The Prince's Pregnant Bride / Billionaire Baby Dilemma. Jennifer LewisЧитать онлайн книгу.
brother.”
Panic flashed in the young woman’s eyes. “Y-yes,” she stammered. “Yes, of course I do. Pleased to meet you again.” A forced smile quivered on her lips.
She knew.
And was horrified.
AJ extended his hand and shook hers. Her fingers trembled against his palm. Small and slight, she was wrapped in a traditional blue mourning dress, partially covered by her long, loose hair. He’d remembered her unusual eyes—gold-brown, like polished tortoise-shell—but not the haunted look in them.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He glanced away from her face, which was polite in Rahiian tradition. And good advice in any case because Lani Rahia was an extraordinary beauty.
Clear, fine features mingled her Rahiian and American heritage. Her skin glowed like the proverbial milk and honey. Her thick, lustrous hair looked brown in ordinary light, but if touched by sunshine it shone brilliantly as pure, twenty-four carat gold.
He could see why his brother—or was it his mother who had truly chosen her?—had picked Lani as queen despite her humble background.
But he had no intention of being her king.
Lani pulled her hand back fast and wiped it on her dress before she could stop herself. That handshake was supposed to preface intimacies that made her stomach turn.
She was expected to marry this man simply because he was her husband’s younger brother.
At least he had the good grace not to stare her in the eyes the way most Americans thought normal. He wasn’t American, of course, but she felt too fragile to meet anyone’s gaze for long. He’d lived in L.A. the entire time she’d been at the palace.
Taller than his brother, she noticed. And broader, too. In the glimpse she’d caught of his face he looked kind.
But she knew only too well that appearances could be deceptive.
“Vanu’s disappearance must have been a terrible shock.” The deep voice hung in the air, since it took a moment for Lani to emerge from her frenzied thoughts to realize he’d spoken.
“Oh, yes. Terrible. He went out late one night—to think, he said—and he never came back.”
She’d lain in bed, shaking with terror, waiting for him to return and “finish the job.” He’d said he would, with that cruel hiss in his voice and a cold gleam in his eyes. The hours had ticked by as she awaited her doom.
Then the sun rose, and the birds started to sing.
“It must be so hard not knowing what happened.” She heard compassion in AJ’s voice. What kind of name was AJ? She didn’t even know his real Rahiian name. No one ever called him by it.
“We still don’t know what happened.” Lani’s mother-in-law dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “But after ninety days—” She pressed a muffled sob into the linen. “A successor must be chosen.”
Lani stiffened. According to Rahiian tradition, the successor would take her as his wife. Presumably the tradition existed to provide protection for the children of royal widows and avoid jostling for succession between children and siblings of the late king. But she didn’t have any children.
“Ninety days… that’s still at least a month away. Who would normally succeed, if the king had no siblings?” AJ asked his mother.
She dabbed at her eyes. “Impossible. The king always has siblings. The ability to bear many children is a Rahiian blessing.” She coughed a sob into her handkerchief.
Lani glanced at AJ, whose brow furrowed with distress. “Mom, don’t upset yourself. Please. We’ll get it all figured out. Don’t you worry.”
He slid his big arm around his mother’s back and rubbed her shoulder. Lani felt a flush of warmth at the kind gesture.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” His mother smiled at AJ. “Why don’t you take Lani out on the veranda for a rest? I’m sure she’s exhausted after the funeral and having to talk with all these people.”
The big man glanced at Lani. She swallowed. She’d rather be here in this frying pan of semi-strangers than alone, in private, with her… future husband.
Surely they wouldn’t make her go through with it?
“Would you like to, er…” He extended his arm, inviting her to take it.
Lani fought the urge to recoil and reached her fingers up to his. His forearm was thickly muscled, not hard and wiry like her husband’s—her late husband’s. Her skin tingled with awareness—or was it terror?—as she slid her arm into his.
He cleared his throat. “Please excuse us.” He nodded to her mother.
“Of course.” His mother’s smile broadened as she no doubt saw her plans moving one step closer to completion.
Lani tried to maintain a neutral expression as they walked slowly across the room together. Did all these people expect her to marry this man? Were they eagerly looking for signs of fresh commitment when her husband was barely cold in his grave?
Technically he wasn’t in a grave at all, since they’d never found a body. Or his boat.
“Sorry about my mother,” AJ murmured as they stepped out into a cool, empty hallway. His voice echoed slightly off the white stone floor. AJ pulled back his arm, and hers fell to her side. A small blue parrot stared at them from his perch in the latticework.
“She’s just doing what she thinks is best.” She glanced at him, trying to gauge his feelings.
“Do you think it’s for the best?” He frowned, and peered at her. His eyes were a warm dark brown, like polished teak.
“I don’t know.” Her voice came out a choked whisper. “I’m inexperienced in these matters.” And not about to defy a thousand years of royal tradition in the face of a Rahiian prince. If he was anything like his brother, he’d let her know his disapproval in the harshest terms possible.
“You’re a grown woman. Do you think it’s natural to marry a total stranger?”
His question embarrassed her. “I only met Vanu three times before I married him.”
“Let me guess, my mom fixed up the whole thing.” He raised a straight black brow.
Lani nodded. Her long hair felt hot on the back of her neck and she wished she could run to her room for a good cry.
And not over the death—or supposed death—of her husband. For herself, and the no-win situation she faced: another unhappy royal marriage, or disgrace and dishonor for refusing it. Tears pricked her eyes and she raised a hand to cover them.
“Please don’t cry.” AJ’s gruff plea rang off the wood-beamed ceiling. “Come on, let’s go sit on the veranda. Some fresh air will do us both good.”
His words were supposed to be funny, since the hall they walked along was open to the gardens, like nearly every room in the sprawling palace. Carved wood cast shade and the high roof kept out tropical rain, but birds and pretty lizards darted freely amongst the ornate columns.
Yet the air itself seemed oppressive, thick with expectation.
AJ Rahia was tall, well over six feet, and her head barely reached his shoulders. Her small steps, bound by the long wrap of her skirt, made her scurry to keep up with his bold strides. He noticed, and stopped to wait for her.
He wore a dark suit, American-style, and must have been hot in the tropical humidity. “Would you like a cool drink?” She lowered her eyes, not wanting him to hear any hint of suggestion beyond mere politeness.
“No, thanks. Listen, it’s not personal. I’m sure you’re a very nice girl. I’ve just got a life in the States. I direct movies—”
“I know,” she rushed.