A Prince Of A Guy

13

“YOO-HOO!”

Sean got out of his car and waited for Mrs. Trykowski to leap over her flower bed and waddle up to him. He waited because it wasn’t worth the effort to outrun her.

Not that he could have, because the woman, old as she was, moved faster than anyone he knew.

“Hello, dear,” she said. “I saw Carlyne on the news. She’s home, back in France with her family. Why is that, exactly?”

Yeah, Sean, why is that? “Because that’s her home, Mrs. Trykowski. This was temporary, remember? A nanny job, and Melissa is gone.”

“Pah.”

“Excuse me?”

“She was more than a baby-sitter, Sean O’Mara, and you know it. How badly did you screw it all up?”

He stared at her. “Are you by any chance related to my assistant, Nikki?”

“I do not know any Nikki, but I do know that you are an idiot if you let her go home without telling her how much you love her.”

“Look, I have to go to work,” he said, rubbing his aching temples.

“Sure. Bury yourself in work again.”

“I’m not the one who lied.”

“Oh, get over it.” Mrs. Trykowski waved her arms when she spoke, nearly hitting him in the nose. “If you lived the life she did, you’d want your peace and quiet and privacy, too! You ever think of that?”

No. No, actually, despite devouring every bit of news on Princess Carlyne he could since she’d left, he hadn’t.

“If you’d needed to get away that badly, you would have done whatever you had to, which might just include putting on a wig and glasses and going to the other side of the world.” Her eyes narrowed. “Face it, Sean. She acted human.”

When she walked away from him, Sean stared after her, wondering how he’d become the bad guy. And why everything she’d said made far too much sense.

CARLYNE SAT in her Paris office and stared out the window. But instead of the buildings and streets crammed with people, all she saw was the Pacific Ocean, the beautiful sand and bluffs.

And Sean. She saw Sean.

“Daydreaming again.” Francesca walked in and tsked but sent her a sympathetic smile. “Overwhelmed?”

It felt strange to speak in her native tongue, French, after so many weeks of English. “I can’t find the invitation for the Driskel fund-raiser.”

“It’s on your desk.”

“Oh. Well, I can’t find-”

“It’s on your desk.”

Carlyne glanced around her at all the piles she thought she’d gone through. “And the-”

“On your desk.” Patiently, Francesca sat. “Everything you need is on your desk.”

Baffled, Carlyne lifted her hands. “So why does it all seem out of place?”

“Because you’re out of place.”

Carlyne stared at her, then sat back and let out a long sigh. “I know. It just all seems…” She waved a hand at her huge office, at the decadent interior she’d inherited from her mother when she’d taken over the job as Official Fortier Party Maker. “Big. Too big. It’s a waste. I don’t need this office.”

“Probably not.”

Carlyne shook her head. God, how she wanted the simple life back, the one she’d had with Melissa and Sean.

Francesca leaned forward and patted her hand. “You know, it’s been nearly two weeks. You could just do as normal women do these days and call him.”

“Who?”

Francesca gave her a dry look. “Gee, I wonder.”

But he’d asked her to leave. How could she call?

“You never explained,” Francesca said gently. “Calling to try to do so would be normal, Carlyne. Really.”

“I’ve never been normal.”

“Well, that’s true. But in this case, you should make an exception. It’s clear you’re not going to be able to go on until you do.”

“I should have told him the truth in the beginning.”

“Yes,” Francesca agreed. “But you didn’t. So you’ll have to make him understand now.”

How? How could she make someone like Sean, a man who followed his own rules and never let others live his life for him, understand?

“Look, it’s lunchtime,” Francesca said. “I’m going to eat. Can I get you something?”

At the thought of food, her stomach rolled, which shocked her, because she loved to eat, always.

“Carlyne? You’re looking green. You okay?”

No. No, she wasn’t okay. She was nauseous and overly emotional.

Understandable, she assured herself. Sure, her period was late, but that was stress.

Sean hadn’t used a condom in the shower.

Carlyne took a long look at her stomach. Flat.

Good.

Suddenly she could see herself big and round with pregnancy. Could see herself giving birth. Holding her baby. Loving that baby with all her heart and soul. Always being there for him or her. Always.

“Carlyne?”

“Nothing for me, thanks.” She managed a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Very.” She wasn’t pregnant, couldn’t be. Still, she couldn’t contain that very small burst of hope. After all, she loved Sean. She’d love his baby.

Actually, at the moment she loved everyone and everything. She virtually danced over to Francesca to hug her tight.

“What was that for?” Francesca asked, squeezing her.

“Just because.”

Carlyne waited until her assistant left before grabbing her purse and keys. She needed a drugstore.

And a pregnancy kit.

AFTER WATCHING the news and seeing Princess Carlyne Fortier’s face everywhere, Sean had to admit Mrs. Trykowski had been right.

Carly-and he liked to think of her as Carly-was rarely smiling, and when she did, the smile didn’t come close to her eyes.

She looked tired, haggard. Miserable.

It drove him crazy that no one, not her family, not the news anchors, not the reporters…no one commented on it.

How could he be the only one in the whole damn world worried about her?

She hadn’t set out to hurt him. He really believed that. He believed her lies had had nothing to do with him.

And if he believed that, then he had to believe she hadn’t been merely slumming, playing around with his feelings.

But what had she been doing? Escaping the hoopla of her life?

He should have let her explain. She still deserved that, and so did he, but getting hold of a princess wasn’t easy.

In fact, it was downright impossible.

He called her family compound and got the runaround. Same thing from all the businesses connected to her name. No luck with the Web sites.

If she’d had a regular address, he’d have flown there in a heartbeat, but he didn’t even know where she lived.

So he called Melissa. A lot.

In the third week, Stacy got on the phone and said, “Okay, Seany, what’s up?”

“Can’t a guy just call his niece?”

“You really miss her?”

She sounded so surprised, he laughed. “Yeah, I really miss her. Actually, I was thinking I could come get her tomorrow and take her out for pizza.”

“She’s available.” Stacy went quiet for a moment. “Is there something else you want to tell me? Something you want to talk about?”

“Like?”

“Like this sudden need to have people around you.”

“I always like having you around.”

“This is me, Sean. You love us, I know you do, but I also know you value your alone time. So what’s changed?”

Sean looked out his kitchen window to the pool. He thought of Carly sitting on the edge, watching him swim.

It had all started there.

Actually, it had started the moment he’d opened his front door to her, when she’d answered his ad.

His ad.

That was it! Another ad. “Stacy, I’ve got to go.”

“But-”

“Bye.”

“Sean O’Mara, don’t you dare hang up! I want to know details. I want to know-”

Gently he replaced the receiver. He’d make it up to her. Later.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Putting another want ad in his local paper was a long shot, but she’d seen it the first time, so she had to at least view various papers from around the world, right?

God, he hoped so. He drafted a new ad. And then, to be sure, he placed it in every single major newspaper in the free world.