Page 32 of His Hidden Royal Heirs

“I’m at your service, whenever you need,” the doctor said.

Zia managed a nod. “Thank you. I appreciate it. Genuinely.”

“I’ll leave you then, unless you have more questions?”

Zia shook her head. No. Not questions. Uncertainty, yes. But not questions. The doctor left her alone with her whirling thoughts. She pushed herself up and out of the bed and walked over to one of the windows, looking out into all that white.

The snow had stopped falling again, but still so much had piled up around the castle. It still felt like a fairy-tale world she knew she could not let herself be fooled by.

But shewantedto be. Just another day or two. Fooled and foolish. Believing in fairy tales of happily-ever-afters instead of the harsh reality of responsibility and control and protecting those she loved in whatever ways she could.

Beau. Her babies.

End of list.

Cristhian stepped into the bedroom then. He closed the door behind him. And Zia knew there was still a choice to be had here. She did nothaveto give in to her body’s desires. She could use her brain, protect her heart that felt so strangely bruised after all of this.

But she didn’t.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ZIASTOODJUSTout of reach, looking like some beautiful statue. A paragon of fertility and female beauty. Regal. Knowing. The light from outside shining on her like some kind of beacon.

For a moment, just a flash, Cristhian could picture himself on his knees worshipping at her very feet.

The problem with love,mi princesa, is that it is beyond our control. And we are beyond theirs.

Sometimes he preferred to think of memories as dreams, rather than flashes of his childhood.

But that voice in his head was his father’s—American accent and all—and the image of his parents together, while she cried over some royal slight, was real. Stuck in his head. Because once his father had seen him there, he’d beckoned him over. Insisted they go on a picnic. And his mother had stopped crying. They had enjoyed a perfect afternoon.

That happy memory, of that picnic, of his father’s love, was the reason he felt this way. It had nothing to do withher. He wouldn’t allow it. Things were too complicated already.

Weren’t they?

Cristhian took a step back before what he realized he was doing.Retreat? Never. He lifted his chin, continued to study her. But this did not help. She was some beautiful siren, luring him off course.

“I liked her,” Zia said at last. “You made an excellent choice.”

“I am glad. She will remain on property until the children are born.”

Something flitted through her expression he did not quite recognize, but she put one hand over her stomach in a protective gesture, as if she was afraid of...something.

A sharp, curling need took him over then. It was the only way to explain it. He moved toward her. “You will have the best of everything, Zia.” He touched her shoulder, couldn’t seem to stop himself, even though he had never been any good at comfort.But he had to do something to assuage that fear. “There is nothing to worry about.”

She huffed out a little laugh. “Only a man could say that. There issomuch to worry about.” Still, she put her hand over his on her shoulder and smiled up at him. “But I appreciate the... I know we want the same thing. Two happy, healthy babies.”

“Yes.” But it felt like she was leaving something out.

He didn’t want to think at all about what it might be. Because his children would come first. Before his own happiness. And hers. He would organize their lives so that everything turned out better than his had.

It put them at a crossroads, because he knew she put herself first. She had made that clear to him, and he would not let her do that to his children. His children would never know this conflict between them, though. Cristhian would ensure it.

He wanted Zia, yes. With a need that was blinding him to what was necessary. What was right. Such was her power, but he was a man in control of himself. In control ofeverything.

He could leave.

Hewouldleave.

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