He pointed at her stomach again. “Evelyne… Is that baby mine?”
He was sogoodat poking at her temper. She used her purse to slap him across the chest. “Of course it’s yours, you asshole.” And with that, she pushed past him and stormed inside.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gabriel stood ina bright sunshiny end-of-summer day in Maine inAmerica, winded.
Of course it’s yours.
It couldn’t be. None of this couldbe.
Not because it was impossible—in his lack of control he had not used protection, a fact he remembered all too clearlynow. It was impossible because he did not know how to move forward. When healwaysknew how. He had made mistakes before, but none had cut him off at his knees leaving him reeling and absolutely uncertain how to…exist.
Even losing his control and sleeping with Evelyne had left him with a clear course of action.Leave.Never return.
He could not leave now. He could not take her back to Alis in her condition.
What had he done? And what the hell could be doneaboutit?
Of course it’s yours.
A child. Achild. He had left her six months ago and she’d carried achild—his child—all this time and…
And not told him. She had kept this a secret from him. If the king had not died… She might never have told him. A child would be alive, breathing, growing and he would not have known.
It was enough of a glimmer of something todothat he stormed inside after her. He found her in the kitchen, humming as she put together a sandwich. Happy as you please, and definitely not packing as she’d claimed.
“You had my contact information,” he blurted out.
“I did,” she agreed. She took a big bite of the sandwich, looked at him with a careless smile. “I chose not to use it.”
He opened his mouth, surely to say something intelligent and cutting. All that came out was some kind of pained grunt.
“You left, Gabriel. You made your feelings clear. You wanted nothing to do with me.”
“You is not the same asour child.” He did not like those words, could not fully engage withchild. He had to think of this as a problem to solve or he might be forced to…feel.
There was a moment she held herselfverystill. Whatever reaction she had to the somewhat insensitive words was hidden in that stillness. She carefully set the sandwich down on the plate in front of her.
“Our.” She laughed—it wasn’t bitter, but it wasn’t happy. “Our. How would there be anouranything, when you won’t even deal with me? You run away.”
The characterization of what he’d done—when what he’d done wassave them both—still grated. “The last time I checked, people who run away did not leave theircontact information.”
She had the gall to roll her eyes. “You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. I mean, aside from sex. You seemed to enjoy that quite a bit.”
“As did you,principessa.” Which was neither here nor there, and certainly not thepoint.
She made a low, satisfied kind of sound that went straight to his loins with an arrow sharp intensity.
“How did you plan to explain this?” he demanded, so as not to think about his physical reaction to her.
“I didn’t,” she returned. She sighed in a way that made it clear she had hadmonthsto deal with this while he had only hadminutesso far.“I would have kept him a secret forever,” she said, and clearly meant it. She settled a hand over her burgeoning belly with a gentleness that thundered through him in ways he couldn’t parse.
But he could not even be hurt by herforeverbecause…
“Him.” She would have kepthima secret forever. A boy. A son. No… He couldn’t…
She was quiet for a long moment, almost looking sad. “Yes. Congratulations, it’s a boy.” She lifted her chin, finding her haughty. “I willnotbe naming him after you.”
