Page 78 of Trapped with the Undercover Prince

“No.”

“A harem of boyfriends?”

“No.”

Planning any illegal acts?”

“No.”

Why was this so damned hard?

“I had ovarian cancer, Zar.” She watched his face pale and knew her own was doing the same thing. “Both my ovaries were removed. I can’t have children.”

“Anna,” he breathed out, and the pain in the way he said her name hurt worse than getting blown up. “I’m so sorry.” He got up and moved around the table so he could pull her out of her seat and hug her.

“So am I.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. Why did he have to be so kind, and warm, and wonderful. She should let him go, push him away, for his own sake, but she couldn’t make herself step back.

She buried her face in his shoulder and said, “I’m the least eligible bride for a prince ever.”

He squeezed her. “That’s not true.”

She smacked his back with one hand. “I just told you why not.”

He wrapped his arms a little more snuggly around her. “No, you just told me something tragic and painful about yourself, but that doesn’t change my feelings regarding you and marriage.”

Tears, scalding hot, leaked out, and she couldn’t hold in the sobs that shook her.

“I would marry you today if I could, Anna,” he whispered in her ear.

That made her cry harder. She wasn’t sure how long they stood there, with her crying into Zar’s shirt and him rocking her back and forth.

A thunk from somewhere she couldn’t see in the cabin made them both stiffen.

“Don’t move.” The voice came from behind her and was raspy like it hurt to talk.

Zar looked behind her, froze, then relaxed his hold on her very slowly.

She didn’t turn, though, not wanting to disobey that broken voice. “Who?” she mouthed to Zar.

“Hello, Mr. Gaumond,” he said, his voice careful and controlled. “Why don’t you sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I knew when the police came for me...” A wet, rattle-filled cough interrupted his words. “That she still wasn’t listening.”

“She?” Zar asked.

“The queen.”

The man behind the voice moved into Anna’s view, both hands holding a handgun aimed at them.

He looked so young, and he had scrapes, bruises, and burn marks on his exposed skin.

“You put a bomb on a train you were riding in?” she asked.

“The American doctor.” He gave her a cold look. “Nothing has gone according to plan since the moment you showed up at the train station in Lyon. And now it’s all over the media that you’re going to marry His Highness.”

“I just said no,” she told him.

“Lie.”

---