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He swallowed, grateful she wasn’t taking his baby halfway around the world. Still, an empty, hollow feeling sat in his stomach. “Makes sense.”
She said, “Yeah,” but he heard the wobble in her voice. She fell asleep a few minutes later, but Dom stayed awake most of the night. Sometimes angry with himself for hurting her. Other times angry with life. An ordinary man would take her and run with the life they could have together.
But he was a king—or would be someday. He didn’t get those choices.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE FIRST DAY of every month, Dom and Ginny made a public appearance that always included questions from the press. With her eight-months-pregnant stomach protruding, Ginny struggled to find something that wouldn’t make her look like a house while Dom attended to some matters in his office.
She finally settled on straight-leg trousers and a loose-fitting blue sweater—knowing it would make her eye color pop and hopefully get everybody’s attention on the baby. After stepping into flat sandals, she walked into the living room just as there was a knock at the door. Her mom entered without her having to answer the door.
“You’re not glowing today.”
“Nope. Why didn’t anybody tell me that pregnant women didn’t get any sleep when they got close to their due date?”
“Nobody wants to scare women off,” her mother said with a laugh as she entered the sitting room. She bent and kissed Ginny’s forehead, then sat beside her on the sofa.
“Dom not coming around?”
“Nope. And I’m out of tricks. We talked baby names. I’ve shown him how to feel the baby move. We eat breakfast and dinner together every day, and nothing. I’m out of ideas, short of seduction.” She pointed at her stomach. “And we both know seduction would be a little awkward now.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
“It’s fine. But I’ve gotta run. I get to play loving princess now, while he ignores me.”
* * *
They left through the front of the palace so long-range lenses could pick up photos of Dom opening the door for Ginny.
Every inch of Dom now hated the charade he’d created. It was working, but it was also a strain on Ginny. When she was just a normal woman, a one-night stand, he didn’t see the strain as being as much of a big deal, though he knew it was a sacrifice.
But now that he could see the effects of her sacrifice, her swollen stomach, the sadness that came to her eyes every time she realized how empty, how hollow their relationship was, it burned through him like a guilty verdict pronounced by the gods. She had been the sweetest woman in the world, and in spite of the way he was using her, she was still sweet, still genuine, still helping him.
If he didn’t go to hell for this, it would be a miracle. Because he certainly believed he deserved the highest punishment.
She slid into the limo and blew her breath out in a long, labored sigh.
His gaze darted to hers. “Are you okay?”
She placed her hands on her basketball stomach. “I’m not accustomed to carrying twenty-five extra pounds.” She laughed good-naturedly. “Sometimes I get winded.”
The funny part of it was she didn’t look bad. Wearing slim slacks that tapered to the top of her ankle and a loose blue sweater that didn’t hide her baby bump but didn’t hug it, either, she just looked pregnant. Her arms hadn’t gained. Her legs hadn’t gained. She simply had a belly.
A belly that held his child.
“If the trip is too much, we can go back to the palace.”
“Only to have to reschedule it for tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The guilt pressed down again. He glanced at her feet, pretty in her pink-toned sandals. Her whimsy in the choice of color made him smile.
“You have an interesting fashion sense.”
She gaped at him. “I have a wonderful fashion sense, Mr. White-Shirt-and-Tie-Everywhere-You-Go. You need to read Vogue every once in a while.”
The very thought made him laugh.
Her head tilted as she smiled at him. “It’s been a long time since I heard you laugh.”
“Yeah, well, our saber-rattling sheikh is back and he isn’t the country’s only problem. It’s hard for me to laugh when I have business to attend to.”
Her pretty blue eyes sought his in the back of the limo. “Is it really that difficult?”
He turned his head to the right and then the left to loosen the tension. “Yes and no.” Oddly, he felt better. He could twist his neck a million times, sitting in the halls of parliament, and nothing. But two feet away from her and the tension began to ebb.
“Ruling is mostly about paying attention. Not just to who wants what but also to negotiating styles and nonverbal cues. There are parliamentarians who get quiet right before they walk out of a session and spill their guts to the press. There are others who explode in session.” He caught her gaze again. “I’d rather deal with them.”
