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As for Dante’s mother, they occasionally ran into her at public events and exchanged polite nods of acknowledgement. Dante’s father had passed away two years earlier after a severe stroke. Princess Sofia sent magnificent gifts every time her son had another child and had once dared to drop in and seek the reassurance that her grandchildren were being taught their proud history. But although Dante had become a prince on his father’s death, he refused to use the title, deeming that snobbish superiority that had tainted his parents and persuaded them to have children they didn’t want too dangerous to nurture in his own family.
‘We’re going to have another wonderful Christmas,’ Belle told Dante cheerfully as she emerged from the shower. ‘All the family and friends round the table together, healthy and happy.’
‘I was never a people person. You’re the one who made that miracle possible for me,’ Dante told her, appreciative eyes resting on her as she raced around the room getting dressed.
‘We both did,’ she contradicted softly. ‘You had to let love in before our life could happen—’
‘I didn’t so much let love in as get run over by the equivalent of a ten-ton truck!’ Dante teased her. ‘Meeting you changed my life.’
Belle grabbed his hand, stretched up to kiss his freshly shaven cheek and gave a little wriggle of sheer appreciation as she looked up at him with her heart in her eyes. ‘I love you so much...’
‘Not half as much as I love you,’ Dante told her confidently.
* * *
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Keep reading for an excerpt from His Forbidden Pregnant Princess by Maisey Yates.
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His Forbidden Pregnant Princess
by Maisey Yates
CHAPTER ONE
SHE WAS BENEATH him in every way. From her common blood to her objectively plain appearance—that years of designer clothing, professional treatments from the finest aestheticians and beauticians and the work of the best makeup artists money could buy had failed to transform into true beauty—from the way she carried herself, to the way she spoke.
The stepsister he had always seen as a particularly drab blot on the otherwise extravagant tapestry of the royal family of San Gennaro.
The stepsister he could hardly bear to share the same airspace with, let alone the same palace.
The stepsister he was now tasked with finding a suitable husband for.
The stepsister he wanted more than his next breath.
She was beneath him in every way. Except for the way he desired most.
And she never would be.
There were a thousand reasons. From the darkness in him, to the common blood in her. But the only reason that truly mattered was that she was his stepsister, and he was a king.
“You requested my presence, Luca?” Sophia asked, looking up at him with a dampened light in her blue eyes that suggested she was suppressing some emotion or other. In all probability a deep dislike for having to deal with him.
But the feeling was mutual. And if he could endure such an indignity then Sophia—in all her borrowed glory—certainly could.
“I did. As you know, it was my father’s final wish that you be well cared for, along with your mother. He wrote it into law that you are part of this family and are to be treated as a daughter of his blood would be.”
Sophia looked down, her lashes dark on her pale cheek. She had visible freckles that never failed to vex him. Because he wanted to count them. Because sometimes, he wanted to kiss each one.
She should cover them with makeup as most women of her status did. She should have some care for the fact she was a princess.
But she did not.
Today she wore a simple shift that made her bare legs seem far too long and slender. It was an ungainly thing. She also wore nothing at all to cover them. She had on flat shoes, and not a single piece of jewelry. Her dark hair hung limp around her shoulders.
He could only hope she had not gone out in public that way.
