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He could not imagine the baby’s mother would do any less.
If she did, he would sue for custody. And win. But it would be simpler if she agreed that letting him become Ethan’s guardian would be the best thing for the child.
He’d also have to arrange for a nanny, since Roberta’s foolish loyalty was surely to Rachel.
And he’d have to confront his father.
He knew exactly what the older man had done. The King had boasted of it.
“You gave me Rachel Donnelly’s name. I arranged to have her investigated. It took very little time to find out that there was no record of her having given birth to a child—that there was, instead, a birth certificate issued to a Suki Donnelly. Locating her was even easier. She had no reason to hide. My people found her in Los Angeles in less than a day.” His father’s expression had hardened. “If you’d thought with your brain instead of your—”
“Watch what you say to me,” Karim had growled.
But it was good that these things had been done. Otherwise he’d still be with Rachel, planning a life with her …
Karim pushed back the blankets, rose from his bed, pulled on a pair of jeans and paced from room to room in his suite.
It was a very large suite. Still, he felt trapped. Caged, like a captured wild beast.
How could he have made such a mess of things?
He never did anything before thinking it through to its logical conclusion. That was the code he demanded of himself. He never gave in to selfish wishes, or spoke without weighing every word.
Then he’d met Rachel.
He had wanted her, and he had taken her.
Not so terrible, really.
Sex was sex. You wanted a woman, she wanted you—there was no reason to hesitate.
It was what had come next that had been wrong.
When he’d felt himself falling in love with her he should not have let it happen.
Because it was true. He had fallen in love with her and it had been a terrible mistake.
He should have thought of the consequences, considered where undisciplined emotion might take him, remembered that he was a prince, not a man …
“Oh, God,” he whispered as he sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
Bad enough he’d fallen in love with her, but he still loved her. He would never admit it to anyone but it was true.
He loved her.
He’d get over it, of course, but when? How long would it take before he stopped feeling empty without her beside him? How long would the pain of her deceit last?
This was impossible.
