Page 8 of Crowned For The King's Secret

‘Would you like to come through?’ she asked, wondering where her manners had gone. He nodded as she led the way to her lounge. The sensation of him close behind, tingling between her shoulder blades. ‘I can offer you tea, coffee, water...’

‘No...thank you.’

Everything about their conversation seemed like an afterthought, as if he was waiting for something. She wasn’t sure what. She motioned to the sofa but he remained standing, looking about the room.

To Sandro, the space probably seemed like a mess. To her, the room was warm, comfortable. Lived-in. A home. Yoga mat on the floor, toys scattered about. Laptop open on the coffee table. Scrapbooks she’d made about Santa Fiorina, words in Italian. Others might have seen her efforts as a waste when she could buy perfectly good picture books, but it was fun adding her own drawings and writing. Trying to connect herself to her son’s heritage, as much as connecting him to the man she’d always wanted Nic to know was his father. She wouldn’t keep secrets from her son; that was where pain lay.

She tugged at her T-shirt and her cheeks heated a little. Acutely aware that she stood here looking all too underdressed compared to Sandro’s casual, assured elegance, she didn’t know now what he’d ever seen in her when he approached her at the bar. But what did it matter? That was well in the past. Her life was focused on the present. Her son, her charity work. That was all she could control.

The security guards returned, murmured something to Sandro and left them alone. Seemingly taking up a station in the entrance hall.

‘You can take a seat if you like,’ she said to Sandro, but he stood resolutely at the centre of the room, as if the universe should spin around him. She supposed in his own country, it did. That didn’t mean she had to jump to his tune. As it was, she was running on empty. Nic’s teething made him unsettled, waking him some nights as many times as a newborn.

‘Well, this is a surprise. Has your son finally reached the top of your royal to-do list?’ she asked. Sure, it was Nic’s birthday, but after the twenty-one months of silence, something about this seemed strange. Perhaps it was just surreal to have a king standing in her home, but there was more, a brittleness about him. A wariness that had no place here.

Sandro’s hands clenched then flexed. His jaw was tight, everything about him on high alert. She didn’t understand why. It wasn’t as if he was walking into the enemy’s den here. She’d been open with Sandro about seeing Nic any time he wanted, because it was the right thing to do.

‘My life has been full of surprises of late. Now was the right time to come.’

That comment rankled, as if she had nothing better to do than sit around and wait for him to arrive. ‘It might not be the right time for me.’

Sandro’s eyes narrowed and something about that look pinned her to the spot, like a rabbit being eyed by a fox. ‘You think I shouldn’t be here.’

Interesting that it was a statement, not a question.

‘I have a life.’

Sandro cocked his head, looked about the space. At the wrapping paper that Nic had enjoyed playing with left on the floor, the toys. Was he judging her, when being a mother had been hersolepriority? Was that why he was here? In a moment of weakness Vic had told the palace representative about Nic’s teething, how tired she’d been, and he’d suggested a nanny. Was Sandro looking at the place and questioning her ability to care for her own child? She gritted her teeth. Not here, not now, not ever. ‘And you’re in my house. I don’t need to work to the whims of someone who’s dropped in unannounced. Maybe you can come back another day? When Nic’s awake.’

Sandro ran his hand over his face, pulled it back, and it was as if he was a changed man. The brittleness went the way ice melted away in spring. His gaze became smokier, more intense. More like it had been on a single night an age ago when she became totally wrapped up in him and believed he’d become totally wrapped up in her too. He still had that hold over her, but she knew what it was: desire. A chemical thing that wasn’t rooted in any kind of reality.

‘I can’t come back tomorrow. I’m leaving...tonight. This isn’t going how I planned.’

Her heart rate kicked up a few beats. ‘How had you planned it?’

‘I’ve spent over a year reclaiming my country. Now there are things which are important and have been left for too long.’

Sandro walked round the room, almost as if he couldn’t stand still any longer. He stopped at a bookshelf adorned with photos. Of Nic, Lance and Sara on their wedding day with her in the wedding party, smiling and happy for them yet not happy in herself. A picture of Sandro she’d taken from the internet, putting it in a decorative frame withDaddywritten on it. Some people might think it a strange addition, but she’d been determined to ensure Nic always knew who his father was.

To her shame, she’d never been able to forget the man.

‘That’s...me,’ he said, his voice strangely quiet, almost shocked.

‘Nic needed to know his father.’

It had been her wish when she first signed those custody papers, and hated that the desire might have been more for her own benefit than her son’s.

‘He seems important to you.’

‘What kind of bizarre statement is that?’ she said. Only important? Nic was everything to her. ‘He’s myson.’

Through the monitor Nic snuffled. Victoria checked the video feed. He rolled over and began to stir.

‘He’s my son too.’

Her breath hitched. As if that was any answer when the world was full of deadbeat dads. She wanted to say so. To say if he really cared he would have been there from the beginning.

‘There’s more to it than simply providing the genetic material.’

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