His Pregnant Christmas Princess Read online

  ‘Medenjaci,’ Ana said, without hesitation. ‘Although it’s really a cookie, not a dessert. It’s like a honey gingerbread with cloves, nutmeg and cinnamon. I usually make it a lot this time of year, as it’s so easy to cut into Christmas shapes. I made a mountain of them last year, for some of the kids in the library to decorate with royal icing.’

  ‘You really do love Christmas?’ Rhys asked, placing his now empty mug on the coffee table.

  Ana grinned. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do. My mother always made a really big deal about it—which I realised as I got older was probably to make up for my father’s absence. But I don’t remember ever missing him at Christmas. I mean, I thought about him at other times—about the idea of having a father, not Prince Goran specifically—but at Christmas I never felt like I was missing out. My mother and my grandparents never allowed that to happen. The food, the baking, the decorations—Christmas was always magical when I was growing up. The best time of the year. It still is, actually. Was, I mean...’ Ana paused. ‘Last year was a bit weird, what with becoming an instant princess on Christmas Eve.’

  ‘I would imagine that disrupted things quite a bit.’

  Ana’s lips quirked upwards. ‘It did. I’d hoped that this year...’ But then she seemed to rethink her train of thought and changed the subject. ‘Your turn,’ she said firmly. ‘What’s your favourite dessert?’

  Rhys didn’t bother to ask her what she’d been about to say—mainly because this conversation was determinedly superficial, but also because he knew what she’d been about to say.

  I’d hoped that this year would be back to normal.

  But it wouldn’t be, because now, five days before Christmas, she was in Castelrotto with him, rather than baking medenjaci with her family.

  ‘I’ll stick with the Christmas theme,’ Rhys said. ‘It’s probably un-Australian not to say that pavlova is my favourite Christmas dessert, but it isn’t. My favourite is a dessert my grandmother used to make, and I’m sure my mum is still making.’

  He saw Ana notice that distinction. The fact that he didn’t actually know for sure if his mum still made it because he hadn’t celebrated Christmas with his family—or at all—for the past five years.

  But she followed his lead and didn’t say anything.

  ‘It’s not even a traditional Christmas dessert—and it’s definitely not Australian—but, anyway, it’s called Queen of Puddings and it’s incredible.’

  ‘Queen of Puddings?’ Ana asked. ‘That sounds fancy.’

  ‘Probably not compared to the desserts everyone sees on cooking shows nowadays,’ Rhys said, ‘but to ten-year-old me it was super-fancy, with its layers of custard, cake, jam and—the best bit—piles of meringue on top.’

  ‘Yum!’ Ana said. She picked up her phone from the coffee table and began typing something. ‘Oh, there’s heaps of recipes for it. I should give it a try one year for our baby...’

  Ana’s fingers went still, and her gaze darted up to meet Rhys’s. Her cheeks had gone pink, as if she was embarrassed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know you don’t celebrate Christmas. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. I just thought it might be nice if our baby knows some of your family’s traditions.’

  Rhys met her gaze. ‘Maybe our baby will have an Aussie Christmas one year and have my mum’s Queen of Puddings.’

  Ana frowned. ‘But I thought—’

  Rhys stood up and collected their empty mugs in his hands. ‘I told you I want our baby to love Christmas and I meant it. I can’t say that I’ll love Christmas myself anytime soon, but I promise you I won’t let my own feelings ruin the holiday. And I definitely want our baby to experience an Australian Christmas one day.’

  All of that was true—although there were several not insignificant details he’d need to sort out first. Not the least being the fact he hadn’t seen or spoken to his family in more than four years.

  Ana nodded. He could see questions in her eyes and knew he had them in his eyes too. But Ana didn’t need to know the messy details of his life—not right now, anyway.

  It was all so complicated, and it was too much for today. After all, he’d learnt he was going to be a father less than twenty-four hours ago. As he kept telling Ana, they’d work the rest out later.

  But as he stacked their mugs in the dishwasher, the clearest image stubbornly refused to shift from his brain: of him and Ana, and a toddler with dark brown hair, unwrapping Christmas presents beside a pool, beneath the heat of the Australian sun.

  * * *

  Ana would have much preferred to leave her bodyguards at Rhys’s villa rather than bring them along to the Castelrotto Christmas Market—but, given her recent ‘escape’ from Vela Ada, she knew there was no chance of that happening.

  But they would at least be subtle in their protection of her. This certainly wasn’t an official visit, so there was no need to have a hulking bodyguard on each of her shoulders. No one even knew she was in Italy—and Ana had learnt enough security lingo in the past year to know that the threat level of this market visit was extremely low.

  So, as Rhys and Ana walked side by side along a narrow lane in Castelrotto at dusk, all rugged up in boots, coats, scarves and beanies pulled low, Princess Ana looked like any of the other tourists who mingled with the locals on the bustling streets.

  And she felt like one too. In fact, from the moment she’d stepped out of Rhys’s four-wheel drive she’d felt as if she’d walked into a scene from a Christmas card.

  The village was magical—with its streets and roofs frosted in powdery snow, and every tree draped in fairy lights. Sprigs of fir and more fairy lights decorated the eaves and balconies of the three-or four-storeyed buildings that lined each street, built close together and rendered in shades of white, cream and ochre. Small square windows dotted each wall—some framed with shutters, others framed with yet more Christmas fir, or lit by the glow of the Christmas lights that stretched from building to building high above the street.

  Eventually they made their way to the market square, a large space anchored by an imposing church tower that stretched to the now dark sky. Hugging the edges of the tower and reaching around the market square were a series of matching wooden huts, each decorated with yet more fir sprigs and lit with candles and glowing lanterns. Each hut was full to overflowing with festive wares: from Christmas baubles to socks, crocheted tablecloths to sweets and carved wooden nativity scenes.

  Three trumpet players played Christmas carols, low and gentle, from sheet music balanced on spindly metal stands, and crowds mingled around old wine barrels, holding steaming hot drinks in gloved hands.

  And then there was the Christmas tree—huge, and tall enough to challenge the church tower for space in the clear night sky. It sparkled with hundreds of fairy lights and drew Ana like a magnet. At its base, with the scent of conifer mingling with mulled wine and gingerbread, she simply stood and looked at the market stalls that surrounded her.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Rhys asked, standing beside her.

  He wore a navy blue coat with the collar flipped upwards and a jet-black beanie that didn’t quite cover his too-long dark blond hair.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ said Ana.

  They began to explore the market stalls. At first Ana barely glanced at anything, hurriedly moving from stall to stall.

  ‘You don’t have to rush,’ Rhys said. ‘Take your time.’

  Ana tilted her head, her gaze assessing. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

  Rhys nodded firmly. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I like watching you enjoy all of this.’

  And he did. Ana’s smile had been huge and constant since she’d stepped foot in the village, and her enthusiasm for all things Christmas was charming.

  Ana’s forehead creased—Rhys could tell she was unconvinced—but he ended any further discussion on the topic by picking up a carved wooden
dove from a stall display and feigning intense interest.

  He doubted Ana fell for his apparent sudden interest in woodworking, but she did at least continue her browsing, and even purchased a few handmade Christmas cards as they made their way through the market.

  Rhys wouldn’t have said he was having a terrible time—far from it, in fact. He hadn’t been sure what to expect from this outing. He’d suggested it spontaneously, at the time desperate to find a reason for Ana to stay. And the market itself was just as anticipated: he did feel distanced from the festivities, and from the magic and joy every other person in the village seemed to be sharing.

  But spending time with Ana...

  It was weird, really. He’d needed Ana to remain in Italy a little longer, and it had been for the reasons he’d given her—to get to know her better, and to have more time to absorb such life-changing news—but he hadn’t expected to enjoy spending time with her.

  Yes, there were moments of awkwardness—mostly when they both remembered the enormity of the journey they were about to embark upon—but mostly he just simply liked talking to Ana. He liked her.

  Which, of course, he’d realised the last time she’d been to Castelrotto—although this time the realisation wasn’t making him panic and feel pangs of guilt. Now he was very glad he liked Ana. He liked her a lot, actually—which was excellent news, given they were now so unexpectedly connected for at least the next eighteen years.

  Ana had found a stall selling intricate crocheted tablecloths, and as he watched she ran her fingers gently along the delicate knotted threads. Her profile was lit by candles and fairy lights: her ski-slope nose, strong chin, full lips...

  He liked her a lot.

  He gave himself a mental shake.

  Of course he still found her attractive. More than just attractive—beautiful. He suspected she still found him attractive too—he hadn’t imagined the way she’d looked at him this morning after his workout.

  But, honestly, this wasn’t the time to be caught up in something as fleeting as attraction. He needed to be sensible—he needed to consider what they were doing.

  They’d soon have a child to raise together, and right now things seemed okay between them. He wasn’t going to mess that up with sex—especially given that was all he had to offer Ana.

  After all, he’d chosen to live alone in a place where he knew nobody for a reason. For years now it had just been him. Alone. All he’d had to worry about was himself, at a time in his life when he was incapable of carrying the burden of worrying about anybody else.

  But, as he’d promised Ana, he would be a good father. It was non-negotiable, so he’d have to work out how to care for someone again—to worry about someone again—without it spiralling into the kind of overwhelming storm that had ended his military career, and soon after any real connection with his family.

  But it had been years now since he’d had a panic attack. Did that mean he was fixed?

  He really hoped so.

  But, regardless, he wasn’t the same man he’d been before Jess died. This version of himself didn’t have anything to offer a woman like Ana, even if he thought he was ready—or would ever be ready—to fall in love again.

  This thing with Ana was never going to be a fairy tale.

  He needed to remember that.

  Rhys bought them lebkuchen from a stall, and they stood beneath the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree as they shared the soft spice biscuits.

  ‘I used to think I’d grow out of this,’ Ana said, as she shook biscuit crumbs from her gloves. ‘You know...those bubbles of anticipation in your stomach in the lead-up to Christmas. I thought there was a deadline for when you had to be an adult, more circumspect and mature, or something, but it’s never happened for me. I still wake up on Christmas Day and it feels special and different to me. Like no other day of the year.’ She tilted her chin upwards to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you for bringing me here,’ she said, ‘even though I know it must be difficult for you.’

  Rhys shook his head. ‘It’s not,’ he said firmly. ‘At least not like you think. Being here doesn’t make me feel sad. It’s more...’ He struggled to find the words to articulate what he meant. ‘I accidentally came to the market the first year I lived in Castelrotto. I’d headed down to the village to go shopping for groceries, and the market was on. It was just like this—all perfectly Christmassy and objectively magical. But I didn’t feel any of it. It was just lights and lanterns and a giant fir tree—it didn’t feel like Christmas to me. It didn’t feel like any of the Christmases that had come before. And it still doesn’t.’

  He tried to smile at Ana, but couldn’t—and he realised maybe he hadn’t convinced either Ana or himself that it wasn’t grief that had replaced the Christmas joy that had once been so familiar to him.

  Ana reached out and her gloved hand briefly brushed against his, as if she was going to take his hand in hers. But an instant later her hands were shoved in the pockets of her coat.

  ‘Did Jess love Christmas?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes,’ Rhys said roughly.

  Nearby, the trumpets began a new Christmas carol.

  ‘She would have loved this place.’

  He still couldn’t grasp the possibility of celebrating Christmas without her. Even now, with Ana and their baby, it seemed impossible—no matter what he’d said to Ana before. In fact, all of this seemed impossible: standing here with a princess he barely knew who was carrying his baby.

  But now the Princess he barely knew had reached out her hand again, and this time she did grasp his hand in hers.

  She squeezed his palm. Rhys stared down at their joined hands, and even through the layers of wool Ana’s touch felt right. It felt good.

  ‘Rhys—’ she began.

  But then a loud crack shattered the frigid night air, and all that mattered was getting Ana out of the market square as quickly as he possibly could.

  * * *

  It all happened so fast Ana barely had time to panic.

  One moment she was holding Rhys’s hand beneath that amazing Christmas tree, and the next his arm was around her and he was whisking her out of the market square...

  But not at a run.

  She hadn’t any experience in security breaches, but she was pretty sure they involved a bit more drama than a brisk walk. Especially if that short, sharp noise had been a gunshot, as she’d immediately assumed it was.

  But, equally, she was sure that Rhys was exiting the market with her for a very good reason.

  Her heart was racing when they eventually came to a stop in a deserted lane, dark except for the strings of fairy lights and the glow of a single street lamp.

  ‘Was that a gun?’ she asked.

  For the first time Ana noticed a skinny wire almost hidden beneath Rhys’s beanie. Then he spoke in a low voice into what must be a microphone, tucked into the upturned collar of his coat.

  Footsteps nearby drew Ana’s attention and Marin and Edo—her bodyguards—came to a stop only a few metres away.

  Rhys raised a hand, as if to keep them from approaching any closer. ‘We’re all good here,’ he said.

  The two bodyguards nodded in unison and then took a few steps backwards—effectively disappearing into the shadows.

  Had they been that close all night?

  Of course they had.

  Ana had just been too caught up in the market—and in Rhys—to notice.

  ‘Firecracker,’ Rhys said in explanation.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ana said. ‘It definitely sounded like a gun.’

  Rhys’s lips twitched. ‘Ana,’ he said, ‘I was in the Special Forces for a decade. If that had been a gunshot, I could’ve told you the calibre of the bullet. It wasn’t a gun.’ He paused. ‘And if that had been a gun, we wouldn’t be standing here having a chat about it. You’d be halfway back to Vela Ada by
now.’

  ‘Then why did we have to leave?’

  ‘A camera. Maybe it was to do with the firecrackers, maybe it wasn’t, but one of your guys noticed a pretty professional-looking camera set-up heading in our direction. Vloggers, probably.’

  ‘And we don’t want someone spotting Princess Ana with a man who isn’t her ex-fiancé in the background of their video?’

  ‘No,’ Rhys agreed. ‘I didn’t think so.’

  Ana closed her eyes and sighed. She’d made the mistake of forgetting who she was now, as she’d wandered through the market of Castelrotto. She’d felt normal.

  But ‘normal’ wasn’t running away from the possibility of being filmed. ‘Normal’ wasn’t the man she was with having a hidden earpiece.

  She pointed at his ear. ‘What’s with that?’ she asked, her words full of frustration.

  ‘I know enough about close personal protection that I convinced the guards to give us a bit more space than they wanted to give us tonight. This,’ he said, pulling his collar back to reveal the microphone clipped there, ‘is what made them agree. But also,’ he added, ‘if there was a threat, I’d want to know immediately. Seconds matter. It makes sense that I work with your guys, given my background.’

  It was all very logical, but Ana didn’t like it.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I guessed you wanted to forget who you are for tonight,’ Rhys said. ‘I figured the earpiece might shatter that illusion.’

  He was correct.

  ‘I didn’t want to be a princess tonight,’ Ana agreed. ‘But I also didn’t want to be patronised. Please don’t do it again.’

  Ana wrapped her arms around herself and walked a few steps further down the lane. She would’ve walked further, but she had no idea where she was, and if she did just walk off, she’d have two bodyguards and an ex–Special Forces soldier chasing her down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Rhys said, behind her. ‘I won’t do it again.’

  Ana nodded sharply but kept her back towards him. Exasperation raced through her veins, and it wasn’t just about Rhys and the bodyguards.