Christmas with the Prince: Christmas with the Prince. Michelle CelmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
about your father?”
“I don’t have one.”
At the subtle lift of his brow, she realized how odd that sounded, like she was the product of a virgin birth or something. When the more likely scenario was that her mother had been turning tricks for drug money, and whoever the man was, he probably had no idea he’d fathered a child. And probably wouldn’t care if he did know.
She told the prince, “Of course someone was my father. He just wasn’t listed on my birth certificate.”
“No grandparents? Aunts or uncles?”
She shrugged again. “Maybe. Somewhere. No one ever came forward to claim me.”
“Have you ever tried to find them?”
“I figure if they didn’t want me back then, they wouldn’t want me now, either.”
He frowned, as though he found the idea disturbing.
“It’s really not a big deal,” she assured him. “I mean, it’s just the way it’s always been. I learned to fend for myself.”
“But you did have a foster family.”
“Families,” she corrected. “I had twelve of them.”
His eyes widened. “Twelve? Why so many?”
“I was…difficult.”
A grin ticked at the corner of his mouth. “Difficult?”
“I was very independent.” And maybe a little arrogant. None of her foster parents seemed to appreciate a child who was smarter than them and not afraid to say so, and one who had little interest in following their rules. “I was emancipated when I was fifteen.”
“You were on your own at fifteen?”
She nodded. “Right after I graduated from high school.”
He frowned and shook his head, as if it was a difficult concept for him to grasp. “Forgive me for asking, but how does an orphan become a botanical geneticist?”
“A lot of hard work. I had some awesome teachers who really encouraged me in high school. Then I got college scholarships and grants. And I had a mentor.” One she might actually be marrying, but she left that part out. And that was a big might. William had never given her this breathless, squishy-kneed feeling when he touched her. She never felt much of anything beyond comfortable companionship.
But wasn’t that more important than sexual attraction? Although if she really wanted to marry William, would she be spending so much time talking herself into it?
The butler reappeared with a plate that was all but overflowing with food. Plump sausages and eggs over easy, waffles topped with cream and fresh fruit and flaky croissants with a dish of fresh jam. The scents had her stomach rumbling and her mouth watering. “It looks delicious. Thank you.”
He nodded and left. Not a very talkative fellow.
“Aren’t you eating?” she asked Prince Aaron.
“I already ate, but please, go ahead. You must be famished.”
Starving. And oddly enough, the prince had managed to put her totally at ease, just as he’d done the night before. He was just so laid-back and casual. So…nice. Unlike most men, he didn’t seem to be put off or intimidated by her intelligence. And when he asked a question, he wasn’t just asking to be polite. He really listened, his eyes never straying from hers while she spoke. She wasn’t used to talking about herself, but he seemed genuinely interested in learning more about her. Unlike the scientists and scholars who were usually too wrapped up in their research to show any interest in learning about who she was as a person.
It was a nice change of pace.
The prince’s cell phone rang and he unclipped it from his belt to look at the display. Concern flashed across his face. “I’m sorry. I have to take this,” he said, rising to his feet. “Please excuse me.”
She watched him walk briskly from the room and realized she was actually sorry to see him go. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d had a conversation with a man who hadn’t revolved in some way around her research, or funding. Not even William engaged in social dialogue very often. It was nice to just talk to someone for a change. Someone who really listened. Or maybe spending time with the prince was a bad idea. She’d been here less than a day and already she was nursing a pretty serious crush.
Chapter Four
“Any news?” Aaron asked when he answered his brother’s call.
“We have results back from Father’s heart function test,” Christian told him.
Aaron’s own heart seemed to seize in his chest. Their father, the king, had been hooked to a portable heart pump four months ago after the last of a series of damaging attacks. The procedure was still in the experimental stages and carried risks, but the doctors were hopeful that it would give his heart a chance to heal from years of heart disease damage.
It was their last hope.
Aaron had wanted to accompany his family to England, but his father had insisted he stay behind to greet Miss Montgomery. For the good of the country, he’d said. Knowing he’d been right, Aaron hadn’t argued.
Duty first, that was their motto.
“Has there been any improvement?” Aaron asked his brother, not sure if he was ready to hear the answer.
“He’s gone from twenty percent heart capacity to thirty-five percent.”
“So it’s working?”
“Even better than they expected. The doctors are cautiously optimistic.”
“That’s fantastic!” Aaron felt as though every muscle in his body simultaneously sighed with relief. As a child he had been labeled the easygoing one. Nothing ever bothered Aaron, his parents liked to brag. He was like Teflon. Trouble hit the surface, then slid off without sticking. But he wasn’t nearly as impervious to stress as everyone liked to believe. He internalized everything, let it eat away at him. Especially lately, with not only their father’s health, but also the diseased crops, and the mysterious, threatening e-mails that had been sporadically showing up in his and his siblings’ in-boxes from a fellow who referred to himself, of all things, as the Gingerbread Man. He had not only harassed them through e-mail, but also managed to breach security and trespass on the castle grounds, slipping in and out like a ghost despite added security.
There had been times lately when Aaron felt he was days away from a mandatory trip to the rubber room.
But his father’s health was now one concern he could safely, if only temporarily, put aside.
“How much longer do they think he’ll be on the pump?” he asked his brother.
“At least another four months. Although probably longer. They’ll retest him in the spring.”
Aaron had been hoping sooner. On the pump he was susceptible to blood clots and strokes and in rare cases, life-threatening infections. “How is he doing?”
“They had to remove the pump to test his heart and there were minor complications when they reinserted it. Something about scar tissue. He’s fine now, but he’s still in recovery. They want to keep him here an extra few days. Probably middle of next week. Just to be safe.”
As much as Aaron wanted to see his father home, the hospital was the best place for him now. “Is Mother staying with him?”
“Of course. She hasn’t left his side. Melissa, the girls and I will be returning Friday as planned.”
The girls being Louisa and Anne, their twin sisters, and Melissa, Chris’s wife of only four months. In fact, it was on their wedding night that the king had the attack that necessitated