The Prince's Pregnant Mistress. Maisey Yates
it does. It suits me perfectly. As you well know. I am not the kind of woman that you could ever take back to your country, so you must think that. I’m a waitress. A lowly server that you met in a sleazy restaurant better known for the waitresses breasts than the chicken breasts. I would say this behavior suits me perfectly.”
She was vibrating with rage, angry like she’d been the night he had ended things with her. When she had screamed at him, thrown a shoe at him. Hit him with a shoe. It had been the exact response he’d been looking for. He could not have her coming after him. Could not have her being tempted in any regard to find him, not when he was ready to get married and begin producing children. He had made their separation as devastating as possible so she would not seek him out.
Better to spoil her memory of him than leave her longing. Of course, he had changed his mind about that. Which he reserved his right to do. He was a prince, after all.
“You are carrying my child,” he said, looking down at her stomach. She wasn’t showing dramatically, just a vague bump beneath her sweater. Her curves looked a bit more abundant. He considered himself an expert on Bailey’s curves, so he was certain his assessment was correct. “How far along are you?”
“Close to four months,” she said. “It happened before we broke up. But I didn’t know until after.”
“Did you try and get in touch with me?”
That question seemed to make her angry, too. “Yes. I did. Though, since I didn’t know your actual identity, it was a little bit tricky. I texted you.”
The only number that Bailey had was to the phone that only she used. He had been careful to keep everything with her separate. Particularly when he had discovered that she truly didn’t know who he was. There had been something so enticing about it. The chance to come here and be with a woman who had no expectations. To be more himself than any other venue allowed.
And when he had ended things with her, he had gotten rid of the phone. Cutting off his temptation. He didn’t need to save messages from her. Or the occasionally suggestive photographs that she had provided.
“I no longer have that phone,” he said.
“Wow. When you break up with a girl, you really go hard-core.”
He frowned. “You keep using that word, Bailey. As though you were my girlfriend. From my point of view, we never had that kind of relationship.” He realized, even as he spoke the words, that he was being extraordinarily unfair to her.
With most women, he laid out the ground rules from moment one. He had not been seeking Bailey out. Not at all. He had come to Vail to visit a friend’s resort and see about investing in the property and its expansion. And then a blizzard had waylaid his travel.
Not even a man such as himself could control a storm.
He had wandered into a restaurant not far from his hotel, and had nearly walked right back out when he’d seen what sort of establishment it was. But then he had seen her. Somehow, in spite of the tacky surroundings, the horrendous uniform and the dim lighting, she had shone.
He had been able to think of only one thing. One word. Mine.
And there had never been a single thing in his life that he had wanted and had not gotten. He had purposed in that moment that the waitress would be one of them.
When she had made assumptions about who he was, he had allowed her to do so. He had encouraged it. And he had not done as impeccable a job as he usually did of ensuring that the relationship stayed in the bedroom. But he had reasoned that he only ever saw her for a long weekend every couple of months. And it would be wrong to keep her in a hotel room the entire time.
So he had taken her out. He had no connections to Vail other than that one visit to see about investing. The press never had any reason to take an interest in him being there. Or even think that he would be there.
There were a great many advantages to having a relatively low profile.
“What I mean,” he said, attempting to soften his tone, “is that I have lovers, not girlfriends. Women that I carry out affairs with. I don’t date. That’s the issue with being a prince. You cannot simply go public with women, not without expectation being attached. However, I was hardly going to live my life celibate.”
“You had a fiancée.” The words were low, carrying with them an edge of violence.
“Allegra was nothing more than a convenience. She is from one of Italy’s most revered families. She was a reasonable choice for a man in my position. She was not my lover.”
“Well, I guess that’s something,” she said. “So. I figure we need to come to some kind of child support arrangement? I’m having your baby. If you need me to get a paternity test, fine, whatever. I’ll hate you, but I already do. Whatever you need. A cheek swab, my blood. Though I’d prefer not to give blood. I’ve already bled for you. I’m not doing it again.”
“What are you talking about? A child support?”
“Presumably you have a castle. I would like to not live in a heap.”
“And so you want money?”
He found her fascinating. This woman who had not known who he was. This woman who was standing there with a tabloid featuring him at her feet, who had been a virgin when he’d first taken her. Who was asking for child support, and not threatening to go to the press. Not demanding a pied-à-terre in various cities or pieces of the crown jewels.
Clearly, she had no understanding of the situation she found herself in, in spite of what she thought.
“I don’t think it’s unreasonable,” she said. “My own mother was single. And my father didn’t give us anything. I’m not going to consign my son or daughter to that life if I can make it better. I have a responsibility. And so do you.”
“Undeniably I have a responsibility to this child, but I do not think you understand exactly what you’re dealing with here,” he said, staring at her, mystified.
“I’m dealing with an unexpected pregnancy and the best way that I can think to handle it. I want to make sure that you are not living in the lap of luxury while your son or daughter has nothing.”
“Oh, I have no intention of my son or daughter lacking for anything. But if you think that I’m leaving them here in Colorado to be raised alone by you, you have failed to understand the man that you are involved with.”
Her entire face turned pink, her rage seemingly silent for the first time since he had aroused it three months ago.
“I am not sending child support checks, cara. There will be no more discussion of it.”
“What do you mean you aren’t allowing me to raise my child in Colorado? Under what authority? This is America! And last I checked, you probably aren’t a citizen.”
“Diplomatic immunity,” he said, waving his hand, “and a desire to preserve relations with my country, will no doubt see any kind of court battle you should wish to wage fall in my favor. Who would give custody to a waitress from Sweater Bunnies when a prince is on hand to raise the child to rule?”
“You’re going to take my baby from me?” Her voice had turned shrill, and he could see that she was looking around the room, her eyes darting back and forth. Probably looking for a weapon.
“It should not come to that.”
“Start speaking slowly, and spelling out what exactly you’re implying. Obviously I’m not picking up on it.”
“Of course,” he said, “there will be no discussion of my sending you child support checks, and no discussion of the child being raised here, because you will both be in Santa Firenze.”
“I thought I wasn’t fit to be brought back to your country.”
She wasn’t. Even now, looking at her, that intense