Кейт Хьюит – Royal Christmas: Royal Love-Child, Forbidden Marriage (страница 8)

‘Of course.’ Leo took a sip of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. ‘Tell me, when was the last time you saw Anders?’

‘That’s hardly relevant,’ Phoebe snapped. She shifted in her seat, uneasy at this line of questioning and where it might lead.

‘I’m curious.’

‘Too bad.’ She took a bite of beef, barely registering the rich gravy or succulent meat. Her heart was thudding with heavy, hectic beats and her hands felt clammy. And all because of Leo. Why did she let him affect her this much?

‘Did Anders ever meet his son?’

Phoebe pressed her lips together. ‘Let’s just say,’ she said tightly, ‘that he wasn’t interested.’

‘I see.’ Leo gazed at her with a shrewd compassion Phoebe didn’t like. She didn’t want to be pitied or even understood. She just wanted to be left alone. ‘All right, Phoebe,’ Leo said. ‘It’s really rather simple. King Nicholas regrets his separation from Anders. He was furious six years ago, as you probably know—he’d already arranged Anders’s marriage with a minor European royal when he announced his relationship with you. It would have been a good match.’

Phoebe’s fingers clenched around the heavy sterling-silver fork. ‘Maybe so, but Anders obviously thought differently.’

‘Perhaps,’ Leo replied, and Phoebe felt it as an insult, even though in essence it was true. Anders had felt differently … for about a month.

‘I already know the king regrets his separation,’ Phoebe said, and heard the impatience fraying her tone. ‘You’ve made that abundantly clear. I just don’t see what it has to do with me—’

‘Nothing to do with you,’ Leo replied blandly, ‘but everything to do with Christian.’ He smiled, that sensual mouth curving, curling, making Phoebe want to shiver. ‘The king,’ he told her, ‘wishes to see his grandchild.’

Phoebe said nothing. Again, she found she wasn’t surprised. Horrified, but not surprised. Wasn’t this what she’d been waiting for, secretly, silently dreading? A claim on her child, no matter how small. A claim that could become stronger than her own. She opened her mouth, groping for words, for a cutting rebuttal, yet nothing came. Her mind was spinning in horrible circles, looking for an escape, some way out of this mess—

‘In Amarnes,’ Leo clarified in a terribly implacable tone. He paused. ‘You’re welcome to accompany him, of course.’

Outrage finally gave her voice. ‘Of course I’ll accompany him! That is, if he was going anywhere—which he’s not.’

Leo gazed at her, rotating the stem of his wine glass between long, lean fingers. ‘Phoebe,’ he said finally, his voice surprisingly, strangely gentle, ‘do you really think you can make such a statement?’

‘I just did—’

‘And back it up?’ Leo cut her off, his voice still soft yet with a chilling knowledge that made Phoebe blink. And blink again.

‘He’s my child. I don’t need to back anything up,’ she finally said, but even to her own ears her voice sounded uncertain. Afraid.

‘And my uncle is the king of a small but wealthy and well-connected country,’ Leo told her. ‘What he wishes, he gets. And frankly there isn’t a court in the world that would rule in your favour. My uncle would make sure of it.’

‘A court?’ Phoebe repeated blankly, and a second later the single word caused a host of unpleasant connotations and images to tumble through her mind: trials and lawsuits, custody battles—all things she couldn’t afford, not emotionally or financially. ‘Your uncle would take me to court?’

Leo shrugged. ‘If you refuse him this small request—’

‘And how is this request small?’ Phoebe demanded. She rose from the table, spinning away, her fists pressed to her eyes as if she could shut out Leo’s voice, the reality he was forcing upon her.

From behind her she heard Leo rise from the table and come to stand behind her; she could feel the heat emanating from him, and for one crazy moment she wanted to lean back against him, feel the strength and hardness of his chest, find some kind of comfort there.

With Leo? her mind mocked. She really was falling apart if she thought there was any comfort to be had from him.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a tone that managed to be both compassionate and final, ‘but this is how it is, and you cannot change it.’ He paused. ‘Prepare for a holiday in Amarnes. You might even enjoy it.’

Phoebe whirled around. ‘For six years your family has completely ignored me. And now suddenly they want something from me? And think they can have it?’

Leo didn’t even blink. ‘Essentially, yes.’ His voice was flat, but she thought she saw a flicker of compassion in his eyes, and in desperation she appealed to that faint, frail hope.

‘Leo, please. It doesn’t make sense to drag Christian from the home he loves, the life he knows, and for what? To appease an old man’s sense of regret? It’s not fair to me or to Christian.’

Leo hesitated, and for a moment—a second—Phoebe thought she had a chance. Prayed that he understood, that he’d relent—then his face closed, like a fan snapping shut, and despair fell over Phoebe like a dank fog.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice flat, expressionless. ‘There is nothing I can do.’ He gave a little shrug, dismissing her pain and distress in so tiny, so indifferent a gesture. ‘It is only for a fortnight.’

Two weeks. Two weeks in Amarnes, facing the royal family, reliving that unwanted episode of her life. And would it end then? Phoebe wondered dully. Would King Nicholas be satisfied? Or would he just go on asking for—demanding—more, and more, and even more, until Phoebe and Christian’s lives were siphoned away in sacrifice to an old man’s selfish whims, drop by tiny drop, week by painful week.

She turned to Leo. ‘And it will end there? We’ll go home, and the king will never want to see us again?’ She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. ‘You honestly expect me to believe that? That he won’t want—demand—more?’

Leo’s face was utterly impassive. ‘Perhaps he will be satisfied,’ he said. ‘This might be no more than a passing fancy.’

‘And that should make me feel better, I suppose,’ Phoebe tossed back. ‘I’m sure Christian will be happy to have served his purpose and then be thrown away like rubbish!’

Annoyance flashed across Leo’s face like a streak of lightning. ‘You are being melodramatic. There is no reason why a two-week trip to a beautiful country should be nothing but a lovely holiday for both you and your son. You look exhausted,’ he continued bluntly, ‘and I’m sure you could use some relaxation.’

‘I’m hardly going to relax—’

‘You might try,’ Leo cut her off. ‘It would certainly make the trip more pleasant for you.’ His voice was sharp with impatience, and Phoebe knew he was done with her objections. Her fate, and her child’s, had been decided. And there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

She saw that now, starkly, understanding once again the kind of people—the kind of power—she was dealing with. She couldn’t face a royal family in the courts. She couldn’t face the tabloids and the paparazzi that would swarm over her little family like greedy vultures when they caught wind of this story.

‘Come, why don’t you eat?’ Leo said mildly, sitting down again. Phoebe shook her head.

‘Now I’ve really lost my appetite.’

‘Suit yourself. But just because you don’t like the state of affairs doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourself in the meantime.’

Phoebe glanced around the sumptuous room flickering with firelight, their decadent meal spread on the table. She thought of what she’d seen of Leo in the papers, years before, and wondered how many meals like this he’d enjoyed with the models and starlets he liked to have on his arm … and no doubt in his bed. A resentment she didn’t quite understand spiked her voice as she said, ‘Like you do, I suppose.’

There was a second’s hesitation before Leo shrugged and poured them both more wine, even though Phoebe’s glass was still mostly full. ‘Of course.’

Phoebe took a breath, opened her mouth and prepared for a fight. Yet suddenly, looking at the magnificently laid table and the remains of her delicious meal, she felt all the fight—all the anger and outrage and self-righteous fury—trickle out of her. Leo was right, even if she didn’t want him to be. She had to accept this. The problems her refusal could cause were too dire to consider.

Two weeks in Amarnes, and then they could return home, to the life she’d built for them both here in New York. Two weeks in Amarnes, and Christian could get to know his father’s side of the family. Perhaps she could even see the positive side of things, make it an adventure …

And in the meantime, she would eat and enjoy this meal. Resolutely she returned to the table and raised her wine glass to Leo in an ironic toast, earning her a faint smile. ‘Very well,’ she said stiffly. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers,’ Leo murmured, and they both drank in silence. Phoebe fought the temptation to drain her glass.

‘So,’ she said when they’d both finished drinking and she’d picked up her fork, toying with a bit of beef. ‘What’s happened in Amarnes these last six years?’

‘More of the same, really,’ Leo replied in a deliberate drawl. ‘Nothing much happens in these tiny little countries, you know, although we like to think it does.’