Page 1 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

CHAPTER ONE

THEFLASHOFcameras was blinding.

Flora Hillier kept her gaze fixed ahead and ignored the questions being shouted at her by the horde of jostling reporters. A microphone brushed against her cheek. Another jabbed her neck. She would not give the vultures the satisfaction of reacting.

The dozen or so steps she climbed to enter the centuries-old building were wide but short in depth and she prayed not to trip.

At the top of the steps, the double doors were opened for her. A court guard took her arm and swept her inside.

The low-level hum of noise inside the court building was a welcome contrast to the shouts and hollers she’d just endured. Flora removed her sunglasses and placed a hand to her aching lower back. The pain had been strong enough to wake her that morning.

Filling her lungs with air and fortitude, she put her bag on the tray to be scanned and stepped through the body scanner. She wondered if this level of security had long been a part of Monte Cleure’s criminal court or if they’d installed it specially for Ramos. She imagined there were any number of people out there who would be happy to form an orderly queue for the opportunity to do harm to the Spanish bastard. She’d be right at the front of it.

He was here, in this building. Soon, very soon, she would see him again. More importantly, he would see her.

She approached the curved reception area and handed her passport over.

The lady checking it raised an arched eyebrow before inputting the details into a desktop computer. ‘Look in the camera,’ she said in English, pointing up.

Flora lifted her stare to the domed device on the ceiling. Less than a minute later, a lanyard pass with her name and picture was handed to her.

‘Go to room four,’ the lady ordered.

‘Thank you.’

Sliding the lanyard over her head, Flora headed down the wide corridor until she found the room.

Justin was already there, huddled around an oval table with his small legal team. He greeted her with an exhausted smile.

She held up a sympathetic hand to him and then sank gratefully onto a chair one of the legal team pulled out for her, and rubbed again at her aching lower back.

Today was the start of a trial expected to last two weeks. When found guilty, Justin could expect to spend two decades behind bars.

Monte Cleure allowed reduced time for good behaviour only in the most exceptional circumstances. Funnily enough, those exceptional circumstances only ever seemed to apply to the fabulously rich. Justin was no longer rich. Ramos had made sure of that. Ramos had also made sure the evidence against Justin was watertight. Ramos had chosen Monte Cleure to press charges against him deliberately.

It pained Flora beyond reason that the case against Justin was watertight only because Justin was guilty of the crimes he was about to go on trial for. Theft of a million euros. Fraud had been added to the charge for good measure.

Which room was Ramos currently holed up in? The one next door? Further away? No doubt he too would be huddled around a table with his legal team. Maybe two tables to fit them all in. His team would vastly outnumber Justin’s. What was the atmosphere like in that room? She doubted it was the resigned, subdued atmosphere permeating this one. Most likely, anticipation and expectation.

Anticipation and expectation that Justin Hillier be not only punished but destroyed.

If Flora had any tears left in her she would weep for her brother but the last year had spent her of them. There came a time when they would no longer form. Her tear ducts had simply dried up.

A knock echoed on the door. An official stepped in.

It was time.

Flora heaved herself back to her weary feet and stared into her brother’s gaunt face. She straightened his tie even though it was already perfect, wiped away a fleck of imaginary flint from the lapel of his suit jacket, and kissed his cheek.

‘I love you,’ she whispered to the man who’d been more of a father to her than theirs had ever been.

His smile was sad. ‘I love you too.’

There was nothing more to be said.

The hum of noise when Flora had arrived was now a buzz, the corridor bustling with bodies. It was a rare event that Monte Cleure’s criminal court was the setting for such a high-profile crime. The principality was used to the press swarming for the goings-on of its rotten royal family and the fabulously wealthy people who inhabited the glamorous, sunlit place, and when Flora was led to the front of the public gallery overlooking the court, the press were already crammed into their section like eager expectant meerkats, faces bobbing in all directions for the star attraction’s appearance.

They didn’t have to wait long.

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