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But she’d done it.
Now, she could only put one foot ahead of the other and see where this path led.
A tall, dark-haired man, his back to her, was standing in the main lobby of the hospital when she arrived there the next day.
Her heart leaped. Was it Damian?
The man turned. He was balding and he wore glasses. It wasn’t the prince. Of course not. Why would she want him here? And why would he be here when he hadn’t shown up with Kay for the procedure he’d demanded?
The procedure that had taken a drastic turn at the last minute.
The memory struck hard. Ivy wrapped her arms around herself. She should never have agreed to it.
Or to this.
This was another mistake.
But it was too late to run. The tall man had seen her. He came toward her, her name a question on his lips. From the look on his face, he was as uncomfortable with this whole thing as she was.
He introduced himself. He was, he said, holding out his hand, the prince’s attorney, here to offer whatever assistance she might require.
“You mean,” Ivy said, deliberately ignoring his outstretched hand, “you’re here to make sure I don’t try to phony-up the test results.”
He had the good grace not to try to contradict her as he escorted her to a small office where a briskly efficient technician took over.
“Come with me, please, Miss Madison. The gentleman can wait outside.”
“Oh, he’s not a gentleman,” Ivy said politely. “He’s a lawyer.”
Even the attorney laughed.
Then Ivy blanked her mind to everything but what had to be done.
The results, they said, would take up to two weeks.
She said that was fine, though two centuries would have been more to her liking.
They told her to take it easy for a couple of days and she did, even though it gave her more time to think than she wanted.
Day three, she organized the drawers and closets of her apartment. They didn’t need it: she’d always been neat, something you learned quickly when you spent part of your growing-up years in foster care, but straightening things was a good way to kill time.
Day four, her agent called with a job. The cover of La Belle magazine. It was a plum but Ivy turned it down. She was tired all the time, her back ached and besides, she’d never much liked modeling. But she needed the money. She’d given most of what she’d saved to Kay.
Kay, who had come to her in tears.
She lived, she’d said, with Damian Aristedes. Ivy had heard of him before. You couldn’t read People or Vanity Fair without seeing his name. The magazines said he was incredibly good-looking and incredibly wealthy. Kay said yes, he was both, but he was tight with a dollar and he’d refused to pay the money she still owed on her condo even though he demanded she not work.
He wanted her available to him at all times.
Ivy had given her the money. It was an enormous amount, but how could she have said no? She owed Kay so much…Money could never begin to repay that debt.
A few weeks later, Kay came to her again and confided the rest of her story. How she’d miscarried. How Damian now demanded proof she could give him an heir before he’d marry her.
Ivy thought the man sounded like a brute but Kay adored him. She’d wept, talked about how much she wanted his baby, how much she wished she could give him such a gift.
She’d reminded Ivy of the years they’d shared as teenagers, of memories Ivy was still doing her best to forget.
“Do you remember how desperate you were then?” Kay had said through her tears. “That’s how desperate I am now! Please, please, you have to help me.”
