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“It is. They’ve had a rough time since the revolution and I guess...I have to go,” he said.
“I know. I told you I wasn’t here to ask you to stay. I just needed you to know.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know my dad. My mom has never mentioned his name to me. I asked her one time about him and she started crying. I want more than that for our baby. It’s not that I had a deprived childhood, but I always wonder. I have this emptiness inside me that nothing can fill. It’s that empty spot where everyone else has a dad.”
He was humbled by her explanation. He knew he wanted to be more than a name and a face to their kid, though. “We need to figure this out.”
There was a knock on the bedroom door.
“Rafael? Are you in here? Your father is in a car waiting downstairs and if you’re not down in ten minutes he’s coming up here and getting you.” It was his personal assistant, Jose.
Jose was his right-hand man at Montoro Enterprises and at home. He took care of all the details.
“I have company,” Rafe said. But Emily was more than just company. She was his lover. The mother of his unborn child.
“I am aware of that,” Jose said.
“Tell Father I’ll be down when I’m down,” Rafe said.
But the mood was broken and Emily was getting up and putting her clothes on. She had her jeans on and buttoned, but he stopped her before she put her T-shirt on. He pulled her into his arms. It seemed the sort of gesture that would reassure her, but since he was already thinking of everything he had to do, it felt hollow. He knew she noticed it, too, when she pulled back and shook her head.
The mantle of being a Montoro was tightening around him. “I—”
“Don’t. No excuses and definitely no lies,” she said. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a business card for Shady Harry’s; he turned it over and saw she’d written her name and number on the back. “If you want to know about our child, contact me.”
“I do. I will,” he said.
She smiled up at him. “I know that the next few weeks are going to be crazy for you, so no pressure.”
She pulled her shirt on and then tucked her underwear into her purse and started for the door. He watched her walk out. Part of him wanted to run after her and make her stay so he could talk her into trying a relationship or maybe even marriage. Another part wanted to scoop her up and run away with her to some Pacific island where no one would know their names, far enough away from his family and everyone they knew.
But Emily was a brave sort of woman, and running had never been his style, either, so he had no choice but to get dressed and head down to the car.
His father didn’t speak to him the entire way to the airport. Rafael III had wanted the throne enough to try to convince his ex-wife to come back, but Rafe’s mother wasn’t interested in doing anything to help out her former husband. To say the two of them had a strained relationship was putting it mildly.
They were a prime example of how getting married to the wrong person didn’t make for a happy family. Rafe had the childhood to prove it.
During the ride, his cousin Juan Carlos spoke too much. Telling him what was expected of the next king of Alma.
Juan Carlos had been orphaned and seemed to be fixated on the monarchy as a way of proving to himself and the rest of the family that he could carry on his parents’ legacy. Perhaps if Rafe’s parents hadn’t divorced and been horrible to each other, he’d have felt the same way about the family honor.
Rafe freely admitted to himself that if Emily’s pregnancy became public knowledge it would create a scandal that would make protecting that legacy even more difficult. But Rafe tuned Juan Carlos out and tried to figure out what he expected of himself as a man.
Three
Key West was a tourist town and there was no getting around that. The atmosphere was laid back and everyone had a sort of hungover look. There was something about being on the edge of the ocean that inspired indulgence in sun, sand and drinks.
Emily sat on the front porch of her flamingo-pink and white cottage with her feet propped on the railing, desperately needing to absorb that laid-back attitude. She’d left Miami and Rafe behind. She’d done what she’d set out to do, namely tell him he was going to be a father. That had gone well—differently than she’d expected, but the end result was the same. She was back here.
Alone.
“Em. Your mom asked me stop by,” Harry said as he walked around the side of the house.
He was tall, at least six five, and wore middle age well. His reddish-blond hair had thinned a little but was still thick enough, and he wore it cut short in a military style. His beard was equal parts red, blond and gray, and he had an easy smile. He was the closest thing she had to a dad. So she was glad to see him.
