Page 10 of Twins For His Majesty (Royally Tempted #1)

P HOEBE WAS REELING . Her mind was spinning and it wouldn’t stop. On top of the shock of seeing Octavio for the first time in six weeks, and knowing he had seen her , was the news the doctor had delivered after her fainting episode.

In an exercise in ‘above and beyond’ care, they’d done an ultrasound to check on her pregnancy. Phoebe hadn’t had one yet, and she was close enough to twelve weeks for it to be time. She’d been grateful when they’d suggested it—one less thing for her to take care of.

But as the room filled with a cacophony of beats, and the doctor had turned to her, beaming, he’d said, ‘Well, well, aren’t you clever? It’s twins!’ Phoebe had almost fainted again.

Twins.

Twins.

She’d just been getting her head around the fact that she was going to be a single mother to one baby—a task she knew from experience to be one of the hardest in the world. But a single mother to two children? She felt hot and cold.

So when she emerged from the clínica a little while later and saw Octavio’s driver waiting for her, she wanted to refuse to go anywhere with him.

But even though she was in shock, she knew there was no chance Octavio would let this matter drop.

In a total fog, she slid into the back seat of the car, her mind racing as the sleek limousine slipped through the streets of the city.

She didn’t notice the beauty of the place, the beaches she loved, the Mediterranean buildings all rendered in shades of orange and cream, the paved paths and laundry strung from window to window. She noticed nothing, nada.

Her whole body was in a state of suspended animation.

‘There’s paparazzi waiting,’ the driver said with a tone of apology as the car slowed.

Phoebe looked around, belatedly realising they were not at the townhouse she’d expected to be taken to, but rather approaching Octavio’s palace. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of this place, which was so utterly beautiful it almost hurt.

The ornate wrought iron gates with their gold spikes and large coat of arms swung inwards.

On either side of their car, several guards stood in military uniform, their large guns displayed proudly at their front.

Gravel crunched beneath the tyres as the car rolled forward, towards the front of the palace, where a large golden fountain was spurting water.

There were several archways in the facade of the palace, and they drove through one to the right of the impressive main entrance, into a courtyard that had another fountain, more guards and a lot of perfectly maintained greenery in pots.

A quick glance showed all the things Phoebe might have expected—pale stone walls, columns, domed roofs, arched windows, small balconies, abundant flowers growing in pots.

It was just as exquisite inside the palace walls as outside.

The car drew to a stop by a set of six shallow steps that led to a double set of extra tall doors.

When the driver opened her door, she found it took a moment for her legs to cooperate, but she forced herself to step out of the vehicle, even when her palms were sweaty.

‘This way, ma’am.’

The driver gestured for her to precede him, and as she walked up the stairs, one hand on the cool metal railing, the doors swung inwards, held that way by two maids in old-fashioned uniforms.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled tightly, her heart rabbiting in her chest.

Twins.

Her knees knocked.

The guards’ vision remained focused straight ahead, almost as if she hadn’t spoken.

The inside of the palace was overwhelming, but Phoebe barely noticed any of the details.

She was conscious of snatches—burgundy carpet, high ceilings, dark wood panelling, enormous flower arrangements that were as fragrant as they were over the top, but her pulse was rushing through her body and her stomach felt so huge and visible, and she knew that in a matter of moments she’d have to explain all of this to Octavio when she was still unpacking it herself.

It was a conversation she’d thought she would have one day, down the track, when she was safely on the other side of the world and he’d married and produced an heir with his perfect princess bride.

And Sasha was perfect.

Phoebe had tortured herself by searching the other woman online and had wanted to poke out her eyes afterwards.

They walked through the entrance and down a gallery lined with the kind of art that would have been at home in the Louvre, turned left, so she had a view of the courtyard through one set of windows and the ocean the other, and then, at a set of wide timber doors, the driver paused.

A woman stood outside, wearing a suit. They held a low, hushed conversation, and then the woman nodded, knocked once on the doors and stepped inside.

Phoebe exhaled slowly, her body trembling. She trained her attention on the view of the ocean, imagining herself on one of the boats bobbing far out to sea, rather than here, about to have one of the most important conversations of her life.

‘Miss James? His Majesty will see you now.’

Phoebe’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She nodded once, aware that her face must have been incredibly pale. She surreptitiously lifted one hand and pinched her cheeks before she began to walk towards the doors and then, through them.

And she froze.

Because if Octavio had wanted to choose a venue for this conversation that would throw off her ability to concentrate, that would overwhelm her with his power and importance in this country, he’d succeeded completely.

She’d expected an office or a sitting room or a room of some sorts, not a palace within a palace, but that’s exactly what she was looking at.

The floors in here were pure white marble, the walls at least twice as high as in the corridor, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were crystal, and the walls had intermittent panels that she suspected were actual gold.

The windows were enormous, and because the room was at the corner of the palace, the views were stunning in all directions.

The furniture was old and beautiful, and in here there were many, many potted plants, all fragrant and glossy green.

And in the centre of the enormous room stood King Octavio, dressed in a black suit, with eyes that were even darker.

The door shut behind Phoebe, and his obsidian gaze seemed to intensify. ‘You’re pregnant.’

The words were laced with accusation. What could she say? ‘Yes.’

‘The baby is mine?’

Babies. Babies.

She thought about denying it—panic made her cling to that choice. Wouldn’t that be the easiest way out? After all, how could he know she hadn’t been sleeping with a whole host of men at around the same time?

‘If you deny it,’ he forewarned grimly, ‘I will arrange a paternity test.’

She gasped. ‘I—wasn’t going to deny it.’

‘Liar,’ he said, but softly, as if he was goading her.

She closed her eyes, feeling at a complete disadvantage. Feeling weak, too, and exhausted after the shocking news she’d received that day. ‘Can I sit down?’

She blinked over at him to see his eyes narrow, and a muscle jerk in his jaw. He wanted to deny her that. To punish her. He was furious. She could read it all in his face. But he gestured towards a bank of plush sofas, covered in a gold and lavender fabric. ‘Go ahead.’

She walked a little unsteadily to an armchair and sat on the very edge of the seat. Hardly a relaxed pose but at least she knew her legs weren’t going to give way again.

‘I hardly know what to say to you,’ he muttered, tone scathing.

‘It’s true, we barely knew each other, but I thought, I believed—though perhaps it was wishful thinking—that you were a decent person with some kind of moral compass.

And yet, now I learn that you were intending to have my baby and what? Never tell me?’

Her jaw dropped at his rendering of events. ‘That’s oversimplifying things,’ she said, fidgeting with her fingers. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘Putting aside the practical reasons—like I had no way of contacting you and you’re not exactly an easy person to reach out to—you were abundantly clear about where your life is headed and what you need from it.

You’re getting married to a princess, you’re going to have perfect royal babies.

I’m a cleaner you’re ashamed to be seen with.

Hello…? What was I going to do? Ruin your life by telling you that somehow we conceived on a night when neither of us ever planned to see the other again? ’

He ground his jaw. ‘The first night?’

‘Yes.’ The scan today had confirmed the dates as well.

He grimaced. ‘The day of Rodrigo’s death.’

She’d thought of that, too. She nodded once.

‘So what was your plan?’ He returned to his questioning, his voice cold.

‘I barely had a plan.’

‘You chose not to tell me about the baby,’ he pointed out.

Babies , she wanted to scream.

‘So then what?’

‘I—I’m going to go home. To New Zealand,’ she whispered.

His face was carefully blanked of emotion but something stirred in the depths of his eyes. ‘I see. And then what?’

‘Then I’d take care of… I’d…never bother you again. You’re free to keep going with your life, just as it’s been planned out for you.’

‘Were you ever going to tell me about the baby?’

‘Of course I was,’ she said. ‘I’ve spent my whole life not knowing who my father is, there’s no way I’d inflict that on another soul.’

He took several steps closer, then thrust his hands onto his hips. It drew her attention to his taut physique. She had to look away again quickly.

‘When were you going to tell me?’

‘Eventually.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

She bit into her lower lip, then stopped when his eyes dropped to the gesture.

‘When you were married,’ she whispered. ‘And had a baby—a royal heir.’

He let out a slow breath, dragged one hand through his hair and then cursed. ‘You’re serious?’

‘It seemed best for everyone.’

‘Best for our baby not to know me?’