Pregnant with a Royal Baby!

By: Susan Meier

WHEN THE DOORBELL to her condo rang, Virginia Jones, Ginny for short, had just gotten out of the shower after a long, long day at Jefferson High School in Terra Mas, Texas. Her school was the last on a list of places Prince Dominic Sancho of Xaviera, a small island country between Spain and Algeria, was visiting on a goodwill tour. As guidance counselor, she’d shown him the school and introduced him to staff, then herded the kids into the gymnasium, where he’d given an hour-long talk on global economics: how the world was a much smaller place than it had been before the internet.

She’d loved the talk, but she’d liked looking at Prince Dominic even more. Tall and broad shouldered, he filled out the formal uniform of his royalty like a man meant to be a king. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement at the antics of “her” kids. His full lips had never stopped smiling.

If it were permitted for grown women to swoon, she would have made a fool of herself with him that afternoon. As it was, common sense had kept her professional. And now she was tired. Not up for a visitor.

Her doorbell rang again.

She gave her glass of wine a longing look before she rose from her sofa.

“I’m coming.” She said it just as she reached the door. Going up on tiptoes, she peeked through the peephole. When she saw Prince Dominic, she gasped and jumped back.

Her doorbell rang again.

She peered down at her sweatpants and tank top, ran a hand along her still-wet long blond hair and knew this would go down in the annals of her life as one of her most embarrassing moments.

With no choice, she pasted a smile on her face and opened the door.

He laughed. “I caught you at a bad time.”

“Unfortunately.” Just looking at him made her heart speed up. He’d removed the royal uniform and replaced it with a lightweight white V-neck sweater and jeans. Not a hair of his shiny black curls was out of place. His dark eyes sparkled with amusement.

“You probably think all Americans are idiots.”

“No, I think the United States is a very comfortable country.” He paused long enough to lift his perfect lips into a warm smile. “Are you going to invite me in?”

She motioned for him to come in with a wave of her hand and kept hyperventilation at bay only by a miracle of self-discipline. She had a prince entering her house. A good-looking, good-natured, good everything prince.

As she closed the door, he said, “I’d actually come here tonight to see if you’d like to have dinner with me.” He shrugged. “And show me your town.”

She had to work to keep her eyes from bugging. He wanted to take her out? Then she realized his request made sense. She’d shown him the school. Of course, she was the prime candidate to show him the town. He was not asking her out.

“Then I thought maybe we’d fly to Los Angeles and go to a club.”

She let her eyes bulge. Okay. He was asking her out. “You want to go clubbing?”

“Don’t you like to dance?”

Her heart tripped over itself in her chest. “I love to dance.”

He smiled. “Me, too. I’m afraid I don’t get to dance often, though. Duty supersedes fun. Please say you’ll come with me.”

“I’d love to.”

Though he was in jeans, he looked good enough to eat, so she slithered into her prettiest red party dress, put on her best makeup and slid into tall black sandals.

They had dinner at the local Italian restaurant, with his bodyguards unobtrusively eating at the tables beside theirs, then they actually got on his royal jet and flew to LA, where they’d danced until three. He should have dropped her off at her building lobby. Instead, he came up to her condo, and the few kisses they’d shared in his limo turned into passionate lovemaking. The best sex of her life. She’d kissed him goodbye at the door in her one and only fancy robe—which she’d retrieved from her closet when he made the call to his driver that he was ready. Then just when she was about to shower for school again, he called her.

“Thank you.”

The sweetness of his words caused her throat to tighten. Her voice was soft and breathless when she said, “You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry we’ll never meet again.”

“Me, too.”

But in a way she wasn’t. She’d had a wonderful fairy-tale night with a prince, something she could hold in her heart forever. There would be no need to worry if he would be a good king or a bad king; no need to know if he did stupid things like hog the bathroom; no need to worry if the stress of his job would make him an alcoholic, as her dad had been. No need to know the real Prince Dominic Sancho.

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