The Billionaire Prince’s Surprise Son by Leslie North

3

Two years later…

Nic looked over the chart, then smiled at the family in the hospital room. A young girl with dark brown hair and huge brown eyes looked sheepish, as her dark-haired mother wore a frown of concern. “We’ll keep an eye out for concussion, but I think your daughter is going to be fine,” he quickly reassured the mother. “Just make sure she’s a bit more careful on her skateboard, hmm?”

He watched as the mother’s face flooded with relief. “Oh, thank you, your Highness!”

“Just Doctor in here,” he said, as he often did, before waving and going back into the hallway.

Nic rubbed at his temples before glancing at his watch. Six o’clock—almost the end of his shift, although he’d been there since seven that morning. It had been a long day in a series of long days, but on the plus side, the Mynian Royal Hospital’s pediatric ward was taking shape. He still had a few more hours to put in, not for patients, but for policy. His father and several of his ministers were expecting his thoughts on some proposed changes to the kingdom’s health care system.

Did it mean long hours? Yes. And sure, he didn’t have a personal life to speak of, but he expected that. Hell, he’d known that was going to be the case for years, since…

He sighed.

Since Summer.

He tried not to think about the last woman he’d been serious with, but it was hard. He’d let himself get way too involved back then, to the point where two years later, he was still dreaming about her.

“Your Highness…”

Nic gave the resident addressing him a wry look.

“I mean, Dr. Hansen,” he quickly corrected, looking apologetic. He looked young and just a bit tired, in the pale seafoam green scrubs that they all wore. “We’ve got a new patient, boy, five years old. Fever, but nothing too high. Parents were saying that he’s been complaining of leg pain for a while, though. I told them to keep an eye on it, and it’s not like we’re admitting him, but someone told me you might be interested.”

“Leg pain?” Nic repeated, even as his muscles tensed reflexively.

The resident nodded. “I think it could just be growing pains, maybe coupled with a mild virus, but according to the parents the leg pain has been fairly persistent, so I was thinking, should we keep an eye out for JIA?” He looked like a student fearful of failing a test.

“Juvenile Idiopathic Arthritis,” Nic mused, his mind scrolling through what he’d studied on the topic. “It’s a possibility.”

Nic swallowed hard as images flashed in front of him. His young brother, Tom, complaining of leg pain, which his parents had brushed off as the typical aches of childhood. His difficulty climbing stairs. The clumsiness that no one had realized was so much more serious than it seemed… until it was too late.

He could picture Tom’s brilliant smile, even as the muscles in his face started to weaken. I’m going to be a doctor, Nicky!

Nic shook off the memory before it could hit harder. “Add a genetic test for the parents, would you? The mother, especially. And schedule an EMG.”

The resident’s eyes widened. “You’re thinking Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy? That’s fairly rare, isn’t it?”

Not rare enough.

“Just a test,” Nic said, but it sounded like a croak to his own ears. He felt a desperate compulsion to look at the patient’s charts himself, and probably would that night. For now, he needed to change the subject before he broke further. He heard some commotion down the long, brightly lit hallway, and saw a small group of doctors in scrubs and white coats. “Who are they?”

“Them? Oh! They’re Dr. Buckham’s new fellows,” the resident chirped, thankfully distracted from Nic’s no doubt pained expression. “Just started today. He’s been showing them around and such, walking them through human resources, establishing schedules.”

“Oh.” Nic probably ought to go, say hello. After all, he’d helped establish the fellowship and the benefits for the program, even if Dr. Buckham was responsible for hiring the fellows themselves. Still, he had all those white papers to go through after his shift was over. There were some questions his father had about elective surgeries covered in the health care policy that might need adjusting. “Well, I’m sure I’ll talk to them…”

He stopped, thrown off, when one of the fellows—a vivacious blonde woman—let out a peal of laughter as Dr. Buckham told one of his typical jokes.

Summer?

He blinked. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

“All right. We start tomorrow, then you’ll have a weekend to recover,” Dr. Buckham said jovially, and the group of fellows disbanded, some chatting with each other. Summer was looking down at some notes, and he found himself walking towards her. She almost ran into him.

“Oops! I’m sor—” she started, then goggled.

She’d dyed her hair, he realized, her shoulder-length tumble of wavy curls more blonde than the brunette of his memory. It made her look even more Californian. More like sunshine. She was staring at him with her full lips slightly open. Not in passion, of course, but in outright shock.

“Nic?” she breathed.

His heart seemed to stop for a second, then trip-hammered in his chest, beating like crazy. “Summer,” he murmured back.

“What are you doing here?”

He looked around. The question had an edge to it—one of accusation, with just a tinge of anger. The shock was going to wear off. He knew that he’d ended things poorly with her. It was one of his biggest regrets. But he wasn’t quite sure how she was going to react to the idea of them working together during her tenure as a fellowship recipient. Especially once she discovered who he really was.

Glancing around, he shepherded her into an empty exam room. “I live here,” he said. “I mean, I’m a doctor here.”

“Of course you are.” Her laugh had a hint of hysteria. “What’s your real name, anyway?”

He stiffened. “You found out. That I was working under an alias, I mean.”

She nodded.

“Does that mean,” he asked slowly, “that you looked for me?”

Was it crazy that the fact she might’ve made him feel hopeful? He’d had his reasons for cutting off contact. He had way too much on his plate to get involved in a long-distance relationship, especially with someone he felt as passionately about as Summer. But the idea that she cared enough to seek him out made his chest heat in a way it hadn’t in… well, two years.

Anger crossed over her expressive face, and her hazel eyes blazed. “I find out you lied to me, that you weren’t at all the person I thought you were—and that’s what you’re focusing on?”

He winced. Fair play. “My real name is Nicolas Frederick Hansen,” he said. Then, because she deserved to know, he added, “The Crown Prince of Mynia.”

“Sure you are.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m the Empress of Arkansas.”

“I really am,” he said, fighting not to chuckle. Summer had always been able to make him laugh. “That’s why I had to work under an assumed name. They insisted on it, in fact. Didn’t want my background to be a distraction.”

She bit her lip, a habit he remembered, and his body responded like not a day had passed. He took a deep, calming breath.

“And not giving me any way to get in contact with you?” she said, her voice soft. “Was that because you were a Crown Prince, too? Was I not good enough…?”

“No!” He took a step closer to her, instinctively putting his hands on her shoulders, smoothing his palms down her arms in an act of sheer muscle memory. “Absolutely not. I just knew that my life was going to be difficult. The demands of being a doctor, and being the royal heir, can be exhausting. I had to stay focused, and it was going to be all-consuming.” He paused, trying to figure out how to word how difficult the decision was—and how important. “You deserved better than what I could give, Summer.”

She grimaced, pulling away from his touch. “I see.” Although he got the feeling she really didn’t.

“And now you’re one of Dr. Buckham’s fellows,” he said tentatively, wondering how they could build a fragile truce during the time she’d be there. Wondering if, purely by being next to her, he could resist her. Because he’d only been with her for five minutes after a two-year absence, and all he wanted to do was carry her off somewhere, wrap her up in his arms, indulge every passionate whim she’d ever had.

Never let her go.

And that’s why you cut off contact with her in the first place. She was an indulgence he simply could not afford.

“The fellowship is an amazing opportunity,” she continued, then took a deep breath, looking like someone who was going to skydive. “Not just because Dr. Buckham is an excellent mentor and the hospital has a great reputation. It’s got a generous stipend, offers fellowship housing…”

She stopped, then deliberately stared at him.

“…and it includes childcare.”

It took him a second to process her peculiar emphasis. Then it hit him, like a sledgehammer in the gut.

Childcare.

“You have a child?”

Part of him wanted to roar. He’d blown it, absolutely wrecked it. He’d walked away from this beautiful, amazing woman. Of course someone else would value what he’d been stupid enough to abandon. Still, the thought of her with another man made some primal part of him want to destroy things.

She tilted her head. “A son. Harry,” she continued, as if she didn’t even care that she was rubbing salt into his wounds. “He’s… he’s sixteen months old, Nic.”

Nic struggled to be supportive, to ignore his sense of loss. “Harry,” he repeated numbly. “I’m sure he’s…”

Wait.

Sixteen months.

His mind scrambled to do the math. Two years apart. Nine months of pregnancy.

“Does that… is he…”

“He’s yours, Nic,” she said, and her back straightened. “You can do with that information what you like, but you have the right to know. But if you choose to turn your back on that, I can tell you, from experience, that we are going to be just fine.”

She looked fierce, like a warrior goddess in scrubs, daring him to try to belittle her.

“Oh my God,” he said, his knees suddenly going wobbly. He leaned against the nearby examination table. “I had no idea. You have to understand that.”

“Yeah, well, you know now.” She crossed her arms, then glanced at her watch. “Which reminds me—I need to get back to housing. He’s waiting for me.”

Nic felt his chest clench. “Can I come?” he asked quickly. “Can I see him? Meet him?”

She blinked. “You want to? Now?”

“Yes.” He swallowed against the scratchiness of his throat. His emotions threatened to overwhelm him, like a rogue wave. But he had to do this. “Please. I want to get to know him.”

She looked… surprised? Bewildered? “All right,” she agreed slowly.

“I want to get to know you again, too,” he added, then watched as her guard snapped up like an armored shield. “I never stopped thinking about you, Summer.”

She flinched. “I thought about you, too.”

He took a careful step closer to her. She held up a hand.

“This isn’t a ‘get out of jail free’ card,” she warned him. “This doesn’t mean that we’re back together, that everything’s fixed. It hurt when you left. I’m not letting you hurt Harry the same way.”

He wanted to immediately insist that he would never—but the proof was there. He had left, essentially without a word, and without a trace. Trust had to be earned.

“Small steps,” he agreed, and followed her out the door.