Page 6 of Crowned For The King's Secret

VICTORIALOOKEDDOWNat her little boy, Nicolai, banging at a small drum with enthusiasm, and giggling as he did so. She knelt on her floor mat, leg forward, relishing the burn of a hip-flexor stretch as her son played.

Who on earth thought giving a toy like that to a one-year-old for his birthday was a great idea? She sighed. An absent father, that was who. One who didn’t understand parenting at all. Though even with her own personal disappointment in Sandro, try as she might, reminders of the night Nic was conceived still intruded. The indescribable pleasure, the floating bliss. Whispered caresses in the darkness of two people she believed were trying to find themselves that night.

Even a broken condom hadn’t worried her.

Why should it? She dropped onto her back, crooking her foot over her knee into a gluteal stretch, working out tightness from her long-ago injury and more recent effects of pregnancy and then childbirth on her body. After years of trying to have a baby with the man she’d married, she’d resigned herself to supposed infertility.

‘I can’t get pregnant.’That was what she’d told Sandro before they’d both collapsed into each other’s arms, exhausted after a long night of lovemaking.

She’d been almost proud of herself when she’d left him in the bed, deeply asleep, the next morning, with only the pink imprint of a lipstick kiss on the club’s notepaper and a scrawledThank youas a final reminder of what they’d shared, because she didn’t have the words to explain.

Pregnancy had been the last thing on her mind in those heady weeks afterwards when she remembered the evening as the chance she took on life and on herself when she’d spent so many years trapped in the iron cage of her marriage.

She hadn’t thought much when her period didn’t come because it was notoriously irregular. Until she became sick with what she though was a stomach bug and her doctor gave her a gentle suggestion, and a pregnancy test. She’d laughed in disbelief and joy. The pregnancy was an unexpected blessing. There had never been any question she’d tell Sandro—what need was there to hide it? And when in excitement and some trepidation she’d searched his name on the internet she’d found...

Aking.

Vic hadn’t known what she’d expected when she first contacted the palace with the news. Though deep in her heart she’d hated that she’d hoped, hoped for some contact from Sandro. Another glimpse in real life of the man who’d changed her for ever, for the better.

Even now, her heart skipped a few beats thinking about him, the way his gaze had pierced her soul, the way his touch undid her, then stitched her back together. It had been like some miracle. Until a palace envoy insisted that all future contact go through him. She must make no attempts to contactHis Majesty, ever again. Monthly reports were to be provided about the child, which would be given to the King for his perusal. In exchange, Nicolai would be supported financially, with her in control of his future. This was put to her as the only choice if she wanted to maintain any connection to Sandro and Santa Fiorina, for the sake of her baby.

So she took it.

It was the offer of money that made her feel strangely grubby. She didn’t need it. Whilst her husband’s family estate went to the new earl, she’d inherited most of the rest, so was comfortable. Anything Nic’s father deigned to give her was locked away in an account, untouched. Her son could decide what to do with it when he was old enough.

She moved into a plank. Her core was still not as strong as it had used to be before her pregnancy, and she needed that strength if she was to stay relatively pain-free. She didn’t want to end up in physical therapy again or, even worse, craving the strong painkillers that had once ruled her life after her injury. Not now she had so much to live for. Her muscles trembled as Vic counted down the seconds she held, with every one of Nic’s drumbeats.

Her little boy wanted for nothing. She’d made sure he had all the love and care she’d missed out on as a child. It didn’t really matter that his father didn’t want to see him. Her own brother, Lance, had transformed himself from London’s wildest billionaire to the UK’s finest uncle, through marriage to his beloved Sara. If Nic ever needed a male role model, her brother was perfect. If Sandro didn’t want to know his son, even on his birthday, then that was his loss.

How her life had changed. She smiled. People might have thought once that things were perfect for her, when she’d been married to an earl, went to glamorous parties. Socialised. All the beautiful clothes and trappings that hid the cracks of a person breaking apart. It had all been fakery. This was glorious, messy reality.

Nic continued banging away at the infernal drum, his favourite birthday gift.Except now the drumbeats became irregular, fractious, and he dropped his drumsticks. She finished her exercises then crawled towards her tired little boy. He smiled, loving when she got down on the floor with him.

‘Come on, darling. Time for your nap.’ She stood, then swept him into her arms as he protested, twisting, crying, and reaching for the drum. ‘Even birthday boys need their sleep.’

As she held him in her arms she rocked from side to side, taking the chance to do a few final stretches. She hadn’t been as vigilant as usual recently and her back and hips would give her trouble if she didn’t keep up. She accepted she’d never really be the same even four years after the accident, when one of her rescue horses spooked whilst she was in its stall. The pregnancy had been hard on her too. She was only now getting back to normal.

Nic’s head dropped to her shoulder as she rocked him and held him tight.

‘Let’s get you some milk, Little Prince,’ she said as she went to the kitchen and warmed Nic’s bottle, then took him to his room.

The nickname was closer to reality than she’d initially liked. In her and her solicitor’s research about Santa Fiorina they’d discovered something unusual for a monarchy, that there, illegitimacy wasn’t necessarily a bar to succession. All a king or queen needed to do was to acknowledge their illegitimate child and that child could theoretically take the crown. She’d held her breath for months when she’d discovered that quirk of succession, until Sandro’s minion arrived on her doorstep with his employer’s demands and an assurance that no formal acknowledgement would come. She had full custody, parental responsibility and decision-making rights, although she’d ensured in their agreement that Sandro could visit whenever he wanted. Whilst he hadn’t yet, she’d left the door open.

She’d never deny Nic’s father access to his child.

Vic placed Nicci in his cot and waited a few moments whilst he settled, snuggling into his blanket, eyelids drooping. Her heart did a funny little twist, the way it always did when she looked at him, with his shock of large, dark curls and eyes slightly paler than his father’s, a curious mix of his and hers. Her joy, her miracle. Vic smiled as she left the room, closing the door gently behind her and going back to the lounge, hoping he’d sleep for a while. She had a grant application to write for the charity she supported for women escaping domestic violence.

Vic sat and opened her laptop, working through the complicated forms to get funding for a much-needed service—caring for women’s pets when they fled the family home. As she knew so well, what to do with their animals and fears for any pets left behind was often a huge barrier to women leaving. This grant and her other fundraising efforts could help. Her passion for the project made the words flow easily.

The soft chime of her doorbell cut through her peace. She wanted to ignore it, and not have to deal with the person on her doorstep, but if whoever was there woke Nic right now there’d be hell to pay. Vic hopped up and checked the video feed on the baby monitor. Still asleep. The doorbell rang again, and he stirred a little.

‘Coming, coming...’ she said a little too loudly as she approached, yanking the door open with a whoosh.

Her heart did something similar.

Standing on the step was the man who had interfered with too many of her dreams and fantasies of their night together, even after he’d sent a palace representative to her door with the offers of money and a cold, yet silent, acceptance of the birth. She’d been disappointed for Nic’s sake, but she was horrified at the realisation she’d been disappointed for herself too, because she’d wanted to see him again, with a craving that itched and pricked at her. Still, she was sensible enough to recognise that her feelings weren’t reciprocated. If they had been, he had the perfect excuse to visit and rekindle what they’d shared...

In the end, Sandro Baldoni was like most men, a disappointment. But, as Lance said, it was far easier not to have a king in your child’s life. And that this cold arrangement was better for her and his nephew.

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