Maks knew he wasn’t the most aware man on the planet when it came to interpersonal relationships, particularly those with women. He was a stellar diplomat and had no superior among his contemporaries in business savvy. However, past liaisons had proven those skills did not extend into the realm of lovers.
None of his former liaisons remained in the “friend” category, something Demyan found highly amusing.
And still, Maks had the unexpected and unquestionable revelation that only one thing would suffice in the present circumstances. It had precipitated making a stop at Tiffany’s on the way to Gillian’s apartment.
Pulling the pale aqua blue box from his pocket, he dropped to his knee in front of his pajama clad ex-lover. “Will you marry me, Gillian Harris?”
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE STARED AT him and then at the ring box like it might snap open at any moment to reveal angry wasps rather than a very expensive engagement ring worthy of not just any princess, but the woman who would bear that title for Volyarus.
“You brought a ring.” She sounded dazed by the fact and not at all happy.
“You deserve all the trimmings, but you would not appreciate them after the way our last time together ended.” Kneeling before her felt awkward; he was glad it was not a position he would be in again anytime soon.
What was romantic about this?
“You are right. The trimmings would be wasted after your honesty ten weeks ago.”
There was no good response to that, so he didn’t make one.
Opening the box, he revealed the large square cut diamond with yellow diamonds to either side of it. Set in platinum, all the stones were of unparalleled clarity. “Marry me, Gillian.”
“It’s a beautiful ring.” She gave it a brief glance and then looked away, as if she could not bear to see it.
He did not understand why. Didn’t women like jewelry? His mother certainly did. Though she insisted on nothing ostentatious, she expected significant gifts each year on the anniversary of her marriage to his father.
“You are a beautiful woman.”
Her bow-shaped lips twisted in a moue of disagreement. “If I were one of the astonishingly beautiful people, you would not have been interested in me.”
It was true. He might have bedded her, but he would not have dated Gillian if she was a woman who drew media attention merely from her looks alone. That did not mean, however, that she was not lovely.
“I have never missed a woman after our liaison ended.” She deserved the admission, though he didn’t like making it.
“You didn’t do a lot of dating before me.”
It was true, but he had been in two almost-serious relationships. Neither had ended well. Both had reinforced an important truth: love only compromised duty.
“I missed you,” he reiterated in case she missed the point the first time.
She tucked her body into the corner of the couch, her feet up on the cushions, her arms wrapped around her knees. “Am I supposed to be impressed? You dumped me.”
It had been the expedient action, but if he reminded her of that salient fact, he did not think it would do him any favors in the present. “I have since regretted my decision.”
“When you found out I am pregnant.”
He could not deny it, so he remained silent. Though he had been unhappy about the decision before that, he had not allowed himself to regret it.
She sighed, glanced at the ring and then looked away again. “I’m not committing to anything until I’ve made it past my first trimester.”
“That is not acceptable.”
“Nine weeks ago, you made it very clear you did not want to marry me unless I could provide heirs for the throne. If I miscarry, the situation will be the same as before with the identical low chance of me conceiving again.” The pain that knowledge caused her bled into her tone, but her expression showed none of it.
He had no way of knowing if that pain came from the knowledge conception was not a given for her, or that they would have little future if she could not do so.
Even so, his first instincts were to disagree with her dictate.
He moved to sit beside her on the sofa, acutely aware of the tiny move she made farther into her corner. “Every day we wait to announce our forthcoming marriage is a day in which someone in the press may stumble across your condition and then we’ll be the center of a media storm.”
“Unless they’re also bribing doctors, no one is going to find out about my condition, Maks.”
“Demyan did not bribe your doctor.”
“Then how did he find out?”
“I don’t think you really want to know.”
“I do.”
“A hacker.”
“You had my medical records hacked?” she asked in shock-laced anger.
“Demyan—”
“Right, it was your cousin. Not you.”
“Nevertheless, we would be foolish to assume no one else could find out. There are doctor’s appointments—”
“I don’t have another one until my twelve-week mark,” she said, interrupting him a second time.
He just looked at her. She knew, maybe even better than him, how easily the press got hold of information people believed locked in the strongest vault.
“You work very hard to stay out of the limelight, don’t you?”
“Volyarus is best served by its monarchy maintaining a low profile in the media.”
“Why?”
“With the interest of the press comes the interest of the world, an interest that can quickly morph into political agendas and twisted perceptions. Volyarus has thrived as a little-known country with strategic location coupled with significant natural resources.”
Some might think that because of the name, Volyarus was a country of Russian descent, but they would be wrong. Very wrong. Volyarus was a shortened version of a Ukrainian saying that meant freedom from Russia.
His antecedent had been a Hetman in Ukraine before Russia overtook the country. Seeing what the future held, he and a group of nobles and laborers had left Ukraine to settle on the island in the Baltic Sea that became Volyarus.
While Ukrainian was only spoken sporadically by the many living in Ukraine today, because of the Russian control for so many years, it was still the official and most prevalent language of Volyarus.
Citizens were required to be proficient in at least one other language before finishing the equivalent of high school in the U.S.A. Maks himself spoke four fluently and three additional languages with enough proficiency to travel without an interpreter.
And yet he found communicating with this woman an incredible challenge.
“Everything in your life is about Volyarus, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” He would not apologize for that fact, nor would he change it.
He was born to a duty few could comprehend, but a burden he had never resented. His place in the world was immutable, but then he’d never wanted to change it.
“Even more reason not to put the country in the limelight with a failed engagement landing on the tail of a miscarriage.”
“I would not break our engagement if you miscarried.” Though he should. It was the only course of action that made
sense.
However, no one could deny the fact she’d gotten pregnant after one time making love without a condom.
They were clearly compatible chemically and even if she were to lose this baby, though he was sure she was not going to, she would become pregnant again.
Besides, it wasn’t an engagement they’d be breaking, but a marriage. The only politically expedient action in the circumstances was an elopement followed by a reception of extreme pomp.
His mother would be thrilled to plan it. She liked Gillian, had made her approval of the choice clear. She wouldn’t be as happy about the timing of the pregnancy, but his mother was not the type of woman to bemoan what could not be changed.
The queen of Volyarus would expect an immediate elopement however.
He didn’t bring any of this up, however. There would be time enough to convince Gillian to marry him immediately once she agreed to marry him at all.
“You’re assuming I’ll agree to marry you,” she said as if reading his mind.
He dropped the ring in her lap and stood. “What choice do either of us have?”
“Lovely.”
He didn’t respond to her sarcasm. Perhaps it hadn’t been elegantly phrased, but it was the truth.
“Even if I didn’t want to marry you, I would.” He gave gratitude that he did in fact like the idea of marriage to his lovely blonde.
“Even better.”
He swore. He was usually much better at diplomacy, though once again his lack in the interpersonal arena was reaching out to bite him on the ass.
Maks prowled the room, stopping in front of the drinks cabinet. Not about to pour another whiskey when his first one remained practically untouched, he spun away. She could argue all she liked, the fact remained she carried the heir to the Volyarus throne. Gillian had to marry him.
“And you wouldn’t be considering this course of action otherwise.” No bitterness laced her tone. Just flat acceptance.
Still, he knew that fact did not make her happy.
He turned to face her. “Does it really matter? The baby you carry is nothing short of a miracle. Our miracle.”
“Yes.”
“So, you will marry me.”
“Yes, the baby is a miracle, but yes, it matters,” she clarified, her lovely features set in determined lines. “I’m not making any commitments for another two weeks. You can argue until your throat is raw with it, but I won’t be changing my mind on that fact.”