that they ran best when the partners really were even. Oddly, this deal would work not because they trusted each other, but because they didn’t.
“Are you a real live Cinderella?”
That question made her laugh and brought her out of her reverie. She faced the sea of press crowded into the small room.
“Yes. I do feel like Cinderella. No, I haven’t even chosen a designer to make my dress. So I’ll need all four weeks before the wedding just to find something to wear.” When the reporters laughed, she smiled. “And no morning sickness.”
She paused long enough to give Dominic her best fake loving smile, deferring to him, the way she’d been taught to the night before. When their gazes met, she could see he was pleased with how she handled herself. She recognized that his happy expression was part of their act, but he’d looked at her exactly that way the night they’d gone clubbing. The night they’d created their baby.
Her heart kicked against her ribs. A flash of memories flooded her brain. Kissing in the limo. Laughing at stupid things. Not a care in the world. And for one foolish second, she wished they could be those two people again. Two people just having fun. Not making a commitment—
She quickly looked away. Things like that, staring into his fathomless eyes, longing for a chance just to enjoy each other, would get her into trouble.
She faced the reporters. “So I won’t faint again.” She winced. “That is if I listen to Dom and actually eat breakfast and lunch.”
A quiet chuckle went up from the group as they scribbled in notebooks.
The questions started again.
“What about your job?”
“Will you miss working?”
“What was it like growing up with an alcoholic dad?”
“Did you spin daydreams as a little girl that you’d someday marry a prince?”
The room suddenly got hot. She hadn’t expected her dad’s life to escape scrutiny. She simply hadn’t expected it to come up so soon.
She pushed her hair off her face, buying time, hoping to cool her forehead a bit before sweat began to bead on it. “I love my job.” She answered the first and second questions together since they were easy, as she dreadfully scrambled in her head to think of how to answer the third. “If it were possible to be a princess and be a guidance counselor, I’d do both. As it is, my duty lies with Xaviera and our baby.” She laughed. “My mom reminded me that even if my baby wasn’t a future king, he’d still take up all my time and shift my priorities.”
Before she could deal with question three, two other reporters raised their hands and called out, “So you’ve spoken to your mom and have her blessing?” and “Where is your mom?”
“My mom is finishing out her semester,” she said, then suddenly wished her mom didn’t have to work. Being alone in a strange country, in a white-hot spotlight with a guy she’d liked a lot was making her crazy. She had to remember he wasn’t fun-loving Dom. He was Prince Dominic. And this marriage wasn’t real. Hell, this whole situation was barely real.
“She has a few more weeks of school, but she’ll be here for the wedding.”
“I’m still waiting for an answer about your childhood with an alcoholic father.”
The sweat arrived, beading on her forehead. A hot, dizzying wave passed through her, weakening her knees, just as it had two seconds before she’d fainted the day before.
“My father was sick,” she said quietly, praying her legs would continue to hold her. “He also died when I was eighteen. I barely remember that part of my life.” That wasn’t really a lie, more of an exaggeration. She didn’t want to remember, so she spent her days refusing to even think about those years.
“As for whether or not I spun fantasies about marrying a prince.” She smiled. “I hadn’t. I was a very pragmatic child, enamored with my mom’s love of her classes and students. But I’m glad I met Dominic.”
Again, not a lie. She was glad