The Billionaire Prince’s Surprise Son by Leslie North

14

There was a pan of butter chicken simmering on the stove. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the only thing simmering in the well-appointed kitchen. Summer’s anger had been on a low boil all day. Technically, Nic had arranged to clear his schedule, but apparently, she should’ve been more specific when she said “take the day off.” He was surgically attached to his phone—pun intended—and the hospital had called at various points during the day. Most of them were progress reports, but she could see the concern in his face, and she’d grudgingly relented. When a child had come in with a ruptured spleen, she’d recognized it as a true emergency, and he’d vanished for most of the afternoon.

When he’d returned, he’d been able to report that he saved the patient, who should recover beautifully. He looked exhausted, though, so she didn’t express her growing irritation.

“Just five more minutes,” Nic said, and she nodded, settling on the living room carpet and playing trains with Harry.

From there, there was an “emergency” having to do with an upcoming political presentation around the roll-out of some kind of medical benefit thing that, frankly, she didn’t really understand. She’d watched as Nic tapped out answers on his phone, only vaguely acknowledging when Harry handed him a toy to look at. “That’s great,” he’d said absently, before texting something else.

Summer gritted her teeth.

“Hey, Nic,” she said carefully, as she pulled together ingredients for their dinner, “can you watch Harry while I cook? It’s a lot easier to deal with cutting stuff and using the gas burners when I’m not worried that he’s underfoot.”

“Um… can you give me a minute?” Nic said, looking at her imploringly. “I just got an email from the Minister of the Interior. They’re overhauling some emergency response stuff, and I promised him I’d look it over and give him feedback, and I forgot about it.”

“Does this really need to happen tonight?” Summer said, trying not to sound waspish.

“Politics don’t sleep,” Nic said, sounding apologetic… but also looking at Harry with a combination of anxiety and sadness. “I’ll try to keep it as brief as possible.”

Summer pursed her lips. “All right.”

“And then I just need to finish just a touch of paperwork,” Nic added.

She glared at him, but he’d already turned and headed to his office.

Nic had made an agreement, damn it. He was supposed to be bonding with Harry and spending time with their little family unit. He’d found loopholes, and it made her feel badly.

She’d decided to cook the butter chicken because it was easy and it was one of her best recipes, and she was trying to remind Nic of their favorite little Indian restaurant back in L.A. It was something that Harry liked, too, with rice and vegetables. Nic had promised that they’d have a family meal together, and she liked that it was something she’d made… not a royally prepared meal from the luxurious private chef. This might not be perfect, but it felt homey and comfy, and hopefully would make them feel more like a family.

And that’s what you want, isn’t it?

She felt her cheeks heat, in a way that had nothing to do with the burners on the stove. Yes. If she were admitting it to herself… that’s exactly what she wanted. A man who was in love with her, who loved their son to distraction.

Not one who kept disappearing into his office, seeming to forget that they were there at all.

“Mama!”

Harry was banging on a pot with a wooden spoon, fraying her already agitated nerves. She sighed, taking the pot, ignoring his wail of disappointment. Then she picked him up, putting him on the countertop. She’d already washed things up, for the most part, and there wasn’t anything hot or sharp within arm’s reach. “Let me just fluff the rice,” she said. “You can direct the band with your spoon, okay? You like that.” Ever since he’d seen a cartoon with an orchestra, he could be distracted for at least a few minutes with that gambit.

She took care of the rice, which was cooked perfectly, and gave the vegetables one last quick stir. Then she turned back and yelped.

She’d forgotten that she’d picked up fudge cupcakes as a special treat for dessert. Now, she rushed to intercept him, but it was too late. Harry recognized the little cakes on the plate and moved with a ninja-like stealth she didn’t know he was capable of. His fat fingers squished the cake, half stuffed in his mouth, half smeared across his chubby baby cheeks. He made a muffled sound of mischief as his light blue eyes twinkled with glee.

“Gah!” Summer quickly grabbed what cake she could out of his hands. He’d managed to devour most of it and was wearing what was left. “Harry, no. That’s not okay!”

He didn’t look repentant. If anything, he was now scowling that she’d ruined his fun, and reached for the rest of the cakes on the plate.

“Oh, no, buddy,” she said, grabbing a towel and getting it wet. “You’d better not have spoiled your dinner, either. What a mess!”

At least dinner was ready. The sooner she could get some chicken and veggies into this little guy, the better. She propped him on her hip. Nic’s time was up. She didn’t care if he was on the phone with all the leaders of NATO, he was damned well coming down to dinner.

She made her way up the stairs, trying to keep a leash on her temper, and knocked gently on Nic’s office door. “Nic?”

To her surprise, the door wasn’t completely latched, so it swung open.

She took in the tableau in front of her. Nic wasn’t on the phone. His laptop was open, but Nic’s head was pillowed on his forearms. He was sound asleep on the desk.

She sighed. The man seemed to run on four hours of sleep and black coffee or tea so strong it could strip paint. He couldn’t keep going on this way. Why couldn’t he see that? She saw a picture of Nic, maybe ten years old, with a child so like Harry that it startled her. That must have been his brother, she realized, wondering again what the story was there. He’d tell her when he was ready, she thought, even though his protective armor was yet another thing that was rankling her.

She sighed, wrangling the squirming Harry, ready to gently wake Nic up. But she paused, her hand out, as she saw a folder on his laptop’s background.

For Summer.

Well, her name was on it, she reasoned. Glancing at him, she saw he was still out like a light. Feeling only a touch guilty, she clicked on the folder, then opened the document.

Her eyes widened.

It was for a job listing. For her. In San Diego.

“What the actual hell?” she muttered.

Nic snuffled, then shifted slightly.

She could not deal with this. Not right now.

“C’mon, Harry,” she said instead, bringing Harry back downstairs. She’d feed him, bathe him, get him ready for bed.

And then, she thought angrily, she and Nic were going to have words.

* * *

A few hours later, Summer had already packed up the leftovers, cleaned up the kitchen, and gotten Harry bathed and ready for bed. She’d spent the rest of the time with a glass of wine, a cupcake, and scrolling through shows on television, unable to focus on any of them. Nic came downstairs, rubbing at his head, his expression apprehensive and abashed.

“It’s later than I thought,” he said. “I’m sorry, Summer. You should’ve woken me.”

“Yeah, well, you should’ve told me you were shipping me off,” she said. “It would’ve saved time and spared me subjecting Harry to this whole charade.”

His eyes widened, and he rushed to the couch, sitting next to her. “What are you talking about?”

Even now, anger warred with tears of frustration and disappointment. She fought to keep her voice even. “I saw the folder, Nic,” she said sharply. “On your laptop. You’re finding me a job now? One that’s thousands of miles away, on another continent?”

He closed his eyes. “It’s not like that. Not quite, anyway.”

“Then what is it like?” Her voice broke, and she hated it for that. She blinked back tears.

“I was doing research for our hospital benefits, and I came across the listing,” he said. “I know that the fellowship is only a few months longer. Do you honestly think I don’t know you have options? That your skills as a pediatric specialist wouldn’t be valued in other places?”

She swallowed against a fresh wave of emotion. Whatever else might irritate her, his belief in her medical skills had always been unwavering, his support absolutely unconditional.

“I… I care about you and Harry,” he said, his handsome face frowning. “I want what’s best for you. Whatever that looks like. I know I didn’t do a good job today of showing that.”

He sounded sorry, was the damnable thing about it. She sighed heavily. “No. No, you didn’t.”

“The emergency…”

“I’m a doctor, too,” she said quickly. “I am never going to tell you to ignore a child in trouble. But between the hospital and the royal duties, you’re spread too thin. You can’t keep going this way, Nic… not just for me and Harry, but for yourself. You can’t sustain this.”

He looked stubborn for a second, then rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. “It might not look like it, but I was managing it before you got here.”

She drew back, and he made a little noise of protest.

“No! No, that’s not what I meant,” he said, and reached over, tugging at her gently. She fought it for a second, then relented, letting him envelope her in his arms. Why was his warmth so comforting? And why couldn’t she resist it? “I mean… yes, it’s a lot. I think I was just getting into a routine, I’d just hit a balance, and I wasn’t ready when I found you again, and when I learned about Harry. It’s going to take me a little time to figure out how to re-balance what I have.”

“Is that what you want?” she asked, feeling hesitation. The faces of foster parents, potential adoptive parents, flashed in front of her mind. So many times when she’d gotten her hopes up.

So many times when she’d been disappointed.

“It is what I want,” Nic breathed. “I see Harry, and you, and I think I don’t want anything more. But I just seem to keep messing it up.”

Summer felt a bubble of compassion welling up in her chest. “All right,” she said. “We’ll give it more time, and we’ll see.”

He hugged her to his chest, and she nuzzled there, inhaling his spicy, woodsy scent. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I guess Harry went to sleep?” He sounded both apologetic and rueful. “And… you were going to cook, weren’t you? God, I am an idiot.”

“Yes, you are,” she agreed, and smiled against his chest as his chuckle rumbled there. “I made butter chicken. I’m no gourmet chef, but it’s pretty tasty, if I do say so myself.”

He stroked her hair, then rubbed circles around her back. “If I say I’m sorry and I’m really nice,” he whispered against her ear, “will you re-heat some for me?”

“If you’re super nice,” she said against his throat, “I’ll even throw in a chocolate cupcake.”

“That sounds like heaven,” he admitted, then pressed a soft, meaningful kiss against her lips.

She got up, heading for the kitchen. And tried to ignore the warnings in her heart that this wasn’t going to turn out the way she wanted.