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  She didn’t see Franco as being that kind of threat.

  Didn’t your mother’s diary and your father’s actions teach you anything? Rich men can’t be trusted.

  But she’d seen no sign of Franco being power-crazed or bending the laws to suit his needs. Other than buying her, that is. But as he’d pointed out, mistresses were not unusual here, and he’d shown her nothing but respect. He’d made sure that each sexual encounter left her satisfied when he didn’t have to. He’d watched over the bridal party for Vincent, and he took the time to play with a fatherless boy—almost every weekend, according to Monsieur Constantine.

  From everything she’d seen, Franco was a good man, and she suspected he’d be a good father.

  Oh my God. Are you falling for him?

  The leaden feeling in the pit of her stomach said yes.

  Her steps slowed and her internal warning sirens screamed.

  Had she learned enough about her own strength and resilience over the past decade to lower her walls and let a man in? Maybe. The training she’d had before and since she’d begun volunteering with the teens had taught her what constituted a healthy relationship. Surely she could practice what she preached?

  A child’s laughter startled her. Stacy looked around, stunned at where her subconscious had led her. The Saint Martin Garden was one of several playgrounds Monaco had set aside for children. She’d walked past it the day she’d toured the Prince’s Palace. Sinking down on a bench in the shade, she studied the happy faces of the mothers and children.

  Monaco would be a wonderful place to raise a family. According to her stack of guide books, the schools were good and the police force was second to none. Education and safety had been her guideposts in recent years.

  Whether or not today’s encounter resulted in a baby, would Franco want more than the agreed-upon month? Would he be interested in her staying in Monaco to see if their relationship had a future after the other bridesmaids flew home? She and he were both wounded souls who feared trusting and being hurt. Could she heal him and in the process learn to trust again?

  Could he be happy with her? She couldn’t compete with the elegant women at the ball, but the remarkable chemistry between them had to account for something, didn’t it?

  Confidence swelled within her. She could do this. She would face her fears and ask him to give their relationship a try.

  Her cell phone rang. Stacy checked the number on the caller ID. Franco’s. Her heart raced and her palms dampened. She couldn’t talk to him right now. Her decision was too new, too raw, so she silenced her phone.

  Tomorrow she’d be ready to take that colossal leap.

  A baby.

  The idea didn’t repulse Franco as much as it should have. In fact, having a child with Stacy could solve many problems. If he provided an heir, his father would not feel the need to impregnate the tramp plotting to empty the Constantine coffers. And Stacy wanted financial security. They could each benefit from continuing their relationship.

  He tried Stacy’s cellular number again and once more received her voice mail. He disconnected rather than leave a third message. Why had she left without saying goodbye? And why would she not return his calls?

  By the time he had finished working out his tension by swimming laps, she’d been in the lower-level shower. He could have joined her, but he had needed a few moments alone to consider the ramifications of their situation. In all his thirty-eight years he had never had a condom break. He had retreated to his bathroom, and when he had exited his shower Stacy had been gone.

  Had Candace phoned? Had Stacy’s wedding duties once more taken precedence over her agreement with him? Was she having a relaxed dinner with her suitemates at this very moment while he paced his living room?

  He looked forward to his evenings with Stacy more than he should, and he would not mind spending more time with her. She was attractive, intelligent and an extraordinary lover. She did not cling or make demands on his time that he was not willing to offer.

  She is getting too close. And if you do not quit focusing on her absence you will be no better than your besotted friend.

  He turned on the TV, but not even a baseball game tied in the bottom of the ninth inning with bases loaded could hold his attention. His thoughts kept straying to Stacy, her belly growing round with his child. But he could not afford to be deluded by a woman’s false promises again.

  What if Stacy were pregnant? Would she, like Lisette, choose to abort his child? Could he stop her?

  He wiped a hand over his face. No. He would not engage in a legal battle to force a woman to carry a child she did not want. His only options lay in convincing her she wished to continue the pregnancy and in coming to an agreement satisfactory to them both regarding the child.

  Stacy could not possibly be as pure-hearted as she pretended. He would prove it. And once he did then perhaps she would quit monopolizing his thoughts.

  “I want you to have my baby,” Franco said Wednesday night.

  Stacy’s heart and lungs stalled at the bald statement. She stared into his somber eyes across the secluded table in Le Grill, the ritzy rooftop restaurant at the Hôtel de Paris.

  Her heart lurched back into motion and she dragged oxygen into her deprived lungs. Warmth and cautious optimism trickled through her.

  Franco must have spent the forty-eight hours since the broken-condom incident thinking about a future together—as she had. She’d barely been able to concentrate on her bridesmaid’s duties. She’d lost track of the number of rehearsal-dinner place cards she’d messed up yesterday and how many times the seamstress had asked her to stand still during her final dress fitting today.

  “Your baby?” The words filled her with a tingly sensation. He offered her more than she’d ever dared hope for. Financial security. A home. The possibility of a family. A man who would treat her like a princess the way her mother had promised.

  “Oui.”

  “I might not be pregnant.”

  “A circumstance we can easily rectify.”

  Was this a proposal? It had to be. Why else would he bring her to this romantic restaurant where the roof retracted to allow the patrons to dine beneath a blanket of stars? But Franco didn’t pull out a ring or get down on bended knee. Maybe the French didn’t follow that custom? “I’ve, um…been thinking about that too.”

  “You would have to leave your job—a job you claim to love.”

  She clenched her napkin in her hand, looked away from his intense gaze and confessed, “No, I won’t. I was laid off the week before we left for Monaco. I didn’t tell Candace because I didn’t want her worrying about me when she had a wedding to plan.”

  Franco’s jaw hardened. “You are unemployed? You said you would go back to work when you returned to the States.”

  “I plan to search for a job, but there are a lot of companies downsizing right now. Not knowing how long it would take for me to find another position is another reason I accepted your offer. But now I don’t have to worry about that. I wouldn’t mind working here until the baby comes. Afterward—”

  “I will pay the expenses on your apartment in Charlotte until you return. And of course, you will be compensated.”

  Confused, she blinked and frowned. “What?”

  “I will give you another million euros upon the birth, and I will cover all the medical expenses you and the baby incur.”

  Dizziness threatened to topple her. She grasped the edge of the table and studied his face, but she didn’t see any trace of emotion or romance. In fact, he looked as if he were closing a business deal. “A-are you asking me to marry you, Franco?”

  He reared back in his chair. “Non. I need an heir. You want financial security. I am offering a solution to fill both our needs. A second million will give you the life of leisure you claim the first would not.”

  The delicious shrimp appetizer she’d consumed turned to molten lead in her stomach. Her chest felt so tight she could barely breathe. “You want me to h