The Prince's Pregnant Mistress

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Mine.

He pushed that word to the back of his mind. This wasn’t about that. It was a necessity. What he must do. It had nothing to do with want. With that thing Bailey made him feel that was so perilously close to weakness.

“Come,” he said, opening the door and extending his hand to her. “We must get you to your room.”

CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_3090546f-d9df-5a4c-8493-83377cf1d734)

BAILEY TRIED NOT to stare too gauchely as she entered the palace, her heart thundering loudly. Loudly enough that she was pretty sure it was echoing off the marble walls of the massive antechamber they were standing in now. She had never seen anything like this in her life. It was like something out of a movie, except in a movie she had a feeling she would be heading toward some sort of fun montage where she would try on lots of dresses and upbeat pop music would play in the background while a sassy stylist told her how amazing she looked.

Instead, she was standing there wearing nothing more than a sweatshirt and pants that had seen better days, feeling like something a very large, overly self-satisfied cat had dragged in.

There were servants wandering around the palace, not making eye contact with Raphael, as though any unsolicited contact would be far too presumptuous on their part.

They did not look at her, either. Not with any kind of curiosity. In fact, she seemed beneath their notice. As though she were merely a package he had brought in after a day of shopping.

“It’s so quiet in here,” she said, her voice reverberating around them even though she was speaking softly.

“There are so many people in the palace at all times, it would be difficult to think if everyone were carrying on a conversation, don’t you agree?”

“So you have a...silence policy?”

“There is no policy. But my father was one to train the servants to ensure they were rarely seen and rarely heard. I have done nothing to revise that code of conduct, as it suits me.” He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to feel like he was speaking too loudly. His voice echoed across the room, and he was not bothered by it in the least.

“You are definitely an elevated personage,” she said, following him just slightly behind. “Aren’t you?”

“This is my palace,” he said, making a broad, sweeping gesture. “Of course I am elevated.”

“It’s just... I had the feeling royalty was a bit more modern nowadays. Prince Harry is out greeting soldiers and things.”

“And getting caught with his trousers down at hotels in Las Vegas.”

“We both know your trousers have been down, Raphael—it’s just that nobody was there to take pictures. Actually, I could have taken pictures. I should have. I sent you some scandalous shots and sadly, never got a nude pic from you. Think of the leverage that would provide me.”

His eyes sharpened. “I see you’re finally considering the angle of using the press against me.”

“I don’t want to. Not particularly. To what end? So that we’re both embarrassed? So that our child can look at the headlines in the future and see all the ugly things we said about each other? That isn’t what I want. We both know that even if I were able to disgrace you by giving sordid details of your secret affair with a waitress, I would be the one who was called a whore.”