Prince's Son of Scandal(24)

Kasim’s smile tightened. “I expect she’ll want to bring Tyrol. I know Angelique will want to see him by then.”

Which would require Xavier’s permission. He instantly rejected the idea. He had sent Trella to Spain while he’d traveled Australia before he’d realized how unbearable it would be. The King of Zhamair was not plotting to steal his son, he was sure, but at least if Tyrol stayed in Elazar, he knew Trella would come back.

He looked away, disturbed by the dependence that train of thought suggested.

“It was very hard on Angelique to be apart from Trella when Tyrol was born.” Kasim took a healthy sip of brandy, like he needed it, and hissed out his breath. “She fainted when Trella flatlined. Then your text came through and I realized why. She was hysterical until Trella was revived.”

So was I, Xavier could have said, but they were already sharing far past his usual level. He loathed thinking about those long terrifying minutes. It put him in a cold sweat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said woodenly, mostly to end the discussion. Doing a favor for one of the most powerful men in the Middle East was a smart move, he reasoned, but was repelled by the idea of using his son for political gain.

Duty. It wasn’t a double-edged sword. It was two branding irons pressing him front and back, pinning him in place, allowing no escape and only sinking deeper into his flesh when he tried.

Much later, when the couple had left, he was still thinking about where the line was drawn. Would his grandmother say Tyrol was doing his duty by going to Zhamair, cultivating warm relations with a foreign entity?

The poor boy didn’t even know what he was in for. He lay unswaddled in Trella’s lap, gaze wandering the ceiling, arms flailing and fingers catching in the curtains of her loose hair as she looked over him.

“Who gets another cousin?” she asked the boy with soft excitement.

Xavier sat with his feet propped on the ottoman. Her top afforded him a lovely view down her cleavage and her gentle laughter was as erotic as her tickling hair might feel, sweeping across his skin. It was sheer torture to sit here, wanting without having, but far too soon he wouldn’t even have this much so he savored the pain.

“Did you know she was pregnant? Before she told you? Kasim made it sound like you have a supernatural link.” He was skeptical, but Angelique had called her that time in the car, seeming to know Trella’s panic attack was upon her.

“Was he worried I spied on them while they were making that baby?” She lifted her head, so stunning, with amusement curving her lips, that his heart lurched. “No, it’s nothing like that. More an emotional thing.” Her smile faded. “I should have realized how happy she was, but I’ve been distracted.”

Pensive because of him. Upset. At least she was talking to him again.

“Do you feel it with your brothers?”

“They’re too pigheaded, especially Ramon. Isn’t he?” she said to Tyrol. “Tío Ramon is a toro.” A bull.

“But you still love them.” Xavier was beginning to see how love wasn’t just a romantic notion, or even a desire, for her. It was as vital to her as oxygen. It drove the very blood in her veins.

“I love them very much,” she agreed, sober and ultra-gentle as she kissed Tyrol’s bare feet. “They got me through my darkest times. I hung on because of them. Pushed through for them. Now I have Tyrol.” She dipped to nuzzle his tummy, making his little arms jerk.

You have me, Xavier thought, but thorns had invaded his windpipe. He was starkly aware he couldn’t pledge anything more than the pittance he’d already offered.

“You never wished for brothers or sisters?” Her head came up. “Your mother didn’t have more children?”

“My father has a daughter. Maybe three or four years old by now? My mother has two boys. Teenagers, I think.”

“You’ve never met them?”

“There’s no place for them in my life.” That’s what he’d always thought, but he heard how cold it sounded, especially as she looked so askance.

“You could have made one.”

“What would I have in common with them?”

“Parents?”

“They didn’t act like parents.” He shook the cubes of ice in his glass, wondering if he could judge when he’d barely grasped the ropes himself. “Neither were a great example of the importance of sibling relationships, either. I was young, but I picked up on jealousy and resentment between my mother and her sister. Because of her marriage into royalty, I suppose. And my father lost his brother.”

“It wasn’t his fault, was it?” She gathered Tyrol to her shoulder, tucking his blanket around him. “How old was he?”

“He was sixteen, his brother was eighteen. It was just a bad wind that came up while he was sailing. My father didn’t talk about him often, but when he did...” Xavier swallowed, still affected by the memory of his father growing teary. “He missed him. Made me think I was better off without that kind of risk.”

“But you’ll give Tyrol a sibling.”

“I have to.” It was the stark truth, but again he heard how indifferent it made him sound when really his emotions on the matter were so tangled he couldn’t even begin to name them.

Her brows pulled together and her mouth pouted. “I’ll do it because I want to.”

Without his need for biological children, many options were open to her, adoption among them. He suppressed a flinch, surprised how much it hurt to think of her starting a family with another man.

“You should,” he made himself say. “You’re a natural at motherhood. Family is clearly your source of strength.”

She stared at him like he was a dog that had been hit on the highway.

“Are you going up?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Leave him with me. I’ll put him down when he falls asleep.”

Her mouth twitched, but if she was surprised at his desire to hold his son, it was quickly blinked away. He let out a breath as she placed the boy’s warm weight in his hands, relaxing as he embraced one of the few responsibilities he was pleased to have.

Trella hovered, watching Tyrol rub his fist against his cheek, chasing it with his mouth. They shared a chuckle at his efforts, but Xavier’s was bittersweet.

“My family was not yours, bella. The way you are with them is a foreign culture to me. I can’t emulate something I never had. But I do want Tyrol to be happy. Happier than I was.”

Her hand settled on his shoulder. It was unnerving not only because they hadn’t touched since she’d been in the hospital, but because she gathered the torment rippling through him into a hot ball in the corner of his chest, so it pulsed under the feathery weight of her fingers. He held very still, as if her hand was a shy bird and he didn’t want to startle her into flitting away.

“I know.” Her thumb moved in a brief caress. “And I know you’re starting to love him. I’m glad.”

His heart swerved as her hand lifted and he watched her retreat.

* * *

Trella was trying hard to resign herself to Xavier’s limitations. Gili had hugged her and wiped her tears and said, “Give it time.” Things had been rough between her and Kasim before they’d married. She wasn’t ready to give up on Trella finding happiness with Xavier, but that was Gili. She wanted to believe the best of everyone and everything.

Trella wasn’t so sure, but she took heart from the way Tyrol had begun prying himself through Xavier’s defenses. Xavier took every opportunity to hold his son. Not for optics. No one was seeing him walk down the hall in the middle of the night. He wanted to hold him. He expressed concern about a little spit-up, then worried the damp patch would make Tyrol uncomfortable and changed him. He talked to his son about architecture, for heaven’s sake, then broke off when he realized Trella was listening.

Still, when she had accused him of starting to love his son, she suspected he had been more surprised by his capacity to do so than she was.

And therein lay the problem. She had told him she didn’t want to be married to a man who didn’t want her. She had meant a man who didn’t love her. If there was a chance he might develop feelings for her, surely she owed it to Tyrol to give their marriage a chance?

Or was that a foolish rationalization because she was smitten?

Either way, she had to keep the struggle off her face and smile for the wedding photos. Ramon and Isidora’s marriage should be perfect, even if hers wasn’t.

The ceremony was held in a five-hundred-year-old cathedral, conducted by an archbishop, witnessed by royalty, aristocrats, heads of state and celebrities from film, stage and the athletic arena. The route to the hotel, where the reception was held, had been blocked off and was lined ten-people deep with bystanders, photographers and even television cameras. Drones buzzed between the cars and a helicopter pattered overhead.

They hurried from the cavalcade up the red carpet, past the deafening cheer of the throng behind the velvet ropes, through the security checkpoint and into the relative peace of the ballroom where they finally caught their breath.

Mirrored tabletops reflected the lush floral arrangements of orchids and roses. Wisteria dripped from the ceiling along with crystals that glinted like snowflakes. A harpist’s delicate notes welcomed them along with uniformed staff carrying trays of gold-rimmed glasses of champagne.