Yuletide Baby Surprise (Billionaires And Babies #38)(39)
Author: Catherine Mann

“That’s what I thought.” She shook her head sadly, backing away from him step by step. “I’m returning to my old room. There’s no reason for me to be here anymore.”

She spun away, the hem of her sarong fluttering as she raced into her room and slammed the door. He could hear her tossing her suitcase on the bed. Heard her muffled sobs. And heard the click of the lock that spoke loud and clear.

He’d blown it. Royally, so to speak. He might be confused about a lot of things. But one was crystal clear.

He was no longer welcome in Mari’s life.

Twelve

The conference was over. Her week with Rowan was done.

Mari stood in front of the mirrored vanity and tucked the final pin into her hair, which was swept back in a sleek bun. Tonight’s ball signified an official end to their time together. There was no dodging the event without being conspicuous and stirring up more talk in the press.

As if there wasn’t enough talk already. At least all reports from the media—and from Rowan’s Interpol friends—indicated that Issa was adapting well in her new home after only a couple of days. Something to be eternally grateful for. A blessing in this heartbreaking week.

Her pride demanded she finish with her head held high.

After her confrontation with Rowan, she’d waited the remainder of her stay, hoping he would fight for her as hard as he fought for his work, for every person who walked through those clinic doors. But she hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d stormed from his room and she’d gone back to her simple room a floor below. How easily he’d let her go, and in doing so, broken her heart.

But his ability to disconnect with her also filled her with resolve.

She wouldn’t be like him anymore, hiding from the world. She was through staying in the shadows for fear of disappointing people.

Mari smoothed her hands down the shimmering red strapless dress, black swirls through the fabric giving the impression of phantom roses. The dress hugged her upper body, fitted past her hips then swept to the ground with a short train. It was a magnificent gown. She’d never worn anything like it. She would have called it a Cinderella moment except she didn’t want to be some delicate princess at the ball. She was a one-day queen, boldly stepping into her own.

Her hands fell to the small tiara, diamonds refracting the vanity lights. Carefully, she tucked the crown—symbolic of so much more—on her head.

Stepping from her room, she checked the halls and, how ironic, for once the corridor was empty. No fans to carefully maneuver. She could make her way to the brass-plated elevator in peace.

Jabbing the elevator button, she curled her toes in her silken ballet slippers. Her stomach churned with nerves over facing the crowd downstairs alone, even more than that, over facing Rowan again. But she powered on, one leather-clad foot at a time. While she was ready to meet the world head-on in her red Vera Wang, she wasn’t prepared to do so wearing high heels that would likely send her stumbling down the stairs.

She was bold, but practical.

Finally, the elevator doors slid open, except the elevator wasn’t empty. Her stomach dropped in shock faster than a cart on a roller-coaster ride.

“Papa?” She stared at her father, her royal father.

But even more surprising, her mother stood beside him. “Going down, dear?”

Stunned numb, she stepped into the elevator car, brass doors sliding closed behind her.

“Mother, why are you and Papa here? Together?” she squeaked as her mom hugged her fast and tight.

The familiar scent of her mom’s perfume enveloped her, like a bower of gardenias. And her mom wasn’t dressed for a simple visit. Susan Mandara was decked out for the ball in a Christmas-green gown, her blond hair piled on top of her head. Familiar, yet so unusual, since Mari couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Adeen and Susan Mandara standing side by side in anything other than old pictures.

Her father kissed her on the forehead. “Happy Christmas, little princess.”

She clutched her daddy’s forearms, the same arms that used to toss her high in the air as a child. Always catching her.

Tonight, her father wore a tuxedo with a crimson tribal robe over it, trimmed in gold. As a child, she used to sneak his robes out to wear for dress-up with her parents laughing, her mother affectionately calling him Deen, her nickname for him. She’d forgotten that happy memory until just now.

Her mother smoothed cool hands over her daughter’s face. “Your father and I have a child together.” She gave Mari’s face a final pat. “Deen and I are bonded for life, by life, through you. We came to offer support and help you with all the press scrutiny.”

Did they expect her to fail? She couldn’t resist saying, “Some of this togetherness would have been welcome when I was younger.”

“We’ve mellowed with age.” Susan stroked her daughter’s forehead. “I wish we could have given you a simpler path. We certainly wanted to.”

If her mother had wanted to keep things simple, marrying a prince was surely a weird way to go about it.

Her father nodded his head. “You look magnificent. You are everything I wanted my princess to grow up to be.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m decked out in something other than a sack,” she teased him, even though her heart ached with the cost of her newfound confidence. “But I can assure you, I still detest ribbon cuttings and state dinners.”

“And you still care about the people. You’ll make your mark in a different manner than I did. That’s good.” He held out both elbows as the elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “Ladies? Shall we?”

Decorations in the hallway had doubled since she went upstairs to change after the final presentation of the day. Mari strode past oil palm trees decorated with bells. Music drifted from the ballroom, a live band played carols on flutes, harps and drums.

The sounds of Christmas. The sounds of home. Tables laden with food. She could almost taste the sweet cookies and the meats marinated in chakalaka.

A few steps later, she stood on the marble threshold of the grand ballroom. All eyes turned to her and for a moment her feet stayed rooted to the floor. Cameras clicked and she didn’t so much as flinch or cringe. She wasn’t sure what to do next as she swept the room with her eyes, taking in the ballroom full of medical professionals decked out in all their finery, with local bigwigs in attendance, as well.

Then her gaze hitched on Rowan, wearing a traditional tuxedo, so handsome he took her breath away.