to know me. If we’re going to be ‘married.’” She makes air quotes with her fingers. “I’m the sort of girl who needs to stay busy. I’m the first one to agree to work overtime at my job. In fact, I was thinking about taking another job until I bumped into you.”

Her phone buzzes again, and this time she types a response.

“Is there anything I can help with?” I ask.

“No. Just this,” she says. “I never considered being a surrogate. I never even…” She shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have much else of value. I might as well rent it out.” She pats her lower abdomen. “Mutually beneficial, right?”

I can’t ignore the edge of sadness in her voice. “I would genuinely like it to be mutually beneficial.” My smile falls.

“Right,” she says, taking another large bite of her scallops.

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