“How was your walk?” he asked, stubbing out his cigarette and standing. “I don’t want you in here breathing this shit.”

“Then why are you smoking in the house?” His manner was so cold, I felt a shiver of nervousness catch me.

“My bad.” He stalked toward me and steered me out with a firm hand to my back. There would be no resisting and no arguing, I could see that plain as day in the rigidity of his stance as he moved beside me.

We came into the kitchen where he left me to sit at the bar. He often sat there while I cooked dinner, either working on a laptop or asking about my day. But he didn’t look like he wanted to chat when he set his phone on the granite countertop with a clap. He looked up at me and folded his hands. His eyes told me he was fuming, swirling dark blue and searing.

I swallowed and tried again. “Ethan, did something happen to upset you?”

He raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t answer the question. I realized he hadn’t answered a single question I’d asked him since I’d come home.

“Where did you go for your walk, baby?” He’s answering everything with questions of his own.

“I walked to Hot Java,” I said slowly, but getting the feeling he already knew. “Do you have something to say to me, Ethan?”

“No, my darling, I don’t, but I very much think you do.” He picked up his phone and held the screen up for me to see.

Lance Oakley embracing me on the street.

CHAPTER 16

9th January

Switzerland

THE young prince was quite the Renaissance man, I had discovered. He had skills on the slopes, and with the ladies as well. No wonder his grandfather was worried about him. The lad might very well be in some real serious danger here at XT Europe.

Of death-by-fucking.

The screaming shag-party he had going right now on the other side of the wall, fouled my mood even further. I was in sheer hell here—the teenage f**kathon next door notwithstanding. What I needed was to speak to Brynne and to hear her voice. The one thing might make the next days marginally bearable.

We hadn’t parted well at all. A hideous row over keeping secrets. When the photos of her meeting Oakley were sent out in a Tweet, I received the alert straight away. I was utterly shocked of course, but when she got home, and I realized she wasn’t going to tell me why she would go behind my back to meet the man who ruined her life and nearly gotten her killed—I lost it.

Lost. Exactly how I feel right now, without my girl.

I topped off my glass from the bottle of Van Gogh and took a swig. My drink of choice—when I needed it. I surely f**king needed it to get to sleep tonight if the “oh, f**k yes’s” and “yeah, baby’s” didn’t shut off soon. Surely His Royal Highness would be shagged to within an inch of his life soon, and quiet might be a possibility. Please, blessed Christ.

Brynne didn’t tell me anything about her visit with Oakley, during, or even after our row. I still didn’t know why she’d gone to meet him. Maybe I would never know.

She just kept telling me the same thing over and over. I can’t talk about it right now, Ethan, and you’ll have to just accept that until something changes for me.

When I pushed her to tell me, she got angry and bit back with accusations about Sarah and our “private” meetings, saying I was shutting her out in favour of Sarah. Was I? I didn’t think so, but then, when Brynne asked why Sarah had been to the flat to see me that night, I couldn’t tell her. I wasn’t ready yet.

Her face had revealed how hurt she was, but I imagined mine did, too. We’d never quite been in this position before in our relationship. Both of us standing our ground on silent issues that had shaped so much of how we were made. It bloody sucked.

I think we could have worked things out if we’d had more time.

There had been no time, though. I’d had to come to this shitting job and leave her behind, pregnant and sad, and on her own. Well, not totally on her own. Neil and Elaina were keeping a close watch for me.

My girl and I were due some serious attention to our problems when I returned, and I’d said as much to her when I had to leave very early the next morning.

She had tears in her eyes, which were red and swollen, when she nodded and agreed with me.

When I kissed her goodbye, her sweet lips melted beneath mine and her arms came up to hold me tightly against her scented softness. I hated to pull away. I had to though, and it f**king hurt me to have to do it. I had hope we’d solve our differences, and work through the doubts both of us were carrying. I wouldn’t accept any other alternative.

She held my face with her hands and told me, “Come back to me.” I knew her words meant more than just my physical presence. I understood what she meant.

“Nothing could ever stop me from coming back to you,” I said. “Or you, little one,” I whispered against her belly.

And I believed that.

THE banging that woke me was not the nice kind. In fact, whoever was doing it might need a lesson in etiquette, via my fists if they didn’t stop f**king about.

“Ethan! Get up, man! We want to go for a backcountry run!”

I blinked at the bedside clock. 3:12 a.m. Stumbling out of my warm bed, I answered the door to find my young charge geared up and grinning wide.

“Now?” I barked. “You’re going up now, Christian?” I might have hoped I was dreaming him in front of me, but sadly, I knew I wasn’t.

He laughed, “Yeah, man, suit up. It’s a dead day otherwise. We leave now and can be up at the top by daylight. I need to blow off some steam before tomorrow.”

“You didn’t already? What was all the shag-racket from earlier then?” It was a valid question. When the f**k did this kid sleep was another. He had the world at his feet with his money, good-looks, royal status, and celebrity. He had it all going for him. I couldn’t really blame Christian for any of that, but he still managed to annoy the motherfucking shit out of me.

“That was just my bedtime story.” He shrugged happily and teetered on his toes, looking wired and anxious to get going. I highly doubted he was on anything because if he was he’d be DQ’d for doping and his snowboarding career finished. I think it was just his natural exuberance…and being bloody nineteen years old. Good Lord Bollocks. If our child is this hyper, I am f**ked. Might as well crawl into an early grave and get it over with.