Pregnant with a Royal Baby!(26)

Ginny blinked.

"You're looking at this from your side of the street, but what about  his? Ronaldo told me that his wife was the treasure he came home to at  night. That when the world was rocky, her silliness was his salvation.  She was beautiful, elegant and could charm the birds out of the trees.  But he didn't care about any of that. He liked that she played gin rummy  with him until the sun came up on nights he couldn't sleep. He liked  that he could talk about anything with her, knowing she'd never abuse  the power of his confidences and that no one would ever know she'd heard  things that were supposed to be secret."

Rose took a breath and patted Ginny's shoulder. "Do you really think Dom  will live much past sixty if he doesn't have a friend, a buddy, a  confidante, a lover who's willing to be whatever he wants without making  demands?"

"No."

"And can you see the lonely life he'll have unless you try to work this out?"

She sucked in a breath. "Yes."

"Ginny, you always believed that being a guidance counselor was a  calling. But what if this is your calling? Not just being Dom's true  partner, but also raising your child so that he or she isn't buried  under the stress of ruling?"

"Maybe I have been looking at this selfishly."

"Not selfishly, but ill informed. Now that you know how difficult all  this is, you've got to do whatever you can to make Dom's life easier."

* * *

Dom and Sally easily found the serving boy who had taken the pictures,  but that didn't change the fact that the damage was done. Dom looked at  photos of himself on the dais, on the dance floor and leading Ginny to  the rear entrance to return to their apartment, and even he saw it-the  weakness. The ease with which he stepped out of his role as leader and  into the role of what? A smitten lover?

He could not have that. He would not be his dad. If anything, now was the time to prove that he was stronger than his father.

He didn't have lunch with Ginny, didn't return to the apartment until  after eight that night. When he opened the door and entered the sitting  room, he found her on the sofa, reading a magazine. Dressed in a soft  red robe with a floral nightgown beneath it, she rose when she saw him.

"Did you catch the creep who took those pictures?"

He headed for the bar. "Yes."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

She returned to her seat. "Okay."

Silence descended on the room. He looked at the Scotch with disgust,  remembering the orange juice he'd been drinking for "unity." What was  wrong with him that he'd been such a schmuck? All he'd been doing since  their honeymoon was giving her the wrong idea.

He set the glass on the bar and didn't even tell her he was going to get  his shower. He let the water sluice over him, reminding himself that he  was a ruler, royalty, someone set aside to do the noble task of keeping  his people safe. He stood in the shower until he began to feel like his  old self.                       
       
           



       

He put on a pair of pajamas and crawled into bed with the latest popular  thriller. He might not be a television guy or a movie buff, but he  liked a good story, a good book. He read until ten when his eyelids grew  heavy. He set the book on the bedside table at the same time that Ginny  entered the room.

He wanted to suggest that she go back to her old room, but couldn't  quite bring himself to be that mean. Eventually she'd grow weary of him  ignoring her and she'd come to the decision on her own.

Soundlessly, she slipped out of her red robe, exposing the pretty  flowered nightie. His gaze fell to her stomach, which peeped out every  time she moved in such a way that the gown flattened against it. She  said nothing. Just crawled into bed.

But she rolled over to him. She put her head on his shoulder and her hand on his stomach.

He resisted the urge to lower his arm and cuddle her to him. This was,  after all, part of how he'd get her to see the truth of their situation  and go back to her own room. But when her breathing grew even and soft  and he knew she was asleep, he let his arm fall enough that he could  support her.

Then he laid his hand on her stomach.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensations of holding her, and fell  asleep telling himself that it wouldn't hurt to hold her every once in a  while.

* * *

Dom's life became a series of long days and empty meals. With Ginny's  mom deciding to retire to help Ginny care for the baby, he didn't have  to worry if she had company or if she was being cared for or  entertained. In fact, the way she slept in in the morning and had  lunches and most dinners with her mom made him feel they were  establishing a great system for being together without being together.

The thing of it was, though, she was in his bed every night. She never  said a word. Didn't try to seduce him. She just rolled against him, put  her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest and fell asleep.

He didn't resist it. Not because he took comfort from the small gesture,  but because she was pregnant with his child, and he was hurting her. It  almost seemed that this little ritual was her way of easing away from  him. And if this was what she needed to do to get through the next  months, he would let her have it.

But one night, she rolled against him and something bounced against his  side. He peered down. The stomach beneath her thin yellow nightgown  looked much bigger when she was on her side.

The bounce hit him again. He stiffened but she laughed.

"That's your baby."

He sprang up. "What?"

"Your baby." She took his hand and set it on her stomach. "He's moving."

The rounded stomach beneath his hand rippled. His jaw dropped. He smoothed his fingers along the silken nightie.

She sat up. "Here." She wiggled out of the nightie and tossed it.  Sitting naked in the dark with him, she took both his hands and  positioned them on either side of her belly.

The baby moved. A soft shift that almost felt like a wave.

He laughed, but his throat closed. "Oh, my God."

She whispered, "I know."

The desire to take her into his arms overwhelmed him and he pulled her close, squeezing his eyes shut. "Thank you."

She leaned back so she could catch his gaze. "For showing you the best way to feel the baby or for actually having the baby?"

Her eyes warmed with humor. The tension that had seized his back and  shoulders for the past six weeks eased and he laughed. "It's a big deal  to have a baby."

"Millions of women do it every day."

He sobered. "But not under such ridiculous conditions."

She took his hand, pressed it to her stomach again. "The conditions aren't that bad."

"You're not going to have a life."

She shrugged. "I know. I already figured out it'll take some  hellaciously special guy to ask out a woman who's divorced from a king  and mother to a child who's about to become king." She met his gaze.  "Very few guys will want to get on the bad side of a man who can answer  the question 'you and what army?'"

With the baby wiggling under his fingers, he said, "I'm so sorry."

She waited until he looked at her again, then she whispered, "I'm not."

"Then you haven't fully absorbed the ramifications of this mess yet."

"First, I don't think it's a mess. I told you. I didn't think I'd ever  become a mom. This baby is a great gift to me." She shrugged. "So I have  to give up dating permanently?" She put her hands on top of his. "This  is worth it."

"It is."

He didn't mean to say the words out loud. He now hated doing anything that gave her false hope. But she smiled and lay down.                       
       
           



       

"I'm sorry. Are you tired? Do you want to go to sleep?"

"Sleep?" She laughed and pointed at her stomach, which still rippled  with movement. "You think I'm going to sleep with the Blue Man Group  rolling around?"

He laughed, too, and settled on his pillow again. "Have you thought of names?"

"I pretty much figured your country would name her."

He sat up again and looked down into her eyes. "The country?"

She shrugged. "Parliament." She shrugged again. "Maybe your dad. Maybe tradition."

"Tradition plays a role but essentially we get to name the baby."

Her eyes lit. "Really? So if I want to call her Regina Rose, I can?"

He winced. "Sure."

"You don't like Regina?"

"I'd rather she just be Rose. It's a good solid name."

"It is." She paused a second before she said, "And if it's a boy?"

"I've always been fond of James Tiberius Kirk."

"Star Trek! You'd name our baby after someone in Star Trek?"