His Pregnant Royal Bride. Amy RuttanЧитать онлайн книгу.
Olivia had hated that he was a trauma surgeon, working in a public hospital rather than in a private clinic. And his choice of surgery. Why couldn’t he do something like plastic surgery?
In her mind, a prince who was a surgeon needed to do something glamorous that dealt with the glitterati, not just anybody who stumbled in through the doors.
Only that wasn’t him. That was his father’s world and he loathed it.
Dante might be a prince, poised to inherit a large vineyard in Tuscany and his villa on the Lido di Venezia, as well as a hefty sum of money, but Prince was just a title. It wasn’t as if he were a member of the British royal family set to inherit the throne.
Being a prince was just a status in Italy. Nothing more.
His work as a surgeon meant so much more to him.
Working with his hands, doing something important whether it was tending the vines as his grandfather so lovingly had or saving a life.
That was what mattered to him.
Just like the baby that Shay was carrying inside her.
If it’s yours.
Even though there was no long-term future for Shay and him, he was determined to be a good father if she would just let him.
“Dr. Prescarrie should be down soon,” Shay remarked, coming into the scrub room. “He insisted on his own scrub nurse, though.”
“As well he should,” Dante said as he washed his hands. “You’re on my service.”
Shay rolled her neck and winced.
“Are you well?” he asked, concerned, seeing the discomfort etched on her face.
“Yes, just tired. I’m still getting used to the time change. A bit jet-lagged still.”
“Why don’t you go home and rest?”
She frowned. “I’m fine. I can still work and my shift isn’t over yet.”
“Shay, you need to take care of yourself. You’re possibly carrying my baby.”
There was a gasp behind them and they both spun around to see another nurse standing there, her brown eyes wide with shock as she looked between them.
“Sì?” Dante asked in exasperation and frustration. He had no doubt that the nurse had overheard.
“Siamo spiacenti, il Principe, non volevo interromperla.” She was apologizing for interrupting them, but Mrs. Sanders was being treated for a broken wrist and was inquiring after her husband. The patient was worried. Dante told the nurse that he would be there shortly to speak to her.
The nurse nodded and left.
Shay was standing there just as stunned. “She just called you il Principe. Why did she refer to you as the Prince?”
Dante sighed. This was what he’d wanted to avoid.
It was a title and a burden to him.
He was Dante and nothing more.
“Because I am,” Dante said.
“You’re a prince? A real prince?”
“Sì...” Dante sighed. “I am, so your child will also inherit my title if the child is mine. You may be carrying a royal baby.”
* * *
“Shay!”
Shay just shook her head and kept walking. She was trying to process what Dante had said to her: that her child was going to have a royal title. Only if the baby was his and that annoyed her even more. He was so suspicious of her. She hadn’t known that he was a prince, so he couldn’t accuse her of fortune hunting.
But maybe that’s why he’s so suspicious of paternity?
This was all just too surreal.
Of course, it was only fitting that he drop a bombshell on her, just as she’d done to him.
“Shay!”
She stopped and sighed. She couldn’t act like this. This was not professional and she’d promised herself that she would be above all professional when dealing with Dante. She was an adult and this was their child.
“I’m sorry, Dante,” she said. “I guess it was a bit of a shock to find out who you are.”
“It doesn’t change who I am, though,” he said gently.
“How would I know that? I barely know you.” She shook her head. “We’re strangers.”
He sighed at that. “This is true. One week at a conference means nothing.”
“I do realize we have to get to know each other if we’re both going to be involved in this child’s life.”
“Sì, I agree. Which is why you will marry me if the test is positive.”
Shay rolled her eyes. “Not this again. I’m not marrying you, Dante. I’m not going to marry someone I don’t love.”
“I’m not talking about a marriage of love,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m talking about a marriage of convenience. Just for a year. You live under my roof and we pretend to be man and wife in public.”
“Dante, I’m only here for twelve weeks.”
“So? You’re going on maternity leave when you get back to the United States, sì?”
“Yes, but...I have to go back to the States. My work visa is only good for twelve weeks.”
“If we marry, then you won’t need a visa. You say it’s my child, so why not have our child here, in my country?”
“I...I can’t—I won’t—give up my life, Dante.”
“After a year is over, then you can walk away. With our child, as long as I have parental rights. I will continue to financially support the child.”
“What do you gain from this?” she asked, confused. It all seemed too easy.
“An heir.” He dragged his hand through his dark hair. “I will support the child either way, but while you’re here in Italy, under my roof, I can protect you. Care for you.”
She bit her lip, mulling it over, but she didn’t want to marry. Ever.
Unless it was for love. Absolute, head-over-heels, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other love. She let a hand drift over her belly.
“I can’t, Dante,” she said.
He frowned. “You’re confused. Of course you are. I can see it. You should know that the baby won’t inherit any of my family land if he or she is not legitimized.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Shay asked. “Perhaps it’s better for our baby to be away from all of that.”
His eyes narrowed. “I take my family history very seriously. Being an Affini heir is a thing of pride.”
And then she felt bad because she was insulting him. His values.
Dante was not American. He came from a completely different world than she did.
How can you have family pride when you know nothing about the name you were born with?
Still, she couldn’t agree to marry him. Not now. She needed time to think and she wanted to talk to her friend and colleague, Aubrey, about it. She was so confused.
“We should go and talk to Mrs. Sanders. I’m sure she’s worried.” She turned and kept walking toward the room where Mrs. Sanders had got her broken wrist taken care of. Dante thankfully took the hint as he fell into step beside her.
Mrs. Sanders was lying in a bed, her wrist in a cast, and Shay could see the pain and worry etched on her face. She opened her