Memories lingered in the air, and her body was on high alert, tuned in to his every move, and she loathed her own weakness as much now as she had two years before. She needed to distract herself, to focus on what was important—and that was Amil.

The day’s events had moved at warp speed and she was desperately trying to keep up. The truth was out, and it was imperative she kept control of a future that she could no longer reliably predict.

Frederick wanted to be a real part of Amil’s life—he had made that more than clear. But at this point she had no idea what that meant, and she knew she had to tread carefully.

The limo slowed down and she took a deep breath as it glided to a stop.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

‘Ready.’

With any luck she wouldn’t have lost her touch with the press. In truth, she’d always liked the paparazzi. Her mother had always told her that publicity was a means to measure success, part of the climb to fame and fortune and independence.

They stepped out into a crowd of reporters, the click of cameras and a fire of questions.

‘Are you back together?’

‘Friends or lovers?’

‘Does Kaitlin know?’

‘Where have you been, Sunita?’

Frederick showed no sign of tension. His posture and smile were relaxed, his whole attitude laid back.

‘At present we have no comment. But if you hold on I promise we will have an announcement to make after dinner.’

Next to him, Sunita smiled the smile that had shot her to catwalk fame. She directed a small finger-wave at a reporter who’d always given her positive press, a smile at a woman she’d always enjoyed a good relationship with, and a wink at a photographer renowned for his audacity.

Then they left the reporters behind and entered the restaurant, and despite the knowledge of how important the forthcoming conversation was a part of Sunita revelled in the attention she was gathering. The simple ability to walk with her own natural grace, to know it was OK to be recognised, her appreciation of the dress and the inner confidence it gave her—all of it was such a contrast to the past two years, during which she had lived in constant denial of her own identity, burdened by the fear of discovery.

The manager beamed at them as he led them past the busy tables, where patrons looked up from their food and a buzz immediately spread. Sunita kept her eyes ahead, noting the dark-stained English Oak screens and latticing that graced the room, the hustle and bustle from the open-plan kitchen where chefs raced round, the waiters weaving in and out, and the tantalising smells that drifted into the eating area.

‘As requested, we’ve seated you in a private dining area where you will be undisturbed. My head chef has arranged a buffet for you there, with samples of all our signature dishes, and there is, of course, champagne on ice—we are very happy to welcome you both here.’

He turned to Sunita.

‘I do not expect you to remember me, but when you were a child your mother brought you many, many times to the restaurant I worked in then. Your mother was a lovely lady.’

Memory tugged as she studied the manager’s face. ‘I do remember you. You’re Nikhil! You used to give me extra sweets and fortune cookies, and you would help me read the fortunes.’

His smile broadened. ‘That is correct—I am very happy to see you here, and I am very sorry about your mother. She was a good woman.’

‘Thank you. That means a lot to me. And it would have to her as well.’

It really would. So many people had looked down on Leela Baswani because she had been a single, unmarried mother, and a model and actress to boot. But her mother had refused to cower before them; she had lived her life and she’d loved every minute of it—even those terrible last few months. Months she didn’t want to remember, of watching her mother decline, knowing that soon she would be left alone in the world.

But those were not the memories Leela would have wanted her daughter to carry forth into life. Instead she would remember her as Nikhil did—as a good, brave, vibrant woman.

Nikhil showed them into the private dining room, where a beautifully decorated table laid with snowy white linen held fluted glassware, gleaming cutlery and a simple table decoration composed of an arrangement of glorious white roses.

Sunita looked at them, and then at Nikhil, and a lump formed in her throat. White roses had been her mother’s favourite flower—her trademark accessory—and as the scent reached her nostrils she closed her eyes for a second. ‘Thank you, Nikhil.’

The manager gave a small bow. ‘You are very welcome. Now, both of you enjoy the food. I believe our chef has excelled himself. And I guarantee you complete privacy.’

With one more beaming smile, he left, closing the door behind him.

‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ Frederick said.

‘Thank you.’

‘She isn’t mentioned in any articles about you except April’s most recent one. None of your family is.’

‘No. They aren’t.’

And that was the way it would stay—she would love to remember her mother more publicly, but to do that would risk questions about her father, and she’d severed her ties with him years before—the man who’d abandoned her before birth and then reappeared in her life only to make it thoroughly miserable.

‘Anyway, we aren’t here to speak of my family.’ He raised an eyebrow and she bit her lip. ‘I mean, we are here to discuss Amil’s future.’

‘We are. But first shall we help ourselves to food?’

She nodded. No way could she hurt Nikhil’s feelings, but she sensed there was more to Frederick’s suggestion than that. It was almost as if he were stalling, giving himself time to prepare, and a sense of foreboding prickled her skin—one she did her best to shake off as she made a selection from the incredible dishes displayed on the table.

There was a tantalising array of dumplings with descriptions written in beautiful calligraphy next to each platter—prawn and chive, shanghai chicken, pak choi... Next to them lay main courses that made her mouth water—Szechuan clay pot chicken, salmon in Assam sauce, ginger fried rice...

The smell itself was enough to allay her fears, and she reminded herself that Frederick had a country to run—other fish to fry, so to speak. Surely the most he would want would be to contribute to Amil’s upkeep and see him a few times a year. That would work—that would be more than enough.

Once they were seated, she took a deep breath. ‘Before we start this discussion you need to know that I will not agree to anything that feels wrong for Amil. He is my priority here and if you try to take him away from me I will fight you with my last dying breath. I just want that out there.’

There was something almost speculative in his gaze, alongside a steely determination that matched her own. ‘Amil is my priority too—and that means I will be a real part of his life. That is non-negotiable. I just want that out there.’

‘Fine. But what does that mean?’

‘I’m glad you asked that, because I’ve given this some thought and I know what I believe is best for Amil’s future.’

The smoothness of his voice alerted Sunita’s anxiety. The presentiment of doom returned and this time her very bones knew it was justified. Spearing a dumpling with an effort at nonchalance, she waved her fork in the air.

‘Why don’t you tell me what you have in mind?’

His hazel eyes met hers, his face neutral. ‘I want you to marry me.’

CHAPTER FIVE

‘MARRY YOU?’ SUITA STARED at him, flabberghasted. ‘That’s a joke, right?’

It must be his opening bid in negotiations designed to throw her into a state of incoherence. If so, he’d slammed the nail on the head.

‘No joke. Trust me, marriage isn’t a topic I’d kid about. It’s a genuine proposal—I’ve thought it through.’

‘When? In the past few hours? Are you certifiably nuts?’

‘This makes sense.’

‘How? There is no universe where this makes even a particle of a molecule of sense.’

‘This is what is best for Amil—best for our son.’

‘No, it isn’t. Not in this day and age. You cannot play the let’s-get-together-for-our-child’s-sake card.’

That was the stuff of fairy tales, and she was damned sure that her mother had been right about those being a crock of manure.

‘Yes, I can. In the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances?’ Her fogged brain attempted to illuminate a pathway to understanding and failed.

‘If you marry me Amil will become Crown Prince of Lycander after me. If you don’t, he won’t.’

The words took the wind out of the sails of incredulity. Of course. Duh! But the idea that Frederick would marry her to legitimise Amil hadn’t even tiptoed across her mind. The whole concept of her baby one day ruling a principality seemed surreal, and right now she needed to cling onto reality.

‘We can’t get married to give Amil a crown.’

‘But we can get married so that we don’t deprive him of one.’

‘Semantics.’ Think. ‘He won’t feel deprived of something he never expected to have.’ Would he? ‘Amil will grow up knowing...’

Her voice trailed off. Knowing what? That if his mother had agreed to marry his father he would have been a prince, a ruler, rather than a prince’s illegitimate love-child.

‘Knowing that he can be whatever he wants to be,’ she concluded.

‘As long as what he wants to be isn’t Ruler of Lycander.’

Panic stole over her, wrapped her in tentacles of anxiety. ‘You are putting me in an impossible position. You are asking me to decide Amil’s entire future. To make decisions on his behalf.’

‘No. I am suggesting we make this decision together. I believe this is the best course of action for Amil. If you think otherwise then convince me.’

‘He may not want to be pushed into a pre-ordained future—may not want to be a ruler. Why would we burden him with the weight of duty, with all the rules and obligations that come with it?’

‘Because it is his right to rule. Just as it was my brother’s.’

His voice was even, but she saw the shadows chase across his eyes, sensed the pain the words brought.

‘Axel wanted to rule—he believed in his destiny.’

‘So you believe this is Amil’s destiny?’ Sunita shook her head. ‘It’s too abstract. We make our own destiny and Amil will make his, whatever we decide to do. I want to make the decision that is best for his wellbeing and happiness—you don’t need a crown for either.’

‘This isn’t about need—this is about his birthright. As my first born son he has the right to inherit the Lycander crown.’

‘Even though he was born out of wedlock?’

It was the phrase her grandmother had used to describe Sunita’s birth, to try and explain why her husband had thrown their pregnant daughter out.

‘I know it is hard to understand in this day and age, Sunita, but in our family a mixed race child, born out of wedlock, was a stigma. It wasn’t right, but it was how my husband felt.’

A feeling shared by others. Sunita could still feel the sting of the taunts her half-siblings had flung at her—nasty, insidious words that had clawed at her self-esteem.

Focus. Frederick watched her, his hazel eyes neutral and cool; he was in control and she quite clearly wasn’t. Her thoughts raced round a playground of panic, visited the seesaw, spent time on the slide. Being born out of wedlock would have no impact on Amil’s life; it was not a reason to get married.

She forced herself to concentrate on Frederick’s answer to her question.

‘It makes no odds as long as we legitimise him through marriage,’ he said. ‘Lycander’s rules are complex, but clear on that front.’

Oh, Lord. What was she supposed to do? How could she make a decision like this without the use of a crystal ball? Her mother had believed the right course of action had been to hand Sunita over to her father.

‘People can change, Suni,’ her mother had said. She’d stroked Sunita’s hair with a hand that had looked almost translucent, the effort of even that movement an evident strain. ‘I have to believe that.’

Sunita understood the uncharacteristic thread of sentimentality in her mother over those final weeks. Leela Baswani had wanted to die believing her daughter would be safe and happy, and so she had allowed herself to be conned again by the man who had already broken her heart. She’d allowed herself to believe that people could change.

Well, she’d been wrong. And so was this.

‘This is impossible, Frederick. We can’t spend the rest of our lives together.’

The very idea of spending a week with anyone made her skin prickle in affront—she could almost feel the manacles closing round her wrists. ‘Maybe we should get married, legitimise Amil, and then get a divorce.’

Even as the words left her lips she knew how stupid they were.

‘No. I want to give Amil a life with both his parents, and most importantly, if he is to rule Lycander, he needs to live in the palace, be brought up to understand his inheritance. And I need a wife—a true consort.’

This was becoming laughable. ‘Really, I am not wife material—trust me on this.’

His broad shoulders lifted. ‘But you are the mother of my child.’

Fabulous. ‘So you’ll make do with me because I come with a ready-made heir? And this whole marriage idea is because we are convenient?’ The idea caused welcome anger—an emotion she could manage way better than panic.

‘You don’t care about Amil as a person—you only care about him as a commodity.’

‘No!’ Her words had clearly touched a nerve. ‘I care about Amil because he is my son and I believe this is his right. I want him to grow up with two parents. And, believe me, this is hardly convenient. I intended to present my people with a wife and heir in a more conventional way.’

‘Well, gee, thank you. That makes us feel really special.’

But she was the woman who had omitted to mention his son’s existence—making her feel special would hardly be anywhere on his agenda.

His raised eyebrows indicated complete accord with her unspoken thought. ‘There’s no point in hypocrisy. If you expect me to go down on one knee, think again.’

‘I don’t expect anything—especially not a proposal. I don’t want to marry you; I don’t want to marry anyone.’

‘I appreciate that. Until recently marriage has never exactly been high on my to-do list either. Back in the day I had a business to run and a party lifestyle to maintain. But circumstances have changed. For us both. We have Amil. I now have a country to run. I need a wife and I need an heir...to show the people of Lycander that I have changed. That I am responsible, that I offer stability, that I can put the principality’s needs above my own.’

Sunita tried to equate this Frederick with the man she had known. ‘Have you changed?’

‘Yes.’ The syllable was bleak in its certainty, but despite its brevity it conveyed absolute conviction. ‘You can choose to believe that or not, as you wish. But believe this: I need to get married.’

‘Well, I don’t. I prefer to be on my own.’ She didn’t want to be tied to anyone—she wanted to be independent and free to make decisions for herself and for Amil. ‘Free.’ In control.

‘I understand that.’ His jaw set in a hard line. ‘But marriage is the only way to secure Amil his birthright and give him two parents one hundred per cent of the time.’

There was a strange undercurrent to his voice, and she realised just how important this must be to him. According to her research, his parents had split when he was three and his father had won sole custody. After that he’d had a series of stepmothers, none of whom had lasted more than a few years. So perhaps it was little wonder he wanted to give his son the kind of stable family he’d never had. For a moment, compassion for the little boy he had once been touched her and she forced herself to concentrate on the present.

‘But it wouldn’t be good for Amil to grow up and see his parents in an unhappy marriage.’

‘Why assume it will be unhappy?’

‘Because...’ To her own annoyance, not a single reason sprang to mind that didn’t sound stupid. Eventually she said, ‘You can’t expect me to sign up to a life sentence with a man I don’t even know.’

‘Fair enough. Then let’s rectify that.’

He smiled—a smile of the toe-curling variety, like sunshine breaking through a grey cloudbank. And she couldn’t help smiling back. But then the moment was gone and the stormy skies reappeared.

‘Rectify it how?’

‘Let’s get to know each other. Bring Amil to Lycander and—’

‘No! Once we are in Lycander I have no idea if we will be subject to Lycander law. Which, as far as I can gather, is you.’

The smile was a distant memory now, his face set in granite. ‘You don’t trust me?’

‘I don’t trust anyone.’ After all, if you couldn’t trust your own father, who could you trust? His promise to her mother that he would look after Sunita, care for her as only a parent could, had turned out to be a bunch of empty, meaningless syllables.

‘So we stay here.’

He raised his hands. ‘Fair enough. But I can’t be away for too long. I can stay in Mumbai for a few days or... Wait, I have a better idea.’ The smile made a return. ‘How about we go away for a few days? You and me. Away from the press and the politics and the spotlight.’

‘You and me?’ Panic and horror cartwheeled in her stomach.

‘Yes. You and me. I’ll put my money where my mouth is—you said you couldn’t marry someone you didn’t know, so here’s the opportunity to spend time with me. Twenty-four-seven, with no distractions.’

‘Be still my beating heart.’

Now his smile broadened and this time she was sure her hair curled.

‘I knew you’d like the idea. Would your grandmother be happy to look after Amil?’

‘If I agree to this, Amil comes with us.’ A frown touched her brow and her eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Surely you want to get to know your son?’

‘Of course I do. But before we spend time together as a family, we need to know where we stand. I know he is only a baby, but I want him to have certainty and stability.’

The kind of certainty she guessed he’d never known. Again for an instant she wanted to reach out and offer comfort. What to do? What to do? In truth she didn’t know. She should close this down now—but was that the right thing for Amil?

Frederick wanted to be a real part of his life, wanted to make him his heir. She couldn’t in all conscience dismiss it out of hand. More than that, insane though it might be, there was a tiny part of her that didn’t want to. That same tiny part that two years ago had wanted Frederick to ask her to stay, to sweep her into his arms and—

Cue mental eye-roll and a reality check. Fairy tales didn’t exist. This was for Amil’s sake.

‘OK. Two days. I won’t leave Amil longer than that.’

‘Deal. Where do you want to go?’

Sunita thought for a moment. ‘Goa.’ That would keep it all in perspective—her parents had spent some time in Goa; they’d been happy there, but that hadn’t led to a happily-ever-after in any sense.

‘OK. Here’s how it’ll work. I’ll have my people pick up Amil and your grandmother now, and bring them to the hotel. Once we make the announcement about Amil the press will converge. I want my son safe here, under royal security protection.’

She could feel the colour leech from her skin and saw that he had noticed it.

‘I don’t believe he is danger, but his position has changed. No matter what we decide, there will be more interest in him and his life from now on.’

She inhaled an audible breath. ‘You’re right. I’ll call my grandmother and prepare her.’

Pulling her phone out of her bag, she rose and walked to the opposite end of the room.

* * *

Frederick watched as Sunita paced the width of the room as she talked, her voice low but animated, one hand gesturing as the conversation progressed.

It was impossible not to admire her fluidity of movement, her vibrancy. At least she hadn’t blown the marriage idea out of the water. But he’d known she wouldn’t do that—for Amil she had to consider it. What woman would deprive her son of a crown? Yet unease still tingled in his veins. Sunita might well be the one woman who would do exactly that.

Ironic, really—his chief advisor had a list of women who wanted to marry him, and he’d proposed to the one woman who didn’t even want to audition for the part of bride.

No matter—he would convince her that this was the way forward. Whatever it took.

His conscience jabbed him. Really? Whatever it took? Maybe that was how his father had justified the custody battles.

Abruptly he turned away and, pulling his own phone out, set to work making arrangements.

He dropped his phone back in his pocket as she returned to the table. ‘How did your grandmother take it?’

‘With her trademark unflappable serenity. I think she suspected—she may even have recognised you earlier and put two and two together. She’ll have Amil ready.’ Her chin jutted out at a defiant angle. ‘I’ve asked Sam and Miranda as well.’

She really didn’t trust him. ‘Do you really think I will take Amil from you by force?’

Silence greeted this and he exhaled heavily.

‘If you can’t trust my morality then at least trust my intelligence. I want you to marry me—kidnapping Amil would hardly help my cause. Or garner me positive publicity in Lycander. You hid Amil from me for two years. I have more reason to distrust you than vice versa.’

‘Maybe it’s best if neither of us trusts each other.’

She had a point.

‘Works for me. Whilst we are away Amil will be in your grandmother’s charge, with Sam and Miranda as your back-up. But they remain based in the hotel, and if they go anywhere one of my staff goes with them. Does that work for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Once they are safely here I’ll announce it to the press. We’ll leave for Goa tomorrow, after my visit to the school.’

‘Whoa! Hold on.’ One elegant hand rose in the air to stop him. ‘This is a joint operation. So, first off, I want to make the announcement. And we are not mentioning marriage.’

She drummed her fingers on the table and he could see her mind whir. This had always been her forte—she’d used to play the press like a finely tuned instrument, and had always orchestrated publicity for maximum impact with impeccable timing.

‘Prince Frederick and I are delighted to announce that fourteen months ago our son Amil was born. Obviously we have a great deal to discuss about the future, which we will be doing over the next few days. My press office will be in touch with details of a photo opportunity with the three of us tomorrow.’

‘Photo opportunity?’ Three of us...? The words filled him with equal parts terror and anticipation.

‘Yes. Better to arrange it than have them stalk us to try and get one. And I assume you want to spend time with Amil before we go?’ She clocked his hesitation before he could mask it. ‘Is there a problem?’

‘No.’ Liar.

Her eyes filled with doubt. He racked his brain and realised that in this case only the truth would suffice.

‘I don’t want to upset Amil or confuse him just before you leave him.’

He didn’t want his son to believe on any level that it was his father’s fault that he was losing his mother. Even for a few days.

For the first time since his proposal she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and he blinked at the warmth it conveyed. If he were fanciful, he’d swear it had heated his skin and his soul.

‘You won’t upset him. Truly. How about we take him to the Hanging Gardens? He loves it there—the press can take their photos and then we can take him for a walk.’

‘Sounds great.’

But the warmth dissipated and left a cold sheen of panic in its wake. What if the meeting didn’t go well? What if they couldn’t connect?

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