Page 6 of The King's Secret Baby

“Because it’s an all-encompassing commitment, Son. She knew that, and she wanted you to enjoy your youth for as long as you could.”

“Then why am I here?” I grip the roots of my hair in frustration. “You asked me to come.”

“True. You need to see some of what I do. Your preparations to be king cannot wait until twenty years from now.”

I don’t get it. He’s trying to prepare me to be king, and yet he also doesn’t want to trust me with anything important.

“Do you think I can’t do it?” I stare flatly at him, anger boiling beneath my skin.

“Do what?” His eyebrows knit together, but he knows what I’m talking about — and he knows that I know it.

“Be king.” My voice cracks. “You think I’m not good enough, don’t you?”

We glare at each other, at an impasse. I know I’m a disappointment to him, but I wish he’d just give me a chance to prove myself.

I’m about to stalk off when I notice the journalist at the end of the hall, watching us with wide eyes. Great. She’s heard everything. Just what I need — more bad press.

“I’ll see you at dinner.” My father turns around and walks off, leaving my heart to crack in two.

Suddenly, he stops walking and looks over his shoulder, though his eyes don’t meet mine. “You are not a disappointment, Son. You never could be.”

That wrings my chest, though I don’t exactly know why. He walks away without another word, and I storm over to the woman, irritation simmering.

“Is that what you wanted?” I ask sharply. “A scoop on how the crown prince doesn’t want to be king?”

She holds up her hands, eyes still wide. “No, no, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just looking for a bathroom. I got tea on my skirt when I… I spilled…”

“The tea?” I scoff, and then — in an unexpected moment — we’re both smiling at each other.

“Isn’t that what journalists do?” she says, grinning.

“Apparently you’re the best there is.”

“Not really.” She sighs. “I’m about to walk back to my office without a story.”

I rake a hand through my hair, the mention of our failed interview bringing back my frustration. “Well, now you’ve gotplentyof material for your story. ‘Prince Luca Is Immature Child, Disappoints Nation.’”

To my surprise, she shakes her head. “I won’t write any of that. Look, why don’t you let me show you around the city this afternoon? Get out of the hotel for a bit. In return, I’ll write a glowing piece about how dedicated you are to connecting with the people. Maybe, once your father reads that, he’ll see you in a new light.”

I blink, caught off guard by her offer. She gazes at me steadily, and I find myself noticing how her brown eyes sparkle, how the sunlight catches on her wavy chestnut hair. Spending the day with a beautiful woman does sound better than being cooped up here.

“You want to show me around, Ms. Warren?” I ask slowly.

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Please, call me Hailey. I know all the best places. I’ll plan an amazing itinerary if you let me.”

I can’t help but grin, intrigued. Maybe this interview isn’t a total wash after all.

I raise an eyebrow, playing along. “Okay, then, impress me. What’s on this amazing itinerary of yours?”

Hailey’s face lights up. She ticks off places on her fingers as she talks. “First, we’ll go to the farmers market and try all the fresh pastries and fruit. Then we can walk through Central Park, and I’ll show you the pond with the sailboats and Bethesda Fountain. Oh! We should also stop by the museum and take in some history and culture. Ooh, and I know where to get the best pizza in the whole city. Do you like pizza?”

She pauses for a breath, looking at me expectantly. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I laugh.

“Okay, okay, that actually does sound like fun,” I admit. “And yes, I do like pizza. Who doesn’t?”

Hailey smiles brightly. “Right?”

I nod, my earlier frustration melting away. Maybe I’ve been too quick to dismiss Hailey. She seems genuinely interested in showing me a nice time, and if she writes a great story about me, that could get my country’s people on my side. And once I have more citizens supporting me for something other than my six-pack or expensive smile, perhaps that will convince my father to give me real duties.

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