A WEEK LATER, after a night shift at the palace, Clara returned home, her plan to indulge in some well-earned self-care—a long soak in the bath, painting her fingernails and styling her hair in an elegant up-do.
Tonight was the staff Christmas party and she wanted to look her best for Andreas. They’d only managed to see each other twice since Kari’s accident. Both times, he’d sneaked Clara into the palace and they’d made love as if it was the last time, and had carefully avoided any talk of breaking up. The cracks in Clara’s heart had deepened each time, but Christmas was only two weeks away.
In the bathroom, Clara removed the contents of a brown paper bag from the pharmacy, a flutter of nervous anticipation in her stomach: gold nail polish, volumising hairspray...and a pregnancy test. She could no longer ignore the fact that her period was three days late when she was unfailingly regular; her breasts were sore and she was more tired than usual. She took the test and filled the bath, pouring in some scented bubble bath to take her mind off the little white plastic stick.
What would she do if it turned positive? More importantly, how would Andreas react?
She stripped off her clothes, her gaze drawn to the test, which already boasted two pink lines: positive. Her hand fell protectively to her abdomen, her heart thumping wildly. Those two pink lines changed everything. She was pregnant with Andreas’s baby.
After her bath, she dressed in the green vintage dress she’d borrowed from Alma, fitting matching glass earrings with trembling hands. She stared at her reflection, half in awe of the woman staring back, half panic-stricken. The dress complemented her skin tone, so she appeared radiant, and there was a new strength to the set of her posture, as if she was already inhabiting her new role as a mother.
She was adamant—the baby’s happiness would be paramount.
Her phone pinged with an incoming text from Andreas.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Clara blinked back tears, refusing to ruin her mascara. Now she had bigger issues than when to walk away from the man she loved but could never have. Now she’d have to tell him about the pregnancy—tonight.
She sat on the bed and typed a reply.
Me too.
Then she deleted it and threw down her phone. That wasn’t entirely true. Part of her was dreading their conversation. What would Andreas expect of her now? Would he want shared custody of their child or would he be forced constitutionally to disown the baby? After all, they weren’t married.
Nauseated, Clara slipped her feet into her heels and fastened the buckles, her mind racing with the many implications. She’d have to pull back on the hours she worked as her pregnancy progressed. She’d need to take maternity leave, and then what? There was an excellent state-run crèche near Nordic Care that her colleagues talked about but would Andreas approve? Would he demand a private facility beyond Clara’s budget?
And what about their child’s privacy? Would simply being related to Andreas make the baby a target? How would Clara keep their child safe and keep her independence? What if, as a prince, Andreas’s custodial rights to their child surpassed her own? What if he wanted to raise their child as a prince or princess without Clara? What if he made all the decisions and she was powerless?
Standing, she smoothed her palms over the silky fabric of the dress. She wouldn’t allow any harm befall her child. Her mother had raised two daughters as good as alone, and Clara could do the same. She would protect this baby with her life and provide for its every need, with Andreas’s input or without it.
‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ Andreas said to Kari at the Christmas party. ‘Thank you for the festive transformation. The hall looks magical.’
The room glittered with a thousand lights and was bedecked with two enormous Christmas trees. That Kari was there after all her hard work, albeit on crutches, her broken leg in plaster, raised his dampened spirits.
Why hadn’t Clara replied to his text?
They hadn’t raised the subject of ending their fling since the night of Kari’s accident. The past week had passed in a busy blur. Clara had taken extra shifts at the hospital to cover staff illness and Andreas had been occupied with a state visit to Finland and with preparations for this evening’s festivities. He’d even supervised the renovation of his new suite of rooms. He was determined to stamp his own mark on ruling the principality, and the first step was feeling comfortable enough to make the role his own.
His stomach twisted in recognition of how he’d decorated with Clara in mind. Foolish, given his inability to see beyond the life-changing events of the next few months. But, if he could just hold onto her and protect her a little longer until the intense media interest died down, then he could think straight.
Andreas moved on to welcome another group, glancing at Prince Henrik, who was doing the same thing on the other side of the hall. His father had insisted on being present, and for now showed good energy levels, but Andreas was determined to keep an eye on him.
The Cronstedt family couldn’t exist without the hundreds of people filling the ballroom, their tireless work behind the scenes as vital as the prince’s ribbon-cutting ceremonies, diplomatic speeches and weekly audiences with Varborg’s Prime Minister.
Speaking of vital...was Clara there?
Discreetly, he scanned the room before asking after the palace administration manager’s small children. His jaw ached from smiling, his reserves of small talk running low. He needed to see Clara, to know that he could convince her to stay his for a little while longer.
He’d just moved on from a conversation with the housekeeping team when he spied Clara talking to her fellow nurses and the prince’s personal physician. Even though the other doctor was in his fifties and happily married, a white-hot shaft of jealousy pierced Andreas’s chest as he watched her smile up at the man.
She looked radiant and seemed so carefree, so Clara.
When was the last time she’d smiled at him that carefree way? Was his desperation for her hurting her, crushing her sense of independence? Would he fail her if he didn’t let her go soon? But every time he tried to imagine being without her he rushed the other way, clinging tighter.
With everything going on in his life, they seemed to have lurched from one crisis to another, the only highlights the blissful moments of intimacy they managed to snatch.
Something jolted in his chest as he watched her. Were those moments of intimacy enough? Clara deserved more. She deserved peace of mind, security and privacy. She deserved a man who was focussed only on her, a man who’d protect her and never fail her. These were all things Andreas longed to give her but, because of his position, couldn’t guarantee.
At his side, Nils spoke. ‘Your Highness...’
Andreas came to. He’d been staring, mesmerised by her, as he’d been from the start. Deviating from the planned route around the room, Andreas walked her way.
‘I wanted to thank you all personally,’ he said to the entire group, ‘For taking such good care of Prince Henrik. As you can see—’ he tilted his head in his father’s direction ‘—he’s feeling much restored tonight, and that’s down to all of you.’
Clara hadn’t yet met his eye, and he couldn’t be seen to favour one staff member over any other, not when gossip had already spread since the night she’d attended Kari’s accident by his side.
If it were down to him, he’d whisk her away to his new bedroom and make love to her all night until he convinced her that she wanted him, the real Andreas, more than she wanted her career, her independence and her anonymity.
At last, he allowed his gaze briefly to settle on Clara. It hurt to look at her beauty and not touch her. But, on closer inspection, she appeared pale. Was she unwell, or had she reached her decision and would soon tell him it was over?
Sensing Nils’s discomfort, because Andreas was on a tight schedule to talk to at least half of the staff, he prepared to walk away, panic surging through him. Then, at the last second, she looked up, looked right at him and the party around him seemed to stutter to a stop.
He stared hard, pouring all his feelings for this woman into his eye contact so she would see how much he cared, how much he wanted her, how he wished he could be just a man she was free to care for in return, without risk.
She looked away.
Crestfallen, Andreas was spurred into action. He plastered on his smile and moved on to greet the next group, but not before he instructed Nils, ‘Bring her to me at the end of the festivities—the Blue Room.’
All he had to do was make it through the party. It was going to be a very long night.
For the rest of the evening, Clara watched Andreas from afar, a sense of déjà vu chilling her to the bone. The first time they’d danced in that very hall, she’d known that he was a natural born leader. He’d been torn between the role he’d trained for and the role that was his birth right, because he lived with deep unresolved guilt over his brother’s death.
But his royal status shone as people vied for his attention. He was a prince. He had it all—charisma, kindness and empathy. How could she avoid falling head over heels in love with a man like him?
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Clara paced to the window of the Blue Room, the place where she’d been instructed by Nils to meet Andreas. This was the room where they’d negotiated their fling. How fitting that this would also be the scene of the conversation to come.
Clara stared out at the illuminated balcony and beyond to the vast, snow-capped mountain range that separated Varborg from the rest of Scandinavia. It was a stunning night. Crisp, cloudless skies were an inky blank canvas for the multitude of stars.
Clara’s vision blurred, fear a metallic taste in her mouth. How would he take her news? How would she tell him that she was carrying his baby and still hold on to her heart? How would she find the strength to walk away? Because she must, and sooner than she’d promised. Now that there was the baby’s happiness and safety to consider, she needed to be stronger than ever.
Just then, the sky above the mountain tops began to dance with the magical wonder of the Aurora Borealis, or northern lights, the green light streaking the blackness. Clara watched, mesmerised. There was magic here, in Andreas’s world. But the clock was about to strike midnight and she couldn’t stay.
A sound in the room behind Clara drew her attention. She spun to find Andreas observing her, his face dark with repressed need.
‘You look breath-taking tonight,’ he said.
Clara swallowed, her pulse a painful thud in her throat.
‘More so than nature’s display outside, even.’ His stare latched to hers, but he didn’t step closer or try to touch her. ‘Green suits you, sötnos. You should wear it more often.’
‘Thank you. This dress belonged to my mother.’ She glanced down at the simple silky sheath. ‘I’m recycling.’
She looked up and swept her gaze over him from head to toe, the ache in her chest sharpening at his refined splendour. ‘You look very regal, every inch the prince you were born to be.’
A small frown pinched his eyebrows together. ‘And yet here, with you, I’m just Andreas.’
Clara nodded, her heart cracking open a little wider. Just because she’d fallen in love with him didn’t mean that she could have him as her own. He needed a woman content to exist in his shadow and, while Clara might tolerate that in public for appearances’ sake, it would destroy her to know that they weren’t equals in their private lives—to know that she loved him desperately, but that he didn’t love her.
But how could they ever be true equals? He was a prince, a ruler, and she was a penniless nobody in a borrowed dress.
‘I need to tell you something,’ she said, cautiously stepping closer, because even when she was ready to walk away she wanted him with terrifying desperation.
‘Okay.’ His frown deepened.
Clara raised her chin, resolute. ‘I’m pregnant.’
His body seemed to sag with relief, excitement in his eyes. He almost stumbled as he lurched for her, gripping her arms.
‘Are you sure?’ His pulse ticked furiously in his neck.
Clara nodded. ‘My period was three days late so I did a test this afternoon. It was positive, but obviously it’s very early days.’
She shrugged, her own joy at the news diminished, because in the deepest part of her soul she’d dared to imagine that, if she ever had a child, it would be with a man who loved her and who she could love freely in return.
But this wasn’t a fairy tale. This was reality. Ahead lay confusion and doubt for the future and fear that her parental rights would be restrained because of her baby’s paternity.
With his face wreathed in delight, Andreas hauled her into his arms. Clara rested her head against his crisp white shirt, against the soothing thud of his heart. She closed her eyes, dragging in the scent of him, fighting tears.
‘That’s wonderful news.’ He pulled back, his stare swooping to her flat stomach. ‘Are you feeling okay?’
She nodded numbly. ‘I’m fine, Andreas. A little tired, perhaps.’
‘Do you want to sit while we talk?’ he asked, clearly still dazed.
Clara shook her head. ‘I wanted you to know straight away, but we don’t have to sort everything out right now.’ She needed more time to think things through.
Doubt flashed in his sparking eyes for a split second before he rallied. ‘What’s there to sort out? You’re carrying a Cronstedt prince or princess. I’m going to be a father.’
His awestruck grin made her vision blur. She hated being the one to burst his bubble. ‘I’m glad that you’re happy.’ She winced and ducked her head. ‘But the prince-princess thing doesn’t count. We’re not married. I’m just an ordinary woman.’
Andreas laughed, clutching her back to his chest. ‘A hundred years ago that might have mattered, but today my heir is my heir. Besides,’ he said, ‘We’ll get married.’
Clara swallowed, dread sliding through her veins. ‘Just like that—you decide and I have no say or rights? Don’t you think you should ask me what I want?’
She might as well be a brood mare.
All her greatest fears rolled in like storm clouds in the sky. He was the important one in this relationship. He had all the power. Was she meekly to agree to his sterile marriage proposal, give up her career and simply exist as a royal appendage, too lovesick to question the arrangement?
‘I’m sorry.’ He gripped her shoulders, peering at her with confusion. ‘What do you want? I assumed that you’d be overjoyed by this news, but you must also be in shock.’
‘I am happy,’ Clara said, a massive part of her, the part that loved him and ached for a ridiculous fantasy, feeling anything but. ‘But...there’s so much to think about. I want us to raise this child together, but we shouldn’t rush this conversation. Let’s take a few days to come to terms with the news and then we can discuss a way forward.’
Once her shock wore off, maybe she’d have the strength to tell him how she felt about him.
Andreas’s expression darkened. ‘There is only one way forward, Clara. I’m a Cronstedt. My child, our child, will one day rule Varborg. I’m sorry, but there’s no getting around that.’
‘I understand.’ Clara shook her head, which was fuzzy with confusion, her heart sore with grief. ‘But that’s a separate issue. I don’t want some sort of pragmatic royal marriage.’
She might have felt differently about the institution if he’d loved her, if he’d proposed in some romantic way rather than with ruthless practicality. But she’d never once envisioned being trapped in a loveless marriage, a relationship in name only, for show when the cameras were rolling or to give their child a sense of legitimacy.
‘Then we’ll live together,’ he stated, adamant. ‘Raise our child together. It’s unconventional for my family, but I’ll make it all right. After all, I plan on modernisation. What’s more modern than co-habitation and co-parenting?’
‘You’re not hearing me, Andreas,’ she said, her stomach twisted into knots with grief. ‘I can’t live like this, the way you do.’
Not if she couldn’t have all of him, including his heart. The civilised, unconventional relationship he proposed would be doomed from the start. She’d be the one making all the sacrifices, without even gaining the reward of his love in return. She’d be just like her mother: loving a man who couldn’t possibly care as deeply for her; forced to sacrifice her career, her independence, to put his needs first; vulnerable, her options limited because they’d made a child together, a child she would always prioritise above herself.
‘I can’t lose everything that I am,’ she continued, trying to keep her voice even. ‘My job, my independence, my autonomy.’
‘You can still have those things and be with me, Clara. I’ll take care of you and our child. Protect you both. Support you always. I won’t let either of you down.’ He frowned, disbelief entering his eyes. ‘Unless it’s me you don’t want...’
His voice was flat, but there was a question in the last word, a question that split Clara’s heart in two. She held her hand over her mouth to hold in a sob. She wanted him so badly she was crushed by the weight of her desire. But this was no longer about what she wanted. It was time to be realistic. To set aside this fantasy and focus on making a secure life for their child, who would never have to grow up too quickly, the way they’d both had to.
‘You once said that we don’t always get what we want,’ she whispered, wishing she believed in dreams, wishing she could escape into his magical world, wishing he could love her as deeply as she loved him. ‘That sometimes we must be something others need us to be.’
He frowned, staring as if carved from stone.
She faltered. But she needed to be strong for all of them—herself, Andreas and the baby.
‘You need to be Prince Andreas Cronstedt,’ she said, sweeping her eyes over his immaculate suit, and his tie bearing the royal crest. ‘You need to rule Varborg, because that’s who you were born to be.’
‘How two-dimensional I sound—a cardboard cut-out.’ Disappointment dimmed his stare. He clenched his jaw and stood a little taller. ‘And what do you need?’
Desperately trying to hold in her tears, to stand her ground and not reach for him, Clara exhaled a shuddering breath. ‘I need to be a mother.’
He nodded once. ‘And us?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Clara said, tears finally spilling over her eyelids to land on her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t.’
Clara fled, finally giving herself over to the body-racking sobs once she was safely ensconced in the back of a taxi and speeding into the night.