Page 102 of Kiss an Angel

“All right, then.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a distinct possibility it’s true.”

“What!” Her head whipped around so fast, she nearly threw her neck out.

“I definitely have Romanov ancestry, and from what Max has been able to piece together, I’d say there’s a good chance that I’m the great-grandson of Nicholas II.”

She sagged back into the seat. “I don’t believe this.”

“Good. Then we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

“You really are?”

“Max has some fairly convincing proof. But since I’m not going to do anything about it, there’s no point in discussing it.”

“You’re the heir to the Russian throne?”

“Russia doesn’t have a throne. In case you’ve forgotten, it isn’t a monarchy.”

“But if it were—”

“If it were, there’d be Romanovs coming out of the woodwork claiming to be the heir.”

“And from what my father told me, you’d have a better chance than any of them at making the claim stick, wouldn’t you?”

“Probably. But so what? The Russians hate the Romanovs even more than they hate the communists, so it’s not as if they’re going to put the monarchy back in place.”

“What if they did?”

“Then I’d change my name and hide out on a tropical island somewhere.”

“My father would hate that.”

“Your father is fanatical.”

“You know that’s why he arranged this marriage, don’t you? I thought he was trying to punish me by finding the most unlikely husband he could come up with, but it wasn’t that at all. He wanted the Petroffs and Romanovs united, and he used me to do it.” She shuddered. “It’s like some Byzantine plot. The whole thing gives me the creeps. Do you know what he wanted to talk to me about yesterday?”

“Probably the same thing he talked to me about. All the reasons we should stay married.”

“He told me that if I wanted to hold on to you, I needed to curb the excesses of my personality. I’m also supposed to meet you at the door with your slippers.”

Alex smiled. “He told me to overlook your excesses and concentrate on your cute little body.”

“He said that?”

“Not in so many words, but that was the general idea.”

“I don’t understand. Why would he go through all this for a six-month marriage?”

“Isn’t it obvious? He’s hoping we slip up and I get you pregnant.”

She stared at him.

“He wants to insure the future of the monarchy. And he wants the baby to have Romanov and Petroff blood so he can take his place in history. Your father has it all planned. You give birth to this mythical baby, and he doesn’t even care if we stay married. In fact, he’d probably just as soon I disappeared so he could browbeat you into letting him take charge of the kid.”

“But he knows I’m on birth control. Amelia took me to her own doctor. She even filled the prescription herself because she said she didn’t trust me to do it.”

“Apparently Amelia’s not as anxious to have a little Petroff-Romanov running around the house as your father is. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to be a grandmother. My guess is that he doesn’t know, and I doubt your stepmother will get around to mentioning it to him.”

She stared glumly out the window at the four-lane highway lined with strip malls. A Taco Bell flashed by and then a Subaru dealership. She experienced a sense of unreality at the contrast between these modern signs of civilization and talk of ancient monarchies. And then a terrible thought occurred to her.

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