“You too, Ruben. I’ve been meaning to call. Can you believe how Valcourt United has just fallen apart lately?”
I wait, my arms still in hugging position but my lips now pursed together in irritation. I glance over at Arthur, who looks far too amused by all of this.
He leans down and murmurs, “It’s okay, darling, you’re still my favourite.”
My nieces and nephews interrupt my brooding, rushing over to us, all gangly limbs and chaos. “Uncle Arthur’s here!”
“It’s Uncle Prince Arthur, you idiot.”
“Not it’s not! It’s stupid to call him that.”
“You’re stupid.”
“You are!”
“I am so telling on you!”
Arthur bursts out laughing as he’s hugged by no less than three of them at once. “If it isn’t the Sharpe kids! Hello, boys.” He gives fist bumps to the twins, Josh and Geoffrey, as little Knox buries his head into Arthur’s pant leg, wiping what I hope is my mother’s homemade chocolate pudding all over his thigh.
The boys then say a quick and frankly disappointingly unenthusiastic “Hi, Auntie Tessa” before running to Xavier. He tends to pick them up four at a time, letting them hang from his massive forearms, so I guess the packages of Jelly Babies I brought aren’t exactly packing the same punch they once did.
The smell of smoked meat hits my nostrils, and a wave of nausea comes over me.
I hold my fingers under my nose and try to dissuade my stomach from heaving. Poppy, my eight-year-old niece, stops in front of me. I smile down at her. Poppy still loves me.
“You probably don’t have any Jelly Babies, do you?” She says, planting one hand on her hip and giving me a slightly disgusted look.
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
She breaks into a wide grin and drops her hand.
“But how about a hello hug for your auntie?”
“Hi, Auntie Tessa,” she says, wrapping her arms around me.
When she pulls back, she stares at my coat pocket expectantly. I pull out a package, and she snatches it out of my hand, then rips the corner open, reminding me of a tiny crack addict about to get her fix.
Popping one in her mouth, she says, “So, is it true?” She chews three times, swallows, then puts two more in her mouth. “You have a serious drinking problem now on account of all the pressure of being a princess?”
My eyes grow wide, and before I can deny it, Tabitha, my thirteen-year-old niece, is standing next to Poppy with a very serious look. “My dad said he knew you’d buckle under the pressure, but he didn’t think you’d turn to booze. He thought for sure you’d start overeating all that yummy palace baking and get really fat.”
“I’m not…I don’t…”
She holds out her hand and taps her palm. “I can hand out the Jelly Babies if you need to go have a glass of wine.”
“No, thank you. I’ll do it myself.” She’s not getting all the hugs I paid for. Those are my hugs. “And I don’t have a drinking problem or food addiction or any other addiction, thank you very much. I’ve never been happier.”
The smell of the meat hits me again, and I open my mouth to inhale a long breath, hoping to avoid the scent. My father finally notices that I’m here and wraps an arm around me. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Oh, Dad, thank—”
“The Smoke-R-Ator 3000. Got her at the ‘It’s Nearly Summer’ sale at Barney’s. Forty percent off. She’s got four removable racks, stainless steel interior, and a slow roasting oven, to boot! I can smoke the back half a pig at the same time I slow roast the front half in that thing.”
My eyes fall on the source of his admiration, which also happens to be my current nausea trigger. It’s a giant chrome meat smoker, roughly the size of a refrigerator, he’s set up in the front garden.
“Oh, my. That’s…that is really something, Dad.”
“Oh, but I suppose I shouldn’t talk about smoking pigs since you and your husband sleep with one.”
“Dexter doesn’t sleep with us. He has his own bed.”
“But in your bedroom.”
“Well, yes, but it’s okay. We’re not anti-bacon or something.”
Arthur comes up behind me and slides his arm behind my back. I feel a warm sense of gratitude that I don’t have to face my family alone. He gives a low whistle, then says, “That’s a terrific meat-smoker you’ve got there, Ruben. When’d you pick that up?”
I grin inwardly, knowing Arthur heard every word of what my father just said already. The two of them get involved in a conversation about smoking meat while my attention is diverted by a loud squealing sound—one that could rival Dexter when he wants breakfast. I turn to see my mum rushing down the steps to greet us. She’s got her apron on still, and I know in about one minute she’ll be cursing herself for not taking it off before the prince saw her.
“There you are! We’ve been wondering if you’d ever make it!” She gives me a warm hug, then blushes as Arthur gives her a kiss on her cheek.
We’re ten minutes later than I said we’d be. Maybe twelve.
“I thought you two were scheduled down to the minute?”
“My apologies, Evi. I had a call with the Prime Minister of Spain that went long. He started telling me about his daughter going off to Uni.”
She waggles her finger at Arthur. “Now, call me ‘Mum’, remember?”
“I’ll try.”
She gives me a glance, then speaks quietly out of the right side of her mouth, as though I can’t hear her. “Is she all right? I mean, really?”
“Mum, I’m standing right here. You can just ask me directly,” I say. “I’m fine, by the way. Everything’s perfectly normal.” As I say it, the word ‘normal’ comes out in a loud burp and my stomach churns.
My mum gives me a strange look and is just about to tell me how normal I’m not when Arthur loops his arm through hers and says, “Shall we take the party inside?”
I follow them up the steps, relieved to be getting away from the meat smells. As we reach the door, I hear my mother exclaim, “Oh, bother, I forgot to take my silly apron off! You’ll think you’re dining with the help!”
“Oh, Evi, remember, I’m just your son-in-law when I’m here.”
“I’ll try to remember that if you can try to remember to call me ‘Mum’.”
****
We sit down to dinner about half an hour later, all of us even more crammed in at the table now that we’ve added Arthur, Irene, Xavier (yes, he’s been forced by my mum to ‘make himself at home’ so she and my sisters-in-law can ogle him freely while we eat. Ben, Arthur’s driver, as well as his bodyguard, Ollie, have managed to refuse my mother’s overtures and stay outside in the vehicle. Lucky bastards. I wonder if anyone in the family would notice if I stayed out there with them? Hmm.).
Anyway, it’s a tight fit because we’ve also needed to make room for Nina and Lars’s fifth baby, Eugenia, who’s seated in a high chair slightly behind both her parents. It’s noisy and boiling hot in here with seven wiggly children at the kiddie table and twelve adults at a dining table meant for eight.
Arthur and I still haven’t made the big announcement. We’ve been waiting until everyone was together in the same room.
Nina, who is seated across from me, says, “How are you feeling, Tessa? That was quite the unfortunate bout of ‘food poisoning’ the other night.” She puts air quotes around food and poisoning.
“Yes, not my finest moment, but I’m much better now, thanks.”
She gives me a look that says she’s not buying it. “You don’t have any wine. You always have at least three glasses with dinner. Would you like me to get you some?”
I shake my head. “Not today, thank you.”
“Nina,” Arthur says, “I see that little Eugenia has a rather perfectly round head now, so that must be quite a relief for you.”
Nina smiles, then her eyebrows knit together in confusion and I can tell she’s tryi
ng to work out if he’s being sincere or being an arse. “Yes, well, they all end up round. It only takes a few days.”
“Right. That’s spectacular, really, because she really did have quite the cone, didn’t she? And now…perfect.” He grins at the toddler, who shoves a gooey fish cracker in her mouth with one chubby palm. “Hello, Eugenia,” he coos. “Are you having some fishy crackers?”
She smiles back at him, letting us all see what she’s been gumming in there. Even one-year-old girls can’t seem to resist my husband’s attention. I look over at him and see he’s equally taken with her, and my heart does a little dance knowing how adorable he’ll be with our own baby. I can just imagine him, no shirt on, sitting on the window seat in our sitting room, holding her—or him, I suppose—gently against his chest. Oh, it’ll be so romantic and dreamy, just like those fab black and white posters of hot shirtless men holding babies. Only better, because it’ll be real.
I reach over and put my hand on his, giving it a squeeze. Arthur turns quickly and whispers, “Are you going to be sick? Do you need me to clear a path?”
“No, I just love you, is all.”
He smiles and gives me a quick peck on the lips, one suitable for a family dinner. “Should we spill the beans?”
I nod. “Let’s do it.”
“We already did. Now, it’s time to share the news. Me or you?”
“You go. You’re so good at speeches.”
He stands and holds up his wine glass, then taps it with his knife. “Excuse me, Sharpes. Tessa and I have an announcement to make, and we wanted you to be the first to find out our happy news.”
“You’re having a baby, then, eh?” my brother Bram calls from the end of the table, his mouth full of mashed potato.
Arthur’s face falls. “Well, yes, actually.”
“Called it!” He holds his hand out to Finn, who rolls his eyes, takes a tenner out of his wallet, and pays up. “He agreed with Lars that you probably had a drinking problem, but not me, Tess. I said, ‘No way Tessa’s an alky. She’s gone and got herself knocked up.’”
I sigh and nod. “Well, thank you, Bram, for believing in me.”
He holds up his beer and gives me a wink while my mother bursts into loud, happy sobs. “My little girl is going to bring the next reigning monarch into the world!”
She and my dad stand and motion for us to come over for hugs. My dad is looking a little teary himself as he shakes Arthur’s hand, then pulls me in for a smoked ham hug, which makes me gag loudly.
My mum is next, hugging me so tightly, I feel like my ribs might crack, then I’m peppered with questions coming from all around the room so fast, I can’t keep up.
“So, that’s why you were sick! How far along are you?”
“Only six weeks, so I don’t want to announce it to the world yet. Family only for now.”
“In my day, we wouldn’t even tell our husbands until the second trimester,” my mum says. “You young women are so much more open about these things.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Oh, it’s not a compliment. I think it’s a huge mistake.”
“Enjoy sleeping while you still can,” Nina says, gripping Lars’ arm. The two of them burst into laughter.
“And sneezing without peeing your pants a little,” Isa adds.
Peeing a little? Is that a guarantee, or could I somehow avoid that?
“Oh, Isa, I think that's the first time Tessa's heard that one,” Nina says. “Better get on those Kegels.”
Poppy pipes up from the kids’ table. “Mum, what are Kegels, and why does Auntie Tessa need to get on them?”
My face flames with embarrassment while Lars gives his wife a dirty look. Turning to Poppy, he says, “Something you’ll have to do if you don’t eat enough vegetables. Now be quiet and eat up.”
“Have you booked with Dr. Dropp yet?”
“When’s the baby due?”
“Who’s the father?”
“Don’t be an arse, Finn!”
“Is it boy or a girl?”
“Please make it a girl! I don’t want any more stupid boys in this family.”
“Tabitha! That’s not nice.”
“But you told me to always be honest. That’s the truth. Boys are stinky.”
“Well, at least we don’t have cooties.”
“Will you give birth at the palace or at the hospital?”
“Have you been taking folate already? Because it’s too late to start now.”
“No, it’s not. It can still help.”
“That’s not what I read. Once you know you’re pregnant, it’s too late.”
“Oh, God. Is that true? Because I never started with those pills until I found out about each pregnancy.”
“Well, you don’t have to worry about it now. All our children are fine.”
Arthur wraps an arm over my shoulder and leans into my ear. “God, I love your family.”
“That makes one of us,” I say quietly.
****
After dinner, my mom, Arthur, and I clean up the kitchen while my dad, Bram, and Finn watch cricket highlights. Lars and Nina, as well as Isa and Noah, took their broods home so their older children can do homework and prepare for another week of school. I wash a pot and think about how it seems like only a month ago Lars and Nina found out they were having Tabitha, my eldest niece, and now she’s suddenly a teenager with very dark eyeliner and resting bitch face.
Arthur’s drying the dishes with a towel bearing his father’s image on it. He seems to take particular pleasure in using it face down and vigorously scrubbing each plate as though he could wipe the King’s smug grin off the fabric. But he’s certainly got reason for all of that pent-up anger towards the man, so I’m glad when we can come by for some ‘dish towel therapy.’
My mum wipes the counter top, wearing the huge ‘I’m going to be grandmum to the future king or queen’ grin. “I can’t believe you two are having a baby already!”
Arthur looks over at her. “I do fast work. Well, not fast...”
I flick some dish water at him and give him an exasperated look.
“Efficient,” he says in an effort to correct himself.
“I just couldn’t be more thrilled. Ruben, too. I’ll have to get Grace next door to start on a blanket. She does the most beautiful crocheting!”
“Oh, Evi, we were hoping to keep it a secret a little while longer,” Arthur says.
“Call me ‘Mum’, and don’t worry about a thing. Your secret’s safe with Ruben and I.”
“And Grace next door?” I ask with more than a hint of suspicion in my tone.
“Grace is a vault.”
I’m just about to protest when my mum changes the subject.
“Do you need the number for Dr. Dropp’s office, Tessa?”
“Oh, yes, please. Can you text it to me? I don’t have a pen handy.”
“Of course. Call right away, it can take weeks to get in to see her.”
“We will.”
Once we finish with the dishes, my mum pulls out the latest copy of the Royal Commemorative Catalog and starts a long list of plates, cups, and saucers in various styles she hopes will have the baby on them. Not that she’s expecting Arthur to be able to make sure all twelve will be made, of course, but as a huge collector, she’s hoping her eye will help make the selection process easier for the staff, and there’s no sense dallying about when important decisions remain to be made…
FOUR
My Obstetrician’s Better than Your Obstetrician
Arthur
“Who’s Dr. Dropp?” I ask as soon as we’re settled in the back of the limo to go home.
“Anita Dropp. She’s the obstetrician who delivered me. Well, all my brothers, too. And my nieces and nephews. She was one of the first female obstetricians in Avonia, actually.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Lars is turning forty this year, yes?”
“Yes,” Tes
sa answers in a curt tone that says she knows where I’m going with this and she is not the least bit interested in coming along. “So?”
“She’s got to be positively ancient. I mean, how steady could her hands be at that age?”
“What does that matter?”
“Her one job is to catch the baby, and she probably won’t be ready. The poor little thing will land on his head and he’ll end up in the special needs class.”
“Arthur!”
“What? The least we should demand in an obstetrician is someone who won’t drop the baby.”
“She’s not going to drop the baby.” She rolls her eyes at me. “She’s getting up there, I suppose, but I’d much rather have someone who’s seen it all and been through it all than some doctor who hasn’t had the ink dry on his medical degree yet.” She sits up and folds her arms across her chest.
“It’s a moot point, really,” I say with a shrug. “We have an official royal obstetrician who will deliver our children.”
“An official royal obstetrician?” Tessa asks in her best snooty voice.
“Yes,” I answer, opening the small fridge to get a bottle of water. I offer her one, but she shakes her head. “He’s the best in the nation. Hands down. Head of obstetrics at Valcourt Memorial.”
“I really don’t see that as a plus. He’s probably too busy to properly care for his patients.”
“Well, he won’t be too busy for you, I can assure you of that.”
“That’s a little elitist, don’t you think?”
I nod. “That’s because we are the elite. Now, normally I agree with you when it comes to equality of all, blah, blah, blah, but when it comes to the safety and well-being of our baby, I think insisting on the best of the best is no different than what any other father out there would do if he could.”
“Arthur! What a terrible thing to say. All babies are important.”
I stifle the urge to wrinkle my nose at the notion, knowing this discussion really won’t get us anywhere. “How about this? We meet with both of them and see who we like better?”
“Who I like better. This really does impact me so much more than you, don’t you think?”
The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series) Page 54
