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You never think of the consequences, do you?
She hadn’t that night, that was for sure. There had only been him and the pleasure he’d given her. And while it was true she should never have allowed her own desires to take over that night, the situation could still be fixed. It was only a small mistake.
Some mistakes can’t be fixed and you of all people should know that.
The pain inside her sank its claws in, but she ignored it. This was one mistake shewouldfix come hell or high water, and it if meant giving her child to someone who wanted it, someone who could care for it better than she could, then she would.
She couldn’t have her family’s taint touch her baby. And as for Augustine, she couldn’t put the burden of a child onto the weight he was already carrying. He had too many challenges as it was and he didn’t need the added stress of a baby, especially a baby he’d never asked for in the first place.
Augustine’s expression had hardened, the tightness around his eyes more pronounced now. Hewasin pain.
Her heart twisted. He did so much for his people and no one knew how it cost him. No one knew how he struggled every day. No one except her. And it made her want to smooth away that tightness with her fingers, stroke the tension from his brow, ease him the way she always wanted to ease him.
Yet she couldn’t do that now. She had to dig in, go against her instinct and make his life difficult to save them and their child further anguish.
‘Did you not hear me when I said no, Freddie?’ His deep voice, textured and soft as cashmere, felt like a stroke over her skin, even if the edge in it was more pronounced now. ‘You’re not taking six months and that’s final.’
You should tell him. Come clean.
But that was impossible. He didn’t know that the woman in his bed that night had been her, because if he had, he’d have said something to her the next morning, and he hadn’t.
He’d just looked at her impatiently, taking no notice of the dark circles under her eyes and apparently not hearing the mad gallop of her heart, and before she could speak, had told her she was late and then had gone into a rant on how inconvenient her nonattendance at the ball had been.
And all she’d been conscious of was the sick relief that had gripped her when it was clear he hadn’t connected her with the woman he’d spent the night with. That her little secret would remain her little secret, and the life she’d built for herself, the life that had nothing to do with the girl who’d grown up in a desert trailer park in California, was safe.
He won’t know the baby is his, though.
He wouldn’t. Then again, he’d certainly wonder where she found the time to have a lover considering she’d never had one the entire five years she’d been working for him—or indeed ever.
Perhaps she could say she’d met someone while she’d been in England preparing for that last official visit? A one-night stand, since that was more or less the truth. It would make her look careless and irresponsible, and while she hated the thought of that, it would also make him much less likely to ask any awkward questions. Her lies were balanced so finely that anything could set them off.
How can you not tell him? It’s his child too.
He’d never explained his reasons for not wanting kids to her, but when he’d asked her to book his vasectomy, he’d told her very clearly that he had no plans for children either now or in the foreseeable future. Where that left his kingship, she didn’t know, but again, that was something he hadn’t seen fit to share with her. She thought it might have something to do with the challenges he faced due to his brain injury, but that was only an assumption.
Anyway, one thing was clear to her: she never wanted to make things more difficult for him than they were already by confessing that her baby was his.
But she was going to have to give him some truth otherwise she was never going to get the time off that she needed. ‘No, sir,’ she said, allowing an edge of steel in her voice. ‘No, I’m afraid a week won’t be sufficient. I need six months.’ She paused then added, ‘And I need it because I’m pregnant.’
Augustine had another crashing headache. He’d felt it coming on all day—the tour of the Marina Bay Sands observation deck had been wonderful, but standing in the sun all day had its consequences—and while every part of him wanted to go back to his suite where it was dark and cool, he knew he couldn’t.
A king had to be seen, so he’d had the bar cleared of patrons and had retired there instead. The barman had been sociable and had mixed him a special cocktail and he’d been looking forward to it since it would help take the edge off the headache.
Then Freddie had turned up.
Freddie, who needed six months off because she was apparently pregnant.
Out of everything that had happened in the last year, Freddie being pregnant was the very last thing he’d have ever predicted.
Shock echoed through him and he found himself giving her a more concentrated survey, something he never did in the usual run of things, mainly because she’d never needed surveying.
She was standing so very still beside his bar stool—she was always so very still—her elegant, long-fingered hands clasped together in front of her. He’d long since stopped noticing her appearance, since she always wore the same thing, day in, day out, varying only in colour.
A knee-length skirt and matching jacket, normally in grey wool, though sometimes in black or navy. A plain blouse in either white, black or dark blue. Tights, usually black. Plain, low-heeled pumps, also usually black.
Her dark brown hair was in its typical neat bun at the nape of her neck, with not a curl out of place. Her face was heart-shaped, her features pleasant yet unremarkable. Everything about her was pleasant yet unremarkable. Except for her eyes, they were very dark, large and liquid, like soft black velvet.
Perhaps she was pretty, but he didn’t think of her as such. He barely thought of her as a woman at all. She was his personal assistant, calm and collected and precise, and always available to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.
