Antone was trying to shield her. It didn't take a genius to figure that much out. Still, there was no way he could block the constant stream of emails, notifications, and headlines that made the phone beep and bing every thirty seconds.

It was just like when her father had run for president, but this time it was so much worse. Back then, it had all be hearsay and snide comments because nobody wanted to out-and-out slut shame their opponent’s daughter. Now, though? It was open season.

The tabloids circled the pictures of her stomach, noting that the vague bump of her stomach must be the reason for her rushed, hushed-up engagement. Still more magazines printed pictures of a beautiful, raven-haired woman with a tiara perched on top of her head and the words "Betrayed!" splashed across the image. This, she found out, was the princess Annabella, the woman who Antone had been sworn to marry prior to the baby's conception. She knew it was only a political arrangement, and still her heart broke when she saw pictures of the princess, knowing that she had ruined a stranger's well-laid plans on top of her own.

"The princess understands. We have been friends for a long, long time. She has no ill will toward you," Antone soothed when she showed him the article. And then, none-too-slyly, he had tried to take her phone and hide it away. Along with, she suspected, all the rest of the newspapers and tabloids she couldn't find online.

Worse, it seemed like he had placed everyone in the castle under oath to keep the outside world a total secret. No matter how long and hard she pestered him, Luca wouldn't say a word about the whole affair. On the few times she'd caught sight of Ellaria, she had only sneered and asked for the hundredth time if Tess had tried on her wedding gown yet--reminding her that the seamstress would be needing the measurements sooner rather than later.

And so it went on. Antone tried to distract her at every chance, but the more she saw him, the more the guilt seeped into her bones. With every day, he looked more tired, more battered, and the day after the story broke, he held a press conference in the rose garden, which she was--in no uncertain terms--not permitted to attend.

Yep, it was just like being her father's daughter all over again. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Somehow, a few reporters had even managed to get her number and had called her in search of a quote or an interview. And when it wasn't the reporters or the notifications blowing up her phone? It was her family.

Lydia had texted a few times, her mother had sent even more messages than that, and once even her father had dinged her. She hadn't had the nerve to call any of them. She hadn't even read the texts. She couldn't.

The way she saw it, there were only two options--either they were mortified and outraged, or--worse yet--they were proud that she'd managed to snag a respectable husband to pull her out of her wayward lifestyle. None of them could possibly understand the torrent of emotions she went through every day--and with her hormones taking over her brain little by little, it was getting harder to keep her ever-changing emotions in check.

A few times, she'd woken in the night, tears stinging her eyes, and she thought again of the day she'd paced her apartment, trying to decide what to do about her baby--whether to tell Antone. It killed her, tore open her heart and flayed it in front of her, but she was positive she had made a mistake.

She should have kept this baby a secret, raised him or her on her own, and allowed the rest of the pieces to fall where they may. If she had just kept her mouth shut, she wouldn't be ruining the lives of everyone around her--Lydia, Ellaria, Antone...even the Princess Annabella, whoever she was.

Maybe it would have been better for the baby, too. He would have had second-hand overalls and peanut butter sandwiches. A life without responsibility. A normal, happy existence. But then...

Rolling over, she glanced at the low light slanting over Antone's sleeping face, and her bleeding heart let out another low moan. Even now, with all her selfishness, she wanted to shake him awake and ask him to hold her, knowing that he would.

If she hadn't told him, it would have been her and her alone laying in bed, wondering what her baby's father was like. Maybe even wondering if he had some health concerns that she should have known about. If he would one day come back and discover her secret.

She shook her head. What was done was done. The fact to the matter was, for better or worse, she had told Antone the truth. And because of that this baby would not only be born to wear a crown, but he or she would have a father that loved them.

And she would have a husband. A husband who didn't let her into his life. One who didn't share his secrets or the weight of his responsibilities...

But he loves me.

No, she didn't know that either. She knew that he loved her body, sure, but that would be changing soon, too. Then he might grow tired of her and, as his political career went on, he'd likely become ashamed of her, too. Just as her family had. Their wild, reckless daughter. His uncultured, American wife.

What a prize.

She sniffled, but held back the rush of tears still threatening her.

Don't look back. Just look forward. You don't know how he's going to feel, but you do know a few things for sure. You're going to have a baby that's going to need you to be strong. You're going to be married to Antone.

She took a deep breath. There was a path here, there had to be.

The wedding, of course, was an undeniable media spectacular, but once it was over? Well, there was no need for her to be in the public eye at all. She could be almost like the Phantom of the Opera, running around in the rafters and only showing up occasionally and when absolutely needed.

The baby would be born and she'd pose for a picture. Then? Well, she'd figure it out.

They had servants galore--enough for any one of them to run her errands at a moment's notice, and when that didn't work out, she could always order things online. In reality, there was no reason for her to ever leave the confines of the palace again.

And as for Antone...

She sat up straighter, staring out at the rushing, roaring waves, then glanced down at Antone's still-prone face, and then bit her bottom lip.

The press had been just as merciless with him as they had been with her--chastising him for breaking his agreement with the princess Annabella and drudging up his apparent history of philandering. If the media never saw them together, they couldn't make assumptions about the state of their relationship. If she kept to herself, he wouldn't have to worry about her on top of all the over responsibilities of running his country.

After all, hadn't that been the original plan? She was his wife of convenience, and even if she tried, there was no way she could understand his life, the heavy weight that had been thrust on him.

So the best thing was to leave it be. To leave him be.

It was the a good plan. The right plan--both for his career and for her well-being.

So why did she get the impression that the sudden sickness creeping inside her had nothing to do with morning sickness?

* * *

"The princess Ellaria wishes to see you," Luca's voice broke through his concentration, and Antone looked up, though his mind was still reeling from the email he'd just finished reading.

It was a message from his father--no word of congratulations on the future heir to their country, no questions about the woman who would one day be queen, just a note letting him know that he did not feel it necessary to return to the country until the day of the wedding.

If it weren't for the reason behind his father's return, he might have thought the king hadn't heard the news of the scandal at all, but either it was so low on his list of priorities that he didn't deign to comment on it or he cared so little that he'd already forgotten.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to find the right words to express his outrage without out-and-out accusing his father of shirking his duties. Still, there was no doubt that whatever villa he'd shacked up in with his new wife, it offered little to no information about the new tax legislation parliament had been debating over for weeks.

"I should attach it in an email," he grumbled to himself, and it was only when Luca spoke again that he realized he was staring straight at him while his mind wandered.

"Sir? Your sister?" Luca asked.

Antone shook his head. "Is it something else with the wedding? Can't she speak with Tess?"

"I'm afraid Tess is busy today and the princess needs an answer right away."

Antone frowned. "What do you mean Tess is busy?"

He thought back to how she'd looked when he'd crept out of the room in the early hours of the morning. Even then, she had twisted and turned in her sleep, her full lips contorting with every move. All week, he had felt her shifting in the bed, restless in her sleep, and though he had wondered if his own restlessness had been affecting her, he was beginning to think there was something more going on.

In the days since their ill-fated journey to the beach, she'd been more quiet, more reserved. When he left her in the middle of the night, she never asked if he was okay. She never asked him what was on his mind, and she certainly didn't offer what was on hers.

He knew he should have prodded her for more information--to figure out what was going on, but if he did, he knew she would ask him the same, and he couldn't bring himself to unload all his state troubles on someone who was still reeling from losing their home and their life. Someone should focus on being happy and well and caring for the child growing inside her.

"The doctor has come to see her today, sir," Luca said. "Didn't she tell you?"

"What do you mean? Is she okay?" He stood, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest.

"Yes, of course. She's had this appointment on the books for weeks. It's a regular check-up."

Antone stared at his friend. "Where is she?"

"In her private quarters."

Without a word, Antone swept from the room, marching down the long, stone hall, his footsteps echoing in the empty space. He moved without thinking, without knowing what he would say or do, but knowing that he had to be there--for the baby. For himself. For Tess.

When he reaching the oak door, he pushed it open without bothering to knock and Tess stared up at him, her face white.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked, staring around. The doctor was nowhere to be found.

"I wasn't expecting you, that's all," she said, and though she relaxed back on the pillows, her gaze never left his. "Are you okay?"

He blinked. "What do you mean am I okay? What were you thinking not telling me you had a doctor's appointment?"

She rolled her eyes. "You don't need to worry about this. It's totally normal. You gave enough to--"

"I'll decide what is important to me, if you don't mind. Now what did the doctor say?" His tone was sharper than he'd intended, but if she was taken aback, she certainly didn't show it.

"The doctor isn't here yet. I'm just waiting for her to arrive."

"She's late? She's making you wait? I'll--"

"Do nothing. Relax," Tess finished for him. "Honestly, you should go back to work. There's nothing here that you need to concern yourself with."

"You are always my concern. You seem to have forgotten that."

"No, I'm trying to make myself less of a concern. You don't need to worry about me. I've already given you enough trouble--"

Antone shook his head. "The only trouble you're giving me is your cutting me out. I want to be here for you, Tess."

"But the papers--"

"Don't mean anything. I've told you this. Tess--" His next words were cut off as the door opened again and an amiable-looking elderly woman entered.

In her hands, she held a clipboard and a pair of tiny, clear-rimmed glasses were perched on the end of her long, Grecian nose. "Your highness, I didn't know we'd be expecting you." She gave him a little bow, then turned the force of her smile on Tess, whose almond eyes were lined with concern.

Tess’s full mouth puckered slightly, then she returned the doctor's smile. "Hello. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise, your future grace." She took a seat in the velvet chair beside the bed, ignoring the monitor and machinery that had been placed beside it. "Now, how are you feeling? Other than nervous, I mean."

"That obvious, huh?" Tess' smile faded. "I'm fine. You know, a little hormonal, but other than that..." Tess shrugged.

The doctor nodded. "Any morning sickness?"

Tess shook her head. "Not for a few weeks now."

"Good, good. Any spotting or other concerns?"

Antone searched his fiancée’s face, but she remained impassive. "No, nothing."

"Great. Well, today we're going to look at the baby and make sure everything is okay." She moved toward the machinery and Tess nodded, the lines around her eyes deepening.

Antone took her hand in his and squeezed, his heart suddenly in his throat. He wanted to say something, to comfort her, but he had no words. Between his own mingled excitement and terror, he knew there was nothing to offer her now other than results. A confirmation that the baby was safe and healthy.

Tess shivered at the doctor squeezed a clear, viscous jelly on her stomach, then spread it over her with a little wand. Then, suddenly, the monitor beside her lit up and, tiny as a grape, Antone could see his baby. Their baby.

From a speaker, a deep, steady thrum sounded, and he looked down at Tess to see tears shining in her eyes.

"That's the baby's heartbeat." The doctor smiled at her, and Antone practically choked on his joy.

Sweeping Tess' hair back from her forehead, he gazed down at her as a single tear rolled down her cheek, and he caught it with his thumb.

All the anger and indignation he'd felt when he'd rushed into the room was gone, replaced instead with something almost like awe. This woman--whether she was the brash American woman he'd slept with that first night or the stubborn, fiery woman who shared his bed now--was something to behold. She would carry his son, true, but to see the full glow of love on her face from that one solitary image and that deep, thrumming sound...

He shook his head. He knew she wouldn't understand, but he whispered to her all the same, "Sei fantastico."

You are amazing.

And she was. Whatever the papers said about her now didn't matter in the slightest--once they saw her the way he did, once they knew what she was like as a woman and as a mother, well, they'd have to love her. There was no choice at all.

Not for them.

Not for him.