Page 16 of Happily Ever After

It sounded like he’dresearchedit.

Pierre glanced at her out of the corners of his eyes, and a quick grinlit his face before he schooled his features into something more appropriate for a funeral mass. “No one can stop me now. With you here in Monaco where I am the police and the army, you’remine,and you’ll produce heirs for Monaco just like we agreed. You’re under my control, and I won’t allow you to screw this up for me.”

Flicka stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the horrors Pierrewas muttering to her. Magnus Jensen was in the front pew with them, two people past Pierre, and she listened in case Magnus made a move or gave her a signal,just in case.

She had survived in Monaco for four days. How much longer would Magnus wait to rescue her?

Raphael.

Raphaelwould rescue her soon.

Because he was out there, somewhere, waiting and planning her escape. She knew it. She couldfeelhim.

She prayed to the looming image of Jesus Christ above the altar that she could feel Raphael’s soul still in this world.

Beside her, Pierre whispered, “You need to make an appointment with that fertility clinic. I want heirs as soon as possible. It would have looked better for me to have a son already when Rainier died, but we’ll have to make up for lost time. Maybe we can do twins.Yes, twins. That will cement the monarchy in everyone’s minds, to have two heirs as soon as possible.”

Flicka could barely imagine being pregnant with one baby by Pierre, let alone two at once.

But she could imagine being pregnant with a child, quite clearly.

Very clearly.

She touched her stomach, just below the thin belt around her coat.

Pierre said, “Twins run in your family. No one willsuspect.”

That was a disconcerting thought.

Jesus,twinsdidrun in her family. Identical twins were just a fluke that sometimes happened, but there was a familial genetic predisposition to produce two eggs and thus conceive fraternal twins.

Just like Wulfram and Constantine, her brothers.

Flicka’s fingers flexed over her stomach.

Pierre said, “I know we contracted for only two, but Monacomight need more heirs. A big family would look wonderful for the press. Your great-something grandmother was Queen Victoria of England. How many princes and princesses did she have?”

“Nine,” Flicka said, answering out of habit. Victoria’s husband Albert had also died tragically early and young, not even ten years older than Pierre was now.

In front of them, Rainier IV’s closed casket was loweredto the floor. More funeral wreaths and displays of tropical flowers from around the world heaped around the ornate box.

“Nine,” Pierre repeated, his voice rising. “Nine heirs would be wonderful. There would never be another succession crisis in the House of Grimaldi. You need an appointment with that fertility clinic right away.”

Flicka shook her head at the threat. “That’s not going to happen,Pierre.”

His voice lowered, and he looked down at the kneeler where he rested his hands. “I’ll have someone set it up for this afternoon. My security staff will escort you. I can cancel my appointment if the doctor says that it’s naturally a good time.”

She had to tell Pierre sometime, and if she didn’t, the doctors would tell him soon anyway. If she told him that minute, right there, duringhis uncle’s funeral, they would be in public when he received the news, and he couldn’t beat her up or do anything else.

She’d already experienced what happened when Pierre Grimaldi received news in private that he didn’t like.

Flicka leaned toward Pierre’s shoulder.

He smiled a bit more, as would be perfectly normal for a husband who was interested in what his wife had to say.

Flicka said,“I had the medical exam at the fertility clinic yesterday.”

“Excellent,” Pierre said, laying his hand on her back, near her waist, because she had moved closer to him. “What schedule did they suggest?”