Expecting the Prince's Baby

PRINCES OF EUROPE

Torn between love and royal obligation…

by Rebecca Winters

Vincenzo and Valentino are determined to fulfil their duty to their beloved kingdoms by taking royal wives, but they haven’t counted on the revolutions taking place in their hearts caused by two captivating commoners.

When these two charming princes risk everything to win the trust of the women they love they soon find the true meaning of commitment and honour, proving that sometimes fairytales do come true—and in the most unexpected ways!

EXPECTING THE PRINCE’S BABY Available May 2014

and

BECOMING THE PRINCE’S WIFE Available June 2014

Expecting the

Prince’s Baby

Rebecca Winters

www.millsandboon.co.uk

REBECCA WINTERS, whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high alpine meadows full of wildflowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website: www.cleanromances.com.

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I dedicate this book to my angelic grandmother, Alice Vivia Driggs Brown, who made my childhood a constant enchantment. She was so romantic she called the home she and my grandfather had built ‘Camelot.’

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EXTRACT

CHAPTER ONE

VINCENZO DI LAURENTIS, thirty-three-year-old crown prince of the Principality of Arancia, stood before the camera on the balcony of the royal palace overlooking the gardens to officially open the April Fifteenth Lemon and Orange Festival. This was his first public appearance since the funeral of his wife, Princess Michelina, six weeks ago. He waved to the crowds that had come out en masse.

His country was nestled between the borders of France and Italy on the coast of the Mediterranean. Eighty thousand people lived in the city of the same name. The other thirty thousand made up the population that lived in the smaller towns and villages. Besides tourism, it had depended on the lemon and orange industries for centuries.

For the next two weeks the country would celebrate the mainstay of their economy with marching bands in the streets, food fairs, floats and statuary in the parks decorated with lemons and other citrus fruit.

Vincenzo had just gotten back from a series of visits to three continents, doing business for the monarchy with other heads of state. It felt good to be with his father, King Guilio, again. On his return, he’d forgotten how beautiful Arancia could be in the spring with its orchards in full flower. He felt an air of excitement coming from the people that winter was over. As for himself, the darkness that had consumed him over the last six weeks since Michelina’s death seemed to be dissipating.

Their marriage had never been a love match. Though betrothed at sixteen, they’d spent very little time together before their wedding fourteen years later. When he’d walked into their apartment earlier this afternoon, more than any other emotion, he was aware of a haunting sense of guilt for not having been able to love her the way she’d loved him.

Romantic love never grew on his part for her, only respect and admiration for her determination to keep up the image of a happily married couple. They’d suffered through three miscarriages hoping for a child, but it hadn’t happened.

His passion had never been aroused when they’d made love because he hadn’t been in love with her, but he’d done his best to show her tenderness. He’d known passion with other women before he’d married Michelina. But it had only been a physical response because he was never able to give his heart, knowing he was betrothed.

Vincenzo suspected Michelina’s parents had undergone the same kind of unfulfilled marriage. He knew his own parents had struggled. It was the rare occurrence when a royal couple actually achieved marital happiness. Michelina had wanted their marriage to be different, and Vincenzo had tried. But you couldn’t force love. That had to spring from a source all on its own.

However there was one thing he had been able to do that had brought them their first real happiness as man and wife. In fact it was the only thing that had gotten him through this dark period. Just a few days before she’d died, they’d learned they were pregnant again. Only this time they’d taken the necessary steps to prevent another miscarriage.

Relieved that his last duty for today was over, he left the balcony anxious to visit the woman who’d been willing to be a gestational surrogate for them. Abby Loretto, the American girl who’d become his friend. Since twelve years of age she’d been living on the palace grounds with her Italian father, who was chief of security.

Vincenzo had been eighteen, with his own set of friends and a few girlfriends his own age, when Abby had arrived on the scene. Yet Abby had become the constant in the background of his life, more like a younger sister flitting in and out of his daily life. It was almost like having a sibling. In a way he felt closer to Abby than he’d ever felt to his sister, Gianna, who was six years older.

The two of them had played in the sea or the swimming pool. She was fun and bright. He could be his real self around her, able to throw off his cares and relax with her in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. Because she lived on the grounds and knew the inner workings of the palace, she already had the understanding of what it was to be a royal. They didn’t have to talk about it.

When his mother had died, Abby had joined him on long walks, offering comfort. When he didn’t want anyone else around, he wanted her. She’d lost her mother, too, and understood what he was going through. She asked nothing from him, wanted nothing but to be his friend and share small confidences. Because they’d been in each other’s lives on a continual basis, he realized it was inevitable that they’d bonded and had developed a trust.

She’d been so woven into the fabric of his life that years later, when she’d offered to be a surrogate mother for him and Michelina, it all seemed part of the same piece. His wife had liked Abby a great deal. The three of them had been in consultation for several months before the procedure had been performed. They’d worked like a team until Michelina’s unexpected death.

He’d gotten used to their meetings with the doctor and the psychologist. While he’d been away on business, it had felt like years instead of weeks since he’d seen or talked to Abby. Now that she was carrying Vincenzo’s son or daughter, she was his lifeline from here on out. He needed to see her and be with her.

All he could think about was getting back to make certain she and the baby were doing well. But accompanying this need was an uncomfortable sense of guilt he couldn’t shake. Less than two months ago he’d lost his wife. While still in mourning over the marriage that had been less than perfect, he now found himself concentrating on another woman, who was carrying the baby he and Michelina had made.

It was only natural he cared about Abby, who’d agreed to perform this miracle. Before long he was going to be a father, all because of her! Yet with Michelina gone, it didn’t seem right.

But neither was it wrong.

While he’d been traveling, he hadn’t had time to dig deep into his soul, but now that he was back, he didn’t know how to deal with this new emotional dilemma facing him, and he left the balcony conflicted.

* * *

Abigail Loretto, known to her friends as Abby, sat alone on the couch in her apartment at the palace, drying her hair while she was glued to the television. She’d been watching the live broadcast of Prince Vincenzo opening the fruit festival from the balcony of the palace.

Abby hadn’t known he was back. Her Italian-born father, Carlo Loretto, the chief of palace security, had been so busy, he obviously hadn’t had time to inform her.

She’d first met Vincenzo sixteen years earlier, when her father had been made the head of palace security. The king had brought him and his American-born wife and young daughter from the Arancian Embassy in Washington, D.C., to live in the apartment on the palace grounds. She’d been twelve to his eighteen.

Most of her teenage years had been spent studying him, including his tall, hard-muscled physique. Instead of a film star or a famous rock star, she’d idolized Vincenzo. She’d even kept a scrapbook that followed his life, but she’d kept it hidden from her parents. Of course, that was a long time ago.

The crown prince, the most striking male Abby had ever met in her life, had many looks depending on his mood. From what she could see now, he appeared more rested since his trip.

Sometimes when he was aloof, those black eyes and furrowed brows that matched his glistening black hair made her afraid to approach him. Other times he could be charming and fun, even a tease. No one was immune from his masculine charisma. Michelina had been the most fortunate woman alive.

His picture was always on the cover of magazines and newspapers in Europe. The camera loved the handsome thirty-three-year-old son of Arancia, with his olive skin and aquiline features. Dogged by the press, he made the nightly news on television somewhere on the continent every day of the year.

The knowledge that he was home from his travels sent a wave of warmth through her body. Six weeks without seeing or talking to him about the baby had felt like an eternity. She knew he’d get in touch with her at some point. But after being away, he would have so much work to catch up on at home, it might be another week before she heard his voice on the phone.

Now that he’d left the balcony and had gone back inside the palace, the station began showing a segment of the funeral that had been televised on every channel throughout the kingdom and Europe six weeks ago.

She would never forget her father’s phone call. “I have bad news. Before Vincenzo and Michelina were due to return to Arancia today, she went for an early-morning ride on her horse. Vincenzo rode with her. While she was galloping ahead of him, the horse stepped in a hole. It tossed her over end. When she hit the ground, she died on impact.”

Abby froze.

Michelina was dead?

It was like déjà vu, sending Abby back to that horrific moment when she’d learned her own mother had died.

Poor Vincenzo. He’d seen the whole thing... She couldn’t stand it. “Oh, Dad—he’s lost his wife. Their baby will never know its mother.”

Before long she was driven to the hospital, where Dr. DeLuca had his office. “My dear Abby, what a terrible shock this has been. I’m glad your father brought you here. I’m going to keep you in the hospital overnight and possibly longer to make certain you’re all right. The prince has enough pain to deal with. Knowing you’re being looked after will be a great comfort to him. Excuse me while I arrange for a private room.”

When he left, Abby turned to her father. “Vincenzo must be in absolute agony.”

He kissed her forehead. “I know he is, but right now it’s you I’m worried about. Your blood pressure is up. I plan to stay with you and will tell Signor Faustino you’ve caught a bad cold, but will be back to work in a few days.”

“You can’t stay with me here, Dad. Your place is at the palace. The king will want you there.”

“Not tonight. My assistant is in charge, and Guilio wants to be there for his son. My daughter needs me, and I need you, so let that be the end of the discussion.”

Her father’s words had been final. Deep down she’d been glad he’d remained with her.

Abby kept watching the funeral she’d lived through once before. It was shocking to see how gaunt and shadowed Vincenzo’s handsome features had been back then. His wife’s death seemed to have aged him.

The most beautiful man she’d ever known in her life made a striking yet lonely figure in his mourning finery. Once again her soul shuddered to see his somber expression as he walked behind the funeral cortege toward the cathedral. He led Michelina’s favorite horse from the palace stable alongside him. The chestnut mare was covered in a throw of his wife’s favorite pink roses. The scene was so heart wrenching, Abby felt tears well up once again.

Behind him came the king, in his uniform of state, and his mother-in-law, dressed in a black mantilla and suit. They rode in the black-and-gold carriage with the siblings of both families. When the broadcast moved inside the cathedral, Abby listened once again to the scripture reading and remarks from the archbishop. When it was over and the bells from the cathedral rang out their mournful sound, she was once more a trembling mass of painful emotions.

“For those of you who’ve just tuned in, you’re watching the funeral procession of Her Royal Highness Princess Michelina Cavelli, the wife of Crown Prince Vincenzo Di Laurentis of the Principality of Arancia. Earlier in the week she was killed in a tragic horse-riding accident on the grounds of the royal palace on the island kingdom of Gemelli.

“In the carriage is His Majesty Guilio Di Laurentis, King of Arancia, her father-in-law. His wife, Queen Annamaria, passed away two years ago. Seated next to him is his daughter, Princess Gianna Di Laurentis Roselli and her husband, Count Roselli of the Cinq Terres of Italy.

“Opposite them is Her Majesty Queen Bianca Cavelli, mother of Princess Michelina. Her husband, King Gregorio Cavelli of Gemelli, was recently deceased. Also seated in the royal carriage is His Royal Highness Crown Prince Valentino Cavelli of Gemelli and Prince Vitoli Cavelli, the brothers of Princess Michelina.

“On this day of great sadness for both royal houses, one has to speculate on the future of the Principality of Arancia. The world has been waiting to hear that their Royal Highnesses were expecting a child after three miscarriages, but tragically the love match between Michelina and Vincenzo ended too soon.

“Should the Princess Gianna and her husband, Count Enzio Roselli, have offspring, then their child will be third in line to—”

Abby shut off the TV with the remote and got to her feet, unable to watch any more. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to live through that funeral segment a second time. Vincenzo’s trip appeared to have done him some good. It was better to leave the tragic past behind and concentrate on the future.

She walked into the den to do some work at her laptop. Her dinner would be arriving shortly. Except for the occasional meal out with her best friend, Carolena, Abby normally ate in while she worked on one of her law briefs. But she had little appetite tonight.

How hard for Vincenzo to come back to the palace with no wife to greet him. His loneliness had to be exquisite and her heart ached for him.

* * *

After receiving an urgent message from his father that couldn’t have come at a worse moment, Vincenzo had been given another reason to visit Abby. As he rounded the corner to her suite, he saw Angelina leaving the apartment with the dinner tray.

Angelina was Abby’s personal bodyguard, hired to keep an eye on Abby, virtually waiting on her. She was the one who fed Vincenzo information on a daily basis when he couldn’t be there himself. He stopped her so he could lift the cover. Abby had only eaten a small portion of her dinner. That wasn’t good. He put the cover back and thanked her before knocking on the door.

“Yes, Angelina?”

He opened it and walked through until he found Abby in the den, where he could see her at the desk working on her computer in her sweats and a cotton top. The lamp afforded the only light in the room, gilding the silvery-gold hair she must have just shampooed. He could smell the strong peach fragrance. It fell to her shoulders in a cloud.

Instead of the attorney-like persona she generally presented, she reminded Vincenzo of the lovely teenager who’d once flitted about the palace grounds on her long legs.

“Abby?”

She turned a face to him filled with the kind of sorrow he’d seen after her mother had died. “Your Highness,” she whispered, obviously shocked to see him. A glint of purple showed through her tear-glazed blue eyes. She studied him for a long moment. “It’s good to see you again.”

Because of the extreme delicacy of their unique situation, it frustrated him that she’d addressed him that way, yet he could find no fault in her.

“Call me Vincenzo when the staff isn’t around. That’s what you used to shout at me when you were running around the gardens years ago.”

“Children are known to get away with murder.”

“So are surrogate mothers.” There was something about being with Abby. “After such a long trip, I can’t tell you how much I’ve been looking forward to talking to you in person.”

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

Though he appreciated her words, he wished he could say the same about her. “What’s wrong? I noticed you hardly ate your dinner. Are you ill?”

“No, no. Not at all.” Abby got up from the chair, rubbing the palms of her hands against the sides of womanly hips. To his chagrin the gesture drew his attention to her figure. “Please don’t think that finding me in this state has anything to do with the baby.”

“That relieves me, but I’m still worried about you. Anything troubling you bothers me.”

She let out a sigh. “After I watched your live television appearance a little while ago, they replayed a segment of the funeral. I shouldn’t have watched it.” Her gaze searched his eyes. “Your suffering was so terrible back then. I can’t even imagine it.”

Diavolo. The media never let up. “To say I was in shock wouldn’t have begun to cover my state of mind,” he said.

Abby hugged her arms to her chest, once again drawing his attention to her slender waist. So far the only proof that she was pregnant came from a blood test. She studied him for a moment. “Michelina loved you so much, she was willing to do anything to give you a baby. I daresay not every husband has had that kind of love from his spouse. It’s something you’ll always be able to cherish.”

If he could just get past his guilt over the unhappy state of their marriage. His inability to return Michelina’s affection the way she’d wanted weighed him down, but he appreciated Abby’s words.

Little did Abby know how right she was. In public his wife had made no secret of her affection for him and he’d tried to return it to keep up the myth of a love match. But in private Vincenzo had cared for her the way he did a friend. She’d pushed so hard at the end to try surrogacy in order to save their marriage, he’d finally agreed to consider it.

Needing to change the subject, he said, “Why don’t you sit down while we talk?”

“Thank you.” She did as he asked.

He subsided into another of the chairs by her desk. “How are you really feeling?”

“Fine.”

“Rest assured that during my trip I insisted on being given a daily report on your progress. It always came back ‘fine.’”

“It doesn’t surprise me you checked. Something tells me you’re a helicopter father already,” she quipped.

“If you mean I’m interested to the point of driving you crazy with questions, I’m afraid I’m guilty. Since you and I have known each other from the time you were twelve, it helps me to know I can have the inside track on the guardian of my baby. Dr. DeLuca said your blood pressure went up at the time of the funeral, but it’s back to normal and he promises me you’re in excellent health.”

Abby had a teasing look in her eye. “They say only your doctor knows for sure, but never forget he’s a man and has no clue.”

Laughter broke from Vincenzo’s lips. It felt good to laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“So what does the crown prince’s personal physician have to say about the state of the expectant father?”

He smiled. “I was disgustingly healthy at my last checkup.”

“That’s good news for your baby, who hopes to enjoy a long, rich life with his or her daddy.”

Daddy was what he’d heard Abby call her father from the beginning. The two of them had the sort of close relationship any parent would envy. Vincenzo intended to be the kind of wonderful father his own had been.

“You’re veering off the subject. I told you I want the unvarnished truth about your condition,” he persisted.

“Unvarnished?” she said with a sudden hint of a smile that broke through to light up his insides. “Well. Let me see. I’m a lot sleepier lately, feel bloated and have finally been hit with the mal di mare.”

The Italian expression for sea sickness. Trust Abby to come up with something clever. They both chuckled.

“Dr. DeLuca has given me medicine for that and says it will all pass. Then in the seventh month I’ll get tired again.”

“Has he been hovering as you feared?”

“Actually no. I check in at the clinic once a week before going to work. He says everything looks good and I’m right on schedule. Can you believe your baby is only one-fifth of an inch long?”

“That big?” he teased. Though it really was incredible, he found it astounding she was pregnant with a part of him. He wished he could shut off his awareness of her. Michelina’s death had changed their world.

Vincenzo suspected Abby was also having to deal with the fact that the two of them were now forced to get through this pregnancy without his wife. No doubt she felt some guilt, too, because they were treading new ground neither of them could have imagined when they’d had the procedure done.

A laugh escaped her lips. “It’s in the developmental stage. He gave me two identical booklets. This one is for you. Anatomy 101 for beginner fathers.”

Abby...

She reached in the desk drawer and handed it to him. The title said The Ten Stages of Pregnancy at a Glance.

“Why ten, not nine?”

“A woman wrote it and knows these things.”

He appreciated her little jokes more than she could imagine. Her normally lighthearted disposition was a balm to his soul. Vincenzo thumbed through the booklet before putting it in his pocket. When he went to bed tonight, he’d digest it.

“Thank you. Now tell me about your law cases.” A safe subject that intrigued him. “Which one keeps you awake at night?”

“The Giordano case. I have a hunch someone’s trying to block his initiative for political reasons.”

“Run it by me.”

Her arched brows lifted. “You’d be bored to tears.”

“Try me.” Nothing about Abby bored him.

She reached in one of the folders on her desk and handed him a printout on the case, which he perused.