Tempted By The Royal. Michelle Celmer
“What? No. No way.”
“You might want to give the idea some thought before you discard it out of hand.”
“You need to give it some thought,” she told him. “Because if you did, you’d realize the idea is crazy.”
As far as proposals went, he realized this one left a lot to be desired. But he felt it was important to communicate what he wanted, and in that first moment when he’d realized Molly was carrying his child, he’d known.
He wanted Molly and the baby.
Their baby.
The rush of fierce possessiveness that swept through him drowned everything else.
“I want to be a father to this child,” he said, in case he hadn’t already made that point perfectly clear. “And the best way to ensure that is for us to get married.”
“Marriage doesn’t ensure anything.”
“I’m not asking for an answer right now. I’m just asking you to think about it.”
“The answer is no. I don’t want my child growing up in a fishbowl, and your need to don a disguise when we went into town this afternoon made me realize that the child of a prince—”
“Whether or not we marry,” he interrupted, “our child will be a member of the royal family.”
“We are not going to marry,” she said firmly.
Eric knew that if he pushed her any further right now, she’d only dig in her heels, so he let the subject drop, confident that she would eventually come around to his way of thinking.
When they’d left the palace a few hours earlier, he’d been looking forward to a pleasant afternoon and some time alone with Molly. He hadn’t been expected to be hit with the knowledge that he was going to be a father—or to already be thinking of marriage to the mother of his child. And while this situation was definitely outside the realm of his experience, he didn’t feel overwhelmed or trapped or panicked. Maybe it was because so much of his life had been turned upside down in the past few years that he was able to take these new developments in stride, but whatever the reason, marrying Molly just seemed…right.
Marcus would probably say he was still suffering the lingering effects of the concussion he’d sustained three years earlier. Of course, Marcus had always been quick with the jokes, and quicker to extricate himself from any relationship with a woman who had even hinted at long-term—at least until he met Jewel.
Unlike his younger brother, Eric had never been opposed to the idea of marriage. He’d just never had reason to consider it. But he was going to do more than consider it now.
There was going to be another royal wedding in Tesoro del Mar—just as soon as he could convince the woman he wished to become his bride.
Molly was relieved when she woke up the next morning and found a note from her cousin telling her that Fiona and Scott had borrowed a car and were taking a drive to the other side of the island. She was grateful for the reprieve, temporary though she knew it would be. Having succeeded in sending Molly and Eric off together the day before, Fiona would want to hear all the details of their outing, and Molly wasn’t quite sure how she would answer her questions.
She imagined Eric would give her a wide berth today. Not just because of the friction between them but because he would need some time to figure out what he really wanted with respect to a relationship with his child.
In the light of day, Molly realized she shouldn’t have been so surprised by his impulsive proposal the night before. She knew he was an honorable man who took his responsibilities seriously. It would be natural for him to want to assume responsibility for his child. But she was equally convinced that, having had an opportunity to think it through, he would be grateful she hadn’t accepted his offer of marriage.
She went down to the dining room for breakfast, helping herself to a bowl of fresh fruit and a muffin. It seemed that everyone else had already been and gone and though she didn’t mind the solitude, she was conscious of the fact that she’d slept late every morning since arriving on the island and worried that she would become accustomed to this life of leisure. Long stretches of time in which she was required to do absolutely nothing were beyond her realm of experience, so she was pleased when she wandered into the garden and found Princess Lara there with her sons.
Matthew had a butterfly net in one hand and a bug box in the other and was bent at the waist, peering intently at the grass. William toddled around behind his brother, his steps a little unsteady on the grass. Occasionally he’d land on his diaper-clad bottom, but he’d just push himself up again and keep going, though he frequently looked back to make sure his mother was still there and never ventured too far away from her.
“We’re looking for frogs,” the three-year-old young prince informed Molly when she joined them. “Would you like to help?”
“Frogs?” Molly squatted down so that she was at eye level with him. “What kind—brown ones or green ones?”
His little brow furrowed and he looked to his mother for help.
“Whichever ones we can find,” she told him, before lowering her voice so that only Molly could hear and adding, “which I’m hoping is none.”
Molly smiled at the princess, then turned back to the little boy and asked, “Are there any purple ones around here?”
“There’s no such thing as purple frogs,” he said authoritatively.
“How do you know?”
“’Cause Damon’s caught lotsa frogs and he’s never caught a purple one.”
“And I’ve told you,” Lara reminded her son, “just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”
“So there are purple frogs?”
Lara shrugged. “I’ve never seen one, but who knows?”
He turned to Molly. “Are there purple ones?”
“I can’t say for sure, either,” she admitted. “But I’ve heard about them and that they’re magical frogs.”
His eyes lit up. “Magical?”
Molly nodded. “If you’re lucky enough to find one, you pick it up—very gently, of course—and hold it in the palm of your hand for the count of ten. Can you count to ten?”
His head bobbed up and down enthusiastically.
“Okay, so you count slowly and out loud and when you get to ten, it will roll over onto its back so you can see its belly—which is actually more pink than purple—and make a wish as you tickle his belly.”
“What kind of wish?”
“Any kind of wish you want.”
“And my wish will come true?”
“That’s what they say. But,” she cautioned, “it only works if you haven’t touched any other frogs that day—not green ones or brown ones and especially not blue ones.”
His eyes grew wide. “There’s blue ones, too?”
Molly nodded.
“Wow.” He turned to his mom. “I’m goin’ huntin’ for purple frogs,” he said, and raced off again, lugging both the butterfly net and the bug box.
“Why especially not the blue ones?” Lara wondered, her voice tinged with both admiration and amusement.
“Because the blue ones are poison to the purple ones and when the purple ones get sick, they can’t grant anyone’s wishes.”
Lara laughed and dropped down onto the grass beside