Comfortable with that assessment, he walked past the double sofas, over to the bar. When he turned to pour his Scotch, he saw the door to Ginny's suite door was open. And there she stood, in little pink panties and a pink lace bra. A short man wearing spectacles and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows had a tape measure around her hips. Her mom stood with her back to the door, obviously supervising.
Dom stared. He'd forgotten how perfect she was. With full breasts, a sweet dip for a waist and hips that flared just enough for a man to run his hand along, she had what most men would consider a perfect figure.
The short, dark-haired guy raised the tape measure to her waist and Dom followed every movement of the man's hands, remembering the smoothness of her shape, the silkiness of her skin. The tailor whipped the tape around and snapped the two ends together in the middle, right above her belly button and Dominic's head tilted.
Right there...
Right below that perfect belly button...
Was his child.
His child.
His hand went limp and the glass he was holding fell to the bar with a thump.
Ginny's head snapped up and she turned to see him standing there, staring. Their eyes met. And it hit him for the very first time, not that she was pregnant, but that the baby she carried was his.
His baby.
He'd created a life.
Rose turned, saw him and walked to the door. "Sorry, Dom. Didn't realize you were home."
And she closed the door.
Dominic stared at it. The whole thing about the baby didn't floor him as much as the realization that the baby was in Ginny's stomach. In a few weeks that flat tummy of hers would be round. She'd gain weight. Be miserable. Probably grouchy. Her feet would swell. She'd be clumsy-in front of millions. And then she'd spend God knew how long in labor.
Because of his baby.
Ginny's suite door opened and she walked out, tying the belt of a pink satin robe around her.
"Was there something you wanted?"
He stared at her, his chest tight, his mind numb. Up until that very moment he hadn't really considered how much Ginny was doing for him. Oh, he understood the loss of her job, but he suddenly saw the other things-losing her friends, living away from her mom, stretching her tummy to unknown limits, changing everything.
For his baby.
"Dom?"
He shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. I'm taking a break and thought I'd come up and see if you're ready for the formal dinner tonight with the ambassador."
She angled her thumb behind her, pointing at her suite door. "That's what the little guy with the moustache is doing. Final fitting for a dress Sally tells me your dad is going to have a fit over."
A laugh bubbled up, but he squelched it. "You can't always push my dad's buttons."
She shrugged. "I'm bored."
His laughter died. "Really?"
"No! Absolutely not. I'm getting fitted for a billion dresses and three-point-five-million pair of jeans. I never realized how many clothes a princess was expected to have."
"So you're not bored?"
"No. I just have a style." She shrugged and the pretty, shiny pink robe shifted over her sun-kissed shoulders.
He remembered biting those shoulders, nibbling her neck, rubbing his entire body over the length of her entire body.
"And, I swear, I'm not going overboard with sexy clothes. I'm just not going to dress like a grandma."
He cleared his throat. "I get it about not wanting to dress like a grandma. But be careful."
"You don't think it's time for someone to bring your dad into the twenty-first century?"
"If you can bring him in without the press having a field day, then give it your best shot."
She smiled, turned and walked back to her room. He watched every swish of the satin over her round bottom.
"Dinner's at eight, right?"
She called the question over her shoulder, her shiny yellow hair flowing to the middle of her back, accenting that curved waist that led to her perfect butt.
Dominic licked his suddenly dry lips. "Yes, eight. But we need to be in my dad's quarters at seven so that we all arrive in the dining room together, long before the ambassador so we can greet him."
"Piece of cake."
She opened the door to her suite and walked inside, leaving him alone in the living room again.
He tugged his tie away from his throat. A year of celibacy with her was not going to be easy.
He threw back the shot of Scotch and returned to his office for a few hours of admin work. When he entered the apartment again, Ginny's door was closed. He suspected she was getting ready for the dinner, so he went to his quarters, showered and put on the trousers and white shirt of his tux.
He managed the bow tie the way he could since he was eight, but the onyx-and-diamond cuff links, heirlooms with tricky catches, wouldn't lock.
He looked at his door and smiled. For the first time in his life he had a woman. In his quarters. About to marry him. Why shouldn't he take advantage?
Walking past the white sofas in the sitting room, he reminded himself that another man engaged to a gorgeous woman would find much better ways to take advantage of the situation, but he sought only help with cuff links. He was insane.
He knocked on her door.
"Yes."
"It's me, Dom." He sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling like a teenager trying to ask a girl to a dance. Idiocy. He cleared his throat and strengthened his voice. "The cuff links I'm wearing were gifts from the ambassador we're dining with tonight. They'd been in his family for a century. The clasps stick."
Before he could finish, her door opened. She stood before him in a pale blue satin dress. Sleeveless-strapless-it should have given him a delightful view, but she wore a little lace thing over it-sort of a jacket, but not quite long enough.
Her hair had been put up, but not in the grandma hairdo. It was more like a long, silky, braided ponytail with flowers woven through it.
She lifted her pretty face and smiled at him. "Heirlooms, huh?"
He said, "Yes," but his voice came out rusty again. Except this time he knew why he was dumbstruck. She wore almost no makeup, yet she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever met.
"Let me see."
He held out his arm and she examined the cuff links that he'd slid through the buttonholes but hadn't locked. She took the first in her nimble fingers, her face pinching in concentration, and something warm and wonderful swished through him.
He told himself it was nothing but attraction, but when she finished closing and locking the cuff links, she glanced up and smiled at him, and he realized how nice she was. It was no wonder she was so good with the children of her high school. She was just plain sweet.
And he was a pampered ruler. Somebody so accustomed to getting his own way that he'd persuaded her to marry him. It was for the best, of course, but that was his pathology. Even if it hadn't been the best for Ginny, if it had been the best for his country, he would have tossed her feelings aside and worked things to his benefit anyway.
The warm, fuzzy feeling she inspired shifted into cold, hard steel. Because that's who he really was, and even as much of a bastard as he could be, he didn't want to hurt her.
Not after she was doing so much for him.
* * *
Dom and Ginny left their apartment at ten to seven. He was the picture of kingly gorgeousness in his black tux.
When she told him that, he cast a sideways glance at her. "Thank you. You look lovely, too."
Not twenty minutes before they had shared a happy moment over his cuff links. Now he was cool and distant? It didn't make any sense.
They walked to the elevator, which opened as soon as they arrived. Neither spoke as they stepped inside and Dom pushed the button for the second floor.
A guest of the palace, Ginny's mom was invited to join them for dinner, and she waited for them in the second-floor lobby beside the elevator.
When they stepped out, she hugged Ginny. "Very pretty."
Ginny displayed her newfound curtsy skills. "Thanks. Your outfit is gorgeous, too."
Rose smoothed her hand along the soft beige satin. The king had offered the services of their clothier, and her pragmatic mom hadn't had a qualm about using them. She had the tailor whip up a simple satin skirt and sequined top that sort of looked like a tank top. She'd swept her yellow and pink hair into a neat French twist. She looked simple, but elegant. More elegant than Ginny had ever seen her.
As Dom guided them in the direction of the king's quarters, Rose whispered, "I could get used to this."
Ginny's eyes widened in horror. She had no idea why Dom had suddenly become distant, but hearing her mom say she could get used to luxury wouldn't help things.