“I don’t know what’s got you so blue, but I can say this: you’re one of the hardest working people we have,” Olivia said gently. “You take things so seriously. I know something’s on your mind, and you seem both troubled and exhausted.”

  Clara swallowed hard. “I… don’t think I’m going to be able to continue working here. Some things have come up.”

  “Well, we’ve been lucky to have you this long and don’t worry. Things always come up.” Olivia’s smile was warm and encouraging. “You can always come back, whenever you like, if you want. And as for this…”

  She gestured to the small stack of business and news periodicals Clara had piled in front of her.

  “I think it’s vital to be informed about the world,” Olivia said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “but I also think that it’s important to not take things too seriously.”

  With that, she pushed aside a stack of the Economist to reveal a treasure trove of tabloids and gossip rags. How had Clara ever missed those? Not that she read them, other than maybe a quick scan when she was in the shops, waiting in a long queue. “You like gossip?”

  “I like turning my brain off now and then,” Olivia answered with a chuckle. “I can talk about reforming governmental programs all day long, but every now and then, I just want to read about what some silly socialite was wearing at some celebrity-filled soiree, or find out about some juicy drama. It doesn’t even feel real.” She paused, patting Clara’s hand. “There are enough meaty issues out there that we need to wrestle with. Sometimes, you just want dessert.”

  Clara froze.

  You’re an ice cream sundae.

  Erik was supposed to be her break, her dessert. Her distraction from the troubles and exhaustion of her day-to-day world.

  And look how well that turned out.

  Olivia put a cup of herbal tea in front of Clara, then winked and left the break room—confirming Clara’s suspicions that Olivia knew what was going on. She took a deep breath, scoffing a little as she turned the pages of a glossy Royals Watch—Island edition! magazine. Beautiful people wearing expensive clothes in exotic locations, one after the other. She paused at a photo spread of three good-looking men, all in perfect bespoke tuxedos that probably cost more than her rent, all smiling broadly at the camera. Although there was no physical resemblance between the three, other than their obvious impeccable grooming, there was an easy camaraderie between the trio that suggested they were friends, practically brothers.

  “The Royal Trio!” a headline proclaimed. “Prince Nic of Mynia, Prince Ben of Reinia, and…”

  Clara’s eyes narrowed, and her heart stopped.

  It. Can’t. Be.

  She pulled the page closer, unable to believe what she was seeing. There, in glossy color, was Erik. His hair was different enough that she almost second-guessed herself. He looked so different with it styled back, instead of it being a rumpled halo around his face. But the face… the face was the same. Only he wasn’t Erik the anonymous wedding singer.

  No. He was Erik Devlin, Prince of Fervia.

  Her skin felt cold and clammy. Quickly, she scanned the article.

  “Could it be? Prince Erik has a reputation as a ladies’ man and a party animal across every continent that’ll have him. But since the Queen’s death, he seems to have turned a corner. Is the infamous wild child now eyeing a life of domesticity? After dating some of the most eligible bachelorettes across Europe, it does make us wonder—is Prince Erik truly settling down? And if so, who will be the lucky lady who tames this charming beast?”

  Her stomach knotted.

  Womanizer. Ladies’ man. Party animal.

  Is that so?

  So had the whole thing been a ploy for him? Had she fallen for his “I am so attracted to you, it’s a bit crazed” line, like an idiot, like one of thousands of women he’d probably used it on? And now he was trying to “put his past behind him” and settle down, be “responsible?” Here she was, alone, wondering how the hell she’d keep a roof over her head and care for her child, waving goodbye to a future she saw no chance at. While he was acting the reformed rake, and looking to get married to some “suitable” socialite?

  The hell he is.

  She felt anger flash hot and bright as fireworks within her. It wasn’t because she was jealous or felt that she had some hold on him—even if she knew on some level, a bite of possessiveness and irritation crossed her at the thought of him being with someone else. No, she argued with herself: if he’d lied to her, used her, and was trying to turn the corner on his playboy past, he could do it now, with his own child. Asking that he provide financial support for childcare was not unreasonable. In fact, it was his duty. In a perfect world, he’d love the child, and together they…

  She paused in her internal rant. Well, she wasn’t sure what they would be, in a perfect world. But at the very least, she’d settle for some money, even if it meant being silent and keeping the child hidden. She felt sure he’d probably want to keep his “indiscretion” hidden, and frankly, if she never saw his pretty-boy face again, it’d be too soon.

  Ordinarily she swore by her own independence—she didn’t need anyone, least of all some man, to make her way in the world. But this was a baby, and she was willing to swallow some pride for the tiny person who was about to change her life.

  She sipped the tea. The hot fury settled into something colder, more focused. She quickly did research on Erik, and the royal family of Fervia. There would be layers of protection and interference between her and the prince, she realized. There would be crazy fans, or vengeful ex-lovers who no doubt sought to stir up scandal. She’d need to get past those guards to get Erik to speak with her. But how?

  She frowned. Sipped more tea. Then she started to plan the next step.

  4

  Erik’s father, King Elias, had a study that was every inch the epitome of royalty—much like the King himself. An ornate eighteenth-century mahogany desk sat in the middle of the room on a priceless Turkish rug, and the walls were flanked with floor-to-ceiling built-in bookshelves. The huge window behind the desk showed a view to the ocean, since the palace was built on the highest point, a granite cliffside. Everything was imposing.

  Erik was very familiar with the feeling of being called up on that expensive carpet. Even now, at age thirty, he still felt like a bloody teenager who’d failed calculus. He sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk—ones that, while beautiful, he suspected were deliberately uncomfortable.

  His father leaned back in his own comfortable high-back leather chair, steepling his fingers. He had a full head of snowy white hair, and his blue eyes were shrewd. His face was lined with more sorrow since his wife’s death… and right now, etched with disappointment.

  “Perhaps Pelle didn’t express how important this was,” he started, his deep voice slow and deliberate. Erik forced himself not to bristle. “The royal succession is at stake here. You’ve been flitting about with every woman under the sun in the past two months, it seems. Why are you having difficulty finding a bride?”

  “It’s not like I can just order one online, along with my books, specialty tea, and a set of flannel sheets,” Erik tried to joke, to diffuse the biting tension of the situation. Judging by the way his father’s brow furrowed even deeper, it didn’t work. Erik cleared his throat. “I’ve been ‘flitting about,’ as you say, trying to connect with likely candidates. I’ve dated most of the socialites and nobility in Europe.”

  “So what’s the problem?” His father pressed impatiently. “This isn’t because of your history with women, is it? I knew that ladies’ man reputation might be problematic. You’ve waited too long to settle down, and that makes some women skittish.”

  I’m only thirty! Erik wanted to protest but clenched his teeth instead. When he’d regained a modicum of calm, he responded.

  “There were some women who enjoyed spending time with me, but weren’t looking for, ah, anything lasting.” To be honest, that probably was due to his reputation. Plenty of women knew him as a good time guy and were eager to see if his reputation was true. Since that wasn’t the point when he was pursuing a bride and an heir, he avoided them. “And those who were interested in something lasting were… incompatible.”

  “Incompatible? What does that mean?” his father asked, bewildered.

  Erik pinched his lips together for a second, then sighed. “They were either looking at me as a trophy or the highest rung on a ladder. They were snobs. And if I’m honest, I didn’t have chemistry with any of them.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Believe me. I tried. But nothing.”

  “You’re looking at this the wrong way,” his father argued. “Chemistry be damned! This is bigger than just you, son. This is about Fervia, its protection and continuation. We need to make sure that we can take care of it, and that means the line of succession…”

  “I know, Father!”

  That silenced both of them. His father looked angry and vaguely reprimanding.

  Erik squelched the desire to rub his hand over his face. How many times had he seen that expression, in this very room? How many times had he been a disappointment?

  “I’ll… expand my search parameters,” Erik said, hating how downright clinical he sounded. “And I’ll try to lower my standards, I suppose.”

  “No, don’t do that,” his father countered. “This person is going to be the mother of the future king or queen of Fervia. You need to choose wisely.”

  Erik quirked an eyebrow at him. “Wisely?”

  “And quickly,” he tacked on.

  “Haste doesn’t usually help with wisdom,” Erik pointed out. “In fact, it usually creates the opposite.”

  “Pelle and Aliana fell in love in a matter of weeks,” his father pointed out, looking smug.

  “Pelle and Aliana have known each other since they were six!” Erik protested, but he knew there was no reasoning with his father when he was in this kind of a mood. “And they were engaged for two years!”

  “I’m just thinking of the kingdom,” his father said, his chin jutting up with a stubborn tilt. “Anything could happen to me… or Pelle, for that matter. I should have known something was wrong when, after four years of marriage, no children were showing up.”

  Because Pelle knew how important the succession was. Of course. If his father told Pelle that he needed to produce a litter of children, Pelle would’ve been on the job that afternoon.

  You’re being unkind.

  Erik let out a deep breath. He loved Pelle. He loved his father. And he knew they both loved him. He just had to remind himself of these facts sometimes.

  “I wasn’t expecting there to be a medical problem with Pelle,” his father said, and this time, his low voice was sad, slightly broken.

  Abruptly, Erik understood, and felt like a heel. His father had just lost his wife to undetected cancer that had struck so fast, they’d had less than a year to process it before she was gone. Now, his eldest son had a medical problem that no one had foreseen.

  If this could happen, what else could he lose?

  His father, the lion of Fervia, as old school as Charlemagne… was scared.

  And he was relying on his youngest screw-up son to somehow save the day.

  Erik stood straighter, nodding. “Don’t worry, Father,” he said, determination ringing in his voice like steel. “I’ll make this right. No matter what it takes.”

  His father must have seen something that convinced him that Erik was, indeed, serious. “See that you do,” he said, pulling the façade of implacable monarch back in place.

  Seeing he was dismissed, Erik left, eager to head back to his quarters and perhaps call Ben and Nic. After two months of steady dating with nothing to show for it, he needed some outside help in figuring out a strategy.

  If he was being honest, he’d been having problems finding women to get at all serious about since way before Pelle’s problem and his father’s edict. He could stir himself to be attracted to various women, but it never lasted very long. He’d found himself more and more bored and frustrated, often turning them away because it wasn’t worth the aggravation. The last woman he’d been with…

  He grimaced. That night in London.

  Don’t think about that. He’d considered tracking her down, but then he’d have to admit he lied. And besides… what had she called him? An “ice cream sundae”?

  He wanted people to see him as more substantial. His family was depending on it.

  He felt his cell phone buzz, and he looked at it absently, wondering if it were his friends, or perhaps one of the women he’d dated.

  Strangely, the text he’d received wasn’t from any of them. It was from the family solicitor.

  Come to my office, the solicitor wrote. Private matter. Urgent. ASAP.

  Erik frowned. Urgent? With the solicitor?

  “That’s odd,” he said aloud. Then he went to address whatever the problem was, so he could get back to fixing the problem his father had given him.

  The island of Fervia wasn’t that big, all things considered, and traffic at this time of day wasn’t bad, so Erik arrived at the solicitor’s office in no time at all. The solicitor, a finicky mouse of a man named Stanley Irwin, looked pale on the best of days. Today, he looked like parchment.

  “We have a situation,” he said, in funereal tones, and Erik groaned as he closed the door behind him.

  “Hopefully nothing too time consuming,” Erik started, but Stanley plowed forward in a rush.

  “There’s a woman who is claiming she is pregnant with your child.” He blotted his forehead with a handkerchief.

  “Women claim that constantly,” Erik pointed out, unfazed. “Status seekers, hopeful blackmailers, what have you. I assure you, I haven’t been involved with a woman like that in some time.” He’d been too busy and heartbroken with his mother’s illness and death, then focused on learning what he could to help out his father and brother, and now, too focused on trying to find a marriageable “Princess Right” and failing miserably. It had easily been over nine months since he’d had even the slightest fling, he realized—a bit of a record for him. If someone was trying to say she was pregnant, she was lying, or she’d already had the baby.

  His memory flashed to London, and he winced. All right, there was that one time…

  Focus. Now’s not the time to be distracted.

  “This is different,” Stanley said sharply. “The young woman was quite insistent, and more importantly, she was quite prepared. She provided not only the timing and location of your, er, interaction, but she’s provided a prenatal paternity test.”

  Erik’s eyes widened. “And?”

  “And I had it compared to your blood sample,” Stanley said, his expression grim. “The child is yours, without question. If she’s faking it somehow, she’s done a phenomenally credible job.”

  Erik stared at him, stunned into silence.

  “To her credit, she’s being quite reasonable,” Stanley added, with reluctant approval. “This isn’t extortion or blackmail. You have to realize, if she took this story to the tabloids, she could command millions, and we would be scrambling to contain a publicity nightmare. While she’s asking for financial remuneration, it’s middling. Almost ludicrously low, really. She says that she only wants enough money to provide for the child’s welfare, and she is happy to sign confidentiality agreements in exchange.” He frowned. “To be honest—and not that I’m encouraging this sort of behavior—but I would have advised her to ask for more. I’m going to recommend that you offer a substantial amount above what she’s asking… to encourage her to keep her silence, and to provide for a child of the Devlin family in a more appropriate manner, if nothing else.”

  “What?” Erik said, finally snapping out of it. “You want me to pay her off?”

  Stanley blinked. “I… yes? I’m sorry, I had assumed…?”

  Erik felt a growing suspicion start to form as heat radiated through his chest.

  “What’s her name?” he asked, his voice low and stern.

  “It’s, ah…” Stanley flipped through the paperwork in the folder on his desk. “Clara. Clara Campbell.”

  Clara.

  It was like an explosion in his head and his chest. His night with Clara had culminated in a child. One she was only asking the bare minimum of assistance with.

  Clara. Back in his life, like a shock. Like a gift out of a clear blue sky.

  Pregnant. With my child.

  His heart raced, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm himself.

  “What’s her phone number?” Erik asked.

  Stanley cleared his throat. “Perhaps it’s best if we keep this through professional channels…”

  “No. I want to talk to her,” Erik said, and his tone brooked no argument.

  Stanley nodded, then wrote the number on a slip of paper. “I, ah, will need to inform the king,” he said, apologetically. Erik levelled a glare at him, grabbing the paper, and Stanley hesitated. “It can wait until after things have been finalized, however.”

  “I’ll tell him myself. Please hold off on any negotiations until I’ve spoken with Clara. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

  We. He liked the sound of that.

  He waited until he got to the privacy of his home before calling her. She answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice sounded tentative.

  “It’s Erik,” he said, and could all but feel her shock through the phone. “Prince Erik. Of the kingdom of Fervia.”

  There was a long pause. “A prince,” she said. “That’s a far cry from a wedding singer. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to call personally. I imagined one of your solicitors might be in contact.”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” he said firmly. “About being a prince. My being in London—that was just a favor to a friend. I made a promise to my father that I’d remain anonymous. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you.”

  “For the record, I wouldn’t have cared if you were a prince,” she said, now sounding more tired than defensive. “I’m not trying to trap you with this, Erik. I’m just trying to take care of our child, that’s all.”