Twins.
Her knees knocked.
The guards’ vision remained focused straight ahead, almost as if she hadn’t spoken. The inside of the palace was overwhelming, but Phoebe barely noticed any of the details. She was conscious of snatches—burgundy carpet, high ceilings, dark wood panelling, enormous flower arrangements that were as fragrant as they were over the top, but her pulse was rushing through her body and her stomach felt so huge and visible, and she knew that in a matter of moments she’d have to explain all of this to Octavio when she was still unpacking it herself.
It was a conversation she’d thought she would have one day, down the track, when she was safely on the other side of the world and he’d married and produced an heir with his perfect princess bride.
And Sashawasperfect.
Phoebe had tortured herself by searching the other woman online and had wanted to poke out her eyes afterwards.
They walked through the entrance and down a gallery lined with the kind of art that would have been at home in the Louvre, turned left, so she had a view of the courtyard through one set of windows and the ocean the other, and then, at a set of wide timber doors, the driver paused. A woman stood outside, wearing a suit. They held a low, hushed conversation, and then the woman nodded, knocked once on the doors and stepped inside.
Phoebe exhaled slowly, her body trembling. She trained her attention on the view of the ocean, imagining herself on one ofthe boats bobbing far out to sea, rather than here, about to have one of the most important conversations of her life.
‘Miss James? His Majesty will see you now.’
Phoebe’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She nodded once, aware that her face must have been incredibly pale. She surreptitiously lifted one hand and pinched her cheeks before she began to walk towards the doors and then, through them.
And she froze.
Because if Octavio had wanted to choose a venue for this conversation that would throw off her ability to concentrate, that would overwhelm her with his power and importance in this country, he’d succeeded completely. She’d expected an office or a sitting room or aroomof some sorts, not a palace within a palace, but that’s exactly what she was looking at. The floors in here were pure white marble, the walls at least twice as high as in the corridor, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were crystal, and the walls had intermittent panels that she suspected were actual gold. The windows were enormous, and because the room was at the corner of the palace, the views were stunning in all directions. The furniture was old and beautiful, and in here there were many, many potted plants, all fragrant and glossy green.
And in the centre of the enormous room stood King Octavio, dressed in a black suit, with eyes that were even darker.
The door shut behind Phoebe, and his obsidian gaze seemed to intensify. ‘You’re pregnant.’
The words were laced with accusation. What could she say? ‘Yes.’
‘The baby is mine?’
Babies. Babies.
She thought about denying it—panic made her cling to that choice. Wouldn’t that be the easiest way out? After all, how couldhe know she hadn’t been sleeping with a whole host of men at around the same time?
‘If you deny it,’ he forewarned grimly, ‘I will arrange a paternity test.’
She gasped. ‘I—wasn’t going to deny it.’
‘Liar,’ he said, but softly, as if he was goading her.
She closed her eyes, feeling at a complete disadvantage. Feeling weak, too, and exhausted after the shocking news she’d received that day. ‘Can I sit down?’
She blinked over at him to see his eyes narrow, and a muscle jerk in his jaw. He wanted to deny her that. To punish her. He was furious. She could read it all in his face. But he gestured towards a bank of plush sofas, covered in a gold and lavender fabric. ‘Go ahead.’
She walked a little unsteadily to an armchair and sat on the very edge of the seat. Hardly a relaxed pose but at least she knew her legs weren’t going to give way again.
‘I hardly know what to say to you,’ he muttered, tone scathing. ‘It’s true, we barely knew each other, but I thought, I believed—though perhaps it was wishful thinking—that you were a decent person with some kind of moral compass. And yet, now I learn that you were intending to have my baby and what? Never tell me?’
Her jaw dropped at his rendering of events. ‘That’s oversimplifying things,’ she said, fidgeting with her fingers. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Putting aside the practical reasons—like I had no way of contacting you and you’re not exactly an easy person to reach out to—you were abundantly clear about where your life is headed and what you need from it. You’re getting married to a princess, you’re going to have perfect royal babies. I’m a cleaner you’re ashamed to be seen with. Hello…? What was I going to do? Ruinyour life by telling you that somehow we conceived on a night when neither of us ever planned to see the other again?’
He ground his jaw. ‘The first night?’
‘Yes.’ The scan today had confirmed the dates as well.
