Page 3 of Baby Daddy Protector

Her speech had grown less formal as she opened up to me. That was another thing I’d noticed about her, not just in the last few days but in the six months I’d been at the palace. She put on a brave, formal face for the world, all fancy talk and precise perfection, but I had to wonder what she was like out of the spotlight, when she was alone. Perhaps I’d finally get a glimpse of the real Esme Hollycombe. Suddenly, the mission didn’t seem so dire.

“I’m sorry about the king’s illness. That’s tough to go through.”

“It is.” She stared down at her toes, peeking out from beneath the red satin. Her toenails were painted a matching scarlet color. I’d not noticed that before, but now all I could picture was kissing said toes until she giggled and sighed my name. I cleared my throat and glanced out into the hallway again to make sure our conversation was still private. “Are your parents still living, Z?”

My heart sank. It wasn’t something I normally talked about. “No. They died when I was six.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She reached out and rested her hand on my arm. “That must have been horrible.”

“It was.” Unfathomably horrible.

She gave a tiny nod. “My father’s older, I know that. He’s had a long, full life. Death is inevitable, but it’s just so hard when it’s right there, staring you in the face.” She shrugged and sniffled, a sad affair that made me want to pull her into my arms and hold her. I shoved my hands in my pockets instead. I had no business holding the princess. Not now, not ever. This was work, my job, not some royal date night. “I think his continued hope for a cure only makes it worse. If he’d just accept it and enjoy the rest of his time here on earth, it would make it easier for the rest of us to accept what’s going to happen too.”

“At least you’ll get to say goodbye,” I said. “I didn’t have that luxury.”

“I—” She met my gaze, her own full of questions and sympathy, but the arrival of one of my team members cut our moment of privacy short.

“Your highness,” the security guard gave a stiff bow. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve gotten word from Sutherland that your father, the king, is being airlifted to the hospital as we speak. Things are not looking good, your highness.”

The guard gave me a quick glance, his eyes darting to the Bluetooth earpiece still dangling loose from the cord near my ear, and then back to my face again. “I tried to contact you via the usual channels, sir. But you weren’t available.”

“Let’s go,” I said, shoving the Bluetooth back in my ear then taking Esme gently by the elbow to guide her past the ballroom and out to our limo waiting at the curb. I got her settled in the back seat then turned back to the guard. “Have the rest of the team meet us at the hospital.”

THREE

Isat alone in my father’s empty hospital room in the ICU, listening to the sounds filtering in from the hallway beyond. The monotonous beep of heart monitors, the endless inflation and deflation of automated blood pressure cuffs, the distant sobs of a person who’d lost someone dear. Soon enough that would be me. My father was still alive, for the moment, but given the rapid progression of his cancer, he would not have much longer. Pancreatic cancer was one of the most virulent types, and he’d already lasted well beyond his initial prognosis of one year.

The technicians had just been in and wheeled him downstairs to have yet more testing done. The king still held out hope for a cure, but I had at last come to terms with the fact that my father would never get better. This was it. The end of the line. I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

God, why had it taken me so long to accept the reality? My only excuse was that I loved my father. But I had loved my mother too, and that hadn’t stopped the queen from dying. If only I had resigned myself to it early, perhaps I wouldn’t be in this mess now. Perhaps I could have gotten my father to pass the necessary legislation so that I could have taken my place in the line of succession and ruled my country uncontested. But no. I’d spent two years avoiding the truth of my father’s decline, as if living with the constant possibility of his death had made me immune to the consequences, and now it was too late.

I’d done plenty of research, trying to find a loophole I could exploit to get around the constitution, but I hadn’t been able to find anything useful. The law was draconian, but it was clear and straightforward. Only a male heir could inherit the throne. I was a woman—and that meant that in my homeland of Prylea, I was out of luck when it came to the throne that should have been my birthright.

Of course, I could have gotten married and pregnant myself, and that would’ve solved things too, provided I had a boy. A grandson would be considered a more direct heir than a nephew. Except I’d been so busy the last few years, first with finishing my schooling, then with helping my ailing father with tasks around the palace that I’d had no time or interest for dating. On the few, rare occasions when I had gone out, the men had only seemed interested in my title and not me as a person. I’d learned my lesson well on that count a long time ago and didn’t plan to ever make that same painful mistake again.

So, changing the law was out. Finding a suitable husband in time was out. Seemed the entire future I had planned for myself was out. I’d had such hopes for Prylea. So many things I wanted to make better for our citizens. I’d never get the chance now.

Unwanted tears stung the back of my eyes before I blinked them away. Princesses did not cry, especially in public. My mother had taught me that, and I was a very good student. I squared my shoulders and stood, determined to make the best of the horrible situation and put on a brave face for my father. My heart might be broken, but my spirit was strong, at least for now.

I turned to walk out into the hallway for some fresh air and exercise and nearly collided with a broad, tux-covered chest. Strong hands gripped my arms to steady me, and the comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus surrounded me. Mr. Raybourn. Z.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” he said. “I mean, your highness. I mean, Esme.”

The fact he fumbled over his words made me smile, despite my sadness. “It’s fine.” I stepped back, and he dropped his hands. My bare skin tingled from his brief, warm touch, and I shivered.

He frowned then removed his jacket and slung it around my shoulder. “You’re cold.”

It was a bit chilly, I realized. In truth, I felt numb from everything that was going on. Still, his jacket felt like a security blanket around me, and I clutched it closer. “Thank you. Any word on my father yet?”

“Not that I’ve heard, ma’am.” He held up a finger and turned away slightly to speak to someone through his Bluetooth headset—another member of the security team, I assumed. Finally, he turned back to me, his blue eyes solemn. “I’m sorry about all this. Would you like me to call someone to sit with you? A friend or family member?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you. I don’t really know anyone that well in DC.”

Z cocked his head slightly as if considering something, then gave a curt nod. “Were you going for a walk?”

“I was.” I inhaled deep. “Sitting alone in that room, waiting, is about to drive me insane.”

“Understood.” He glanced around the hallway and then back to me. “Do you want company? I could use some exercise myself, actually. Standing guard in front of a door all night isn’t exactly good for the circulation.” He gave me a crooked little grin, and not for the first time, I noticed he was handsome. I’d seen him off and on for the last six months around the palace, usually wearing the black suit uniform of the other security guards and always busy, but this was the first time I really saw him as a man. Tall, broad, well-muscled from his time in the navy. Golden-blond hair, piercing blue eyes, tanned, smooth skin. He was the epitome of the all-American boy. Women probably swooned at his feet wherever he went.

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