Crown Jewels (Off-Limits Romance #1)(33)

You could just not tell him, a small voice whispers. But I know that’s wrong. This baby is his child, too, and he or she deserves a father. I’m not sure how great a father Prince Liam—just Liam, I correct myself—will be. His own sire is a notorious asshole who terrorizes the country’s parliament and overrules them in ways that violate the island’s constitution all the time. But…who knows. He’s been really nice to me.

For sex.

“Shut up,” I mutter.

I wonder when I’ll get the nerve to approach his castle in Torr. I wonder whose castle I just passed. I think maybe that’s his father’s? Will Liam’s castle be smaller? I remember from my readings that it backs up right against the sea. That should be pretty.

I wonder how long I’ll stay. Maybe just long enough to tell the gate keepers that I’m here to see him (about something important, if they press me) and have a quick sit-down by the throne where I can let him know I’m his baby mama.

I look down at my stomach. Looking pretty normal. It’s hard to believe I’m even pregnant.

I take another swig of ginger ale and munch a few more crackers before I realize I’m starving. Like, for real food.

I pass a car on the narrow road and notice how bright the lights are. The sun has gotten a good bit dimmer. The sky is cloudy now. A mile or two later, a steady rain starts pelting my windshield. Followed by hail. Geez, it’s like I’m back in Colorado.

All out ahead of me, it looks like rolling prairie. I can see a town’s lights glowing faintly on the cloud-swathed horizon. Far out to my left, I swear I can see the dark slat of the ocean. And to my right, the mountains, mostly swathed in fog.

What if he’s not home when I drop by?

What if he’s got a girl with him?

What if he’s having a party?

When I reach the little town I saw on the horizon line, I think of pulling off for

l-inner, but…I don’t want any. I just want to drive the next hour or so to Torr, go up to the castle, and get this godforsaken experience behind me.

I tell myself the best that I can hope for is that he’ll be polite and support my notion of me birthing and raising the baby somewhere in Georgia, near my family but away from the cameras.

I’ve already decided I’ll offer not to tell anyone who the father is, if that’s what he prefers. I don’t want financial support or anything, really, but it would be nice if my child could know him privately. I feel a pang of sorrow for my child-to-be and hope that Liam will want to do that. Maybe I could pay him.

I drive into a valley as the mountains rise up on my right side, then up a hill, and I see the village of Torr, with lots of trees and crags and little old streets. Everything look so old here. There are no traffic lights, just brick roundabouts. Due east of town, the mountain range drops right into the sea.

I stop at an adorable, red brick petrol station with round, white cottage windows and antique-looking pumps. After filing up the car, I give in to my stomach’s growling and get a cheese croissant, plus some canned cat food for Grey, then stand there staring at the thin, gray-haired cashier while I nibble a bite of my croissant.

“So… Does the prince live here? In the castle?”

The lady chuckles. “You hoping for a sighting, dearie?”

“Something like that.”

“He lives here at times, when he’s not abroad,” she tells me, leaning on the counter.

“Is the castle open for tours?”

“Not anymore, not since he’s been living there. Since last September. He keeps it private. They may do a showing at Christmas this year. That’s what I heard.”

I nod. “Thanks for the info.”

“Where are you from?” she asks me as I amble toward the door.

“The U.S.” I add, “Georgia.”

She nods, smiling.

Back in the car, I polish off my croissant and lick my lips. Damn, I was hungry. I’m still sort of hungry.

“Are you hungry, too?”

I set Grey’s food in the floor, move the carrier to the back, and wait while he eats and drinks some water I pour in a bowl I brought for this purpose. When he’s finished and seems settled in the passenger’s seat, I drive the city’s brick streets with an eye for hotels. I end up at a beach—a rocky beach with violent, crashing waves. I park my car beside the only other one in sight: a small, white Saab, swallow some ginger ale, crack the windows so the breeze keeps Grey cool, and get out. The wind is crazy here, despite this beach being between a smattering of houses. It whips my hair around my face, loosening pieces from the pony-tail, and makes my long skirt flap against my shins.

The sky is white now. White and cloudless. Seagulls caw above me, diving toward the black and tan sand, landing for a moment, then taking flight again. I watch them fly in vaguely circular patterns. I wonder what they’re talking about. Can seagulls communicate? I never was much one for the National Geographic channel.

I sit on a big, black rock a few stones behind the ones where waves are breaking. I can feel the spray against my cheeks. I inhale the salty smell.

Then I put my face in my hands. God. I thought I was getting my life together, but I guess I was wrong. Suddenly I feel so lost. And overwhelmed. I can barely make a grilled cheese sandwich and remember to buy toilet paper. How am I going to care for a baby? I don’t think I’ll ever find a guy now, not that I care so much. I’ve been single for two years. It’s been okay. It will be okay for more years. I might meet someone when the baby is older. You never know.