9:02 AM
Prince Arthur:
We've decided to forgo the option of an official royal obstetrician in favour of using the most excellent public health care system available to the rest of the kingdom. As such, the Princess and I will be attending the office of Dr. Anita Dropp, who has served the Sharpe family loyally and most competently for the past forty years. While I'm certain some of the people at this table may have concerns, I assure you Dr. Dropp is a most experienced caregiver, and no further discussion on the matter will be required.
Dylan Sinclair:
Does this Dr. Dropp have any A-list clients?
Princess Tessa:
Not that I'm aware of. She has her office over in Lincolnshire, so I'm pretty sure her patients are generally regular folks.
Dylan Sinclair:
You can see how this would be problematic as far as your image goes, can’t you? I’m thinking we go in a totally different direction with this whole obstetrician thing—perhaps fly in a celebrity obstetrician from Hollywood?
Prince Arthur:
Yes, well that would be rather a slap in the face to our own nation’s medical schools and doctors, wouldn’t it?
Dylan Sinclair:
I suppose…let me run it through my software and see.
Prince Arthur:
No need, Ms. Sinclair. The Princess and I have prioritized her comfort and the safety and wellbeing of our child above her public image, so in this case we’ll have to leave it at that. You’ll no doubt find other ways to assist in raising our public image. Moving on to the official announcement. This will need to be made sooner than we thought due to the high risk of the story leaking when we go to Dr. Dropp’s office. In order to avoid any unnecessary and potentially damaging speculation, the palace announcement should be made before 1 p.m. on Friday.
Dylan Sinclair:
Okay, if that’s the way you want to go. I’ve drafted up the announcement already and will post it on our site and notify the media on Friday at 10 am.
Prince Arthur:
Excellent. We really do need to move on to staffing requirements. I'm assuming this agenda item is in reference to nannies.
Philip Crawford:
Yes. I understand the selection process can be quite lengthy, so I’d like to suggest we get started immediately.
Princess Tessa:
Nannies?
Prince Arthur:
Yes, darling. Only for the times you and I are otherwise engaged.
Phillip Crawford:
As it has been quite some time since this royal family has welcomed any children, I have taken the liberty of researching current childcare practices for other royal families across Europe. It seems as though it is necessary to have a minimum of six, preferably eight nannies on staff to provide twenty-four-hour coverage in a reliable way. In the past, we could get away with two nannies working twelve-hour shifts, but with the great number of changes to our employment laws over the past couple of decades, it is neither legal nor advisable to put such demands on an employee.
Princess Tessa:
Six to eight? Does that not seem rather excessive?
Phillip Crawford:
It may, but if you do the math, that works out to three eight-hour shifts per weekday, then two twelve-hour shifts on weekends.
Princess Tessa:
That’s hardly necessary, especially on weekends. Arthur and I take Sundays off, so we won’t need any assistance from Saturday evening until Monday morning. Plus, I’ve got my mum to help look after the baby as well during the week.
Phillip Crawford:
So you may be able to do with fewer, say, four or five?
Prince Arthur:
Yes, at the most, I’d say.
Princess Tessa:
I don’t need a night nanny.
Phillip Crawford:
But who will care for the child at night?
Princess Tessa:
The prince and me.
Phillip Crawford:
This is highly unusual, Your Highness.
Prince Arthur:
Yes, well that may be so, but we have every intention of being more hands-on than the previous royal generation, so we won’t be needing a night nanny at all, because…we’ll be up in the night with the baby. Several times a night, probably.
Princess Tessa:
Yes, because the important thing is that the baby knows her parents will always be there to attend to her every need, no matter the hour. In order for her to bond properly with us, we can’t have several different people thrown into the mix so she never knows who she’s getting.
Phillip Crawford:
Princess Tessa, while I understand your trepidation, I assure you the nannies will be carefully vetted professionals trained in early childhood development, as well as be fluent in several languages, and able to help the young heir get a head start on his or her education.
Dylan Sinclair (quietly):
Just make sure they’re not too pretty.
Princess Tessa (directing question to Dylan Sinclair):
Pardon me?
Dylan Sinclair:
Err…Nothing.
Princess Tessa:
You said something about making sure the nannies aren’t too pretty.
Dylan Sinclair:
From a PR perspective, having beautiful, young nannies can be cause for speculation. I’m sure Your Highness would rather avoid that.
Prince Arthur:
We can hardly put that in the job ad, now can we? Nanny needed. Young and beautiful women need not apply (he then laughs).
Dylan Sinclair:
Of course not, Prince Arthur; however, off the record, I’d suggest you take my advice on this.
Phillip Crawford:
This entire meeting is on the record. We’ve got a stenographer sitting at the end of the table.
Princess Tessa:
I’d like to put it on the record that I trust my husband completely and I have absolutely no concern about his loyalty and devotion to me.
Prince Arthur:
Thank you, Tess. And may I say, I feel exactly the same way. If you want to hire attractive, young nannies, I’m perfectly fine with that (he laughs again, then quickly stops when no one joins him).
Awkward silence for twenty seconds.
Vincent:
If I may, I’d like to redirect us back to the topic at hand, which is choosing the number of nannies and setting up criteria so we may be able to start the vetting process.
Princess Tessa:
Perhaps this is a discussion Prince Arthur and myself need to have in private.
Prince Arthur:
Agreed. We’ll take your advice under consideration and come back to you as soon as possible with an answer.
Princess Tessa stands and vomits into a bin. Prince Arthur calls an end to the meeting with no decisions on Item 3 of the agenda having been made.
****
One of the worst things about being a member of the royal family is the way in which your private life is anything but private. Not just the media and public scrutiny, but the ‘stakeholders’ and advisers who must be consulted whenever major (and minor) decisions are to be made. As far as I can tell, regular folks enjoy complete autonomy over almost all of their choices, which is something people like me have never nor will ever experience.
Oh, and please don’t say, ‘But Arthur, are you really complaining about being a prince? Surely, you don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.’ I assure you, I’m not looking for sympathy—more like wanting to provide an in-depth understanding of what it means to be a royal. And more specifically, what it’s like to be a royal married to someone from the ‘normal’ world. It has its challenges. You see, it’s easy for me to forget that it’s unusual and often unwelcome for Tessa to have to invite a team of people to assist in personal decisions. I take all the formalities for granted, assuming she’ll ‘just kno
w’ what the protocol is when the reality is, she doesn’t, and I can’t expect her to.
Tessa and I may have decided to have a baby, but beyond that original decision (and the fun of carrying out our plan), the rest becomes the subject of countless meetings with people whose opinions must be considered. Take our wedding, for example—it was a complete shock to Tessa how the ball got rolling and quickly slipped out of her grasp and down the hill at a furious pace. In the end, we managed to pull together the perfect day, one that suited us both rather beautifully, but that doesn’t mean every time something big happens this will be possible.
There’s a delicate balance required to allow Tessa to be herself within this strange world in which she now lives. That balance requires a husband who’s ever vigilant about the responsibilities and expectations placed upon her, as well as the fact that she won’t automatically know what those expectations are. And sometimes, when her husband is very tired because he can’t get a decent night’s sleep and his father has gone away so his work is piling up, he drops the ball.
Today is a perfect case in point. I should have had a conversation with Tessa about what to expect at the ‘Heir Preparedness Meeting’, but I completely forgot. And my failing led to an inability for us to present a united front—which is slightly embarrassing for both of us, not to mention infuriating for Tessa.
As soon as the meeting ended, I walked Tessa back to our apartment. I got her and Buckety settled on the couch, then I had to leave for a luncheon. Before I walked out the door, she said, “I think we’re going to have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better.”
“I’m very sorry about today. I should have warned you about what the staff had in mind.”
“It’s not just about the meeting today,” she said, biting her bottom lip. “It’s about us raising a child together. I have a terrible feeling you and I aren’t going to agree on how to do it, and quite frankly, that’s much more terrifying than what just happened.”
Crouching down, I said, “No couple agrees one hundred percent on how to raise their children, but I promise you, together we’re going to nail this whole parenting thing. I’ll just have to do a better job of letting you know when a surprise is coming down the pipe.”
Tessa nodded, then said, “Yes, you will.”
Then she vomited, putting an end to the conversation.
By the time I got back that evening, she was fast asleep, so the whole nanny discussion will have to wait. But in the meantime, I’m left wondering how two such different people are going to manage to present a united front as parents to the world when we can’t even do it in a quick meeting.
****
“This is Giles Bigly, reporting live from outside Valcourt Palace with breaking news. About twenty minutes ago, palace officials posted an announcement on their website that Prince Arthur and Princess Tessa will be welcoming an heir to the throne early in the new year.”
Veronica Platt smiles into camera. “Very exciting news for all of Avonia, but less so for Princess Arabella, who will fall to third in line for the throne.”
Giles wrinkles up his nose. “I imagine Princess Arabella will welcome the news, as she is very close with both the Duke and Duchess of Wellingbourne.”
“Yes. I suppose so. But Giles, does this mean the palace’s earlier statement about the Duchess’s food poisoning was falsified?”
“They did address that on the blog post, Veronica, stating that what originally was believed to be food poisoning was actually an early case of morning sickness.”
“I see, so another shocking twist in the Vomitgate scandal.”
“I’m not sure I’d call it that. More like wonderful news for royal watchers everywhere. Palace officials say that although Princess Tessa is not feeling completely well yet, she is in good spirits, and she and Prince Arthur are positively over the moon with excitement about the baby.”
Veronica’s face grows intense. “Yes, but certainly the people of Avonia are entitled to the truth as to whether the palace knowingly fabricated the reason behind Vomitgate.”
“Or we could just celebrate the happy news for once and stop trying to make mountains out of mole hills.”
“Giles, it sounds like you’re suggesting we stop seeking the truth, which is the very cornerstone of journalism. If we do that, we’d turn ABNC from Avonia’s number one source for news to a royal fandom channel.”
“Would it, Veronica?” Giles asks, narrowing his eyes. “I mean, is a princess vomiting at a state dinner really a scandal in the first place? Aren’t we grasping at straws a little here to try to draw this out? Isn’t it possible—given how early she was in her pregnancy—that they didn’t know she was pregnant?”
Giles raises his voice with each question, his face turning increasingly red. “And even if they did know, would it be so awful of them to allow her a bit of privacy and autonomy with regards to announcing the news, so that if something should go wrong, she wouldn’t have to share such a private moment with the entire kingd—”
Giles’ half of the split screen goes black, then Veronica’s face fills the entire screen. “We seem to have lost the feed. We’re going to take a short break to hear from our sponsors. When we return, weatherman Quentin Filch will be here to tell us if this early summer heat wave is going to continue, or if we’re in for some cooler weather.”
EIGHT
Slutty Nurses, Husbands on Their Best Behaviour, and Tricky Babies
Tessa - 8 Weeks 3 Days
“Dr. Dropp will see you now.” The nurse glances at me, then right back to Arthur, licking her top lip and batting her eyelashes at him before she turns to lead us down the hall to the exam room.
I force myself not to roll my eyes because a princess doesn’t roll her eyes. Or swear. She smiles politely at women who drool over her gorgeous husband, feeling secure and happy knowing he’ll be going home with her later, and not the slutty nurse who arches her back in hopes of giving him an eyeful of her enormous boobs.
I mean honestly, the way she’s carrying on, she should be wearing one of those Halloween costumes with the tiny short skirt and zipper that goes all the way down to her navel.
Oh, these pregnancy hormones easily rival PMS. I am a bit of a bear today. But to be fair, I’m rather nervous about today’s appointment. There are SO many things that could go wrong, including but not limited to: Arthur offending Dr. Dropp, followed by every other obstetrician in the kingdom, resulting in me delivering in a bathtub attended by only my husband and Xavier; being told something’s wrong with the baby; finding out there isn’t a heartbeat at all–or if there is one, it’s sluggish or terrifyingly rapid; or discovering I’ve released several eggs at once, they’ve all been fertilized, then divided, and I’m actually carrying octuplets? Or nine babies?
What would that be called, nine-tuplets? Nonatuplets? Good Lord, don’t let there be nine babies in here. I can’t become known around the world as the nono-mom. Plus, there’s just no way I can handle raising nine babies, even with servants and help. I wouldn’t even be able to remember all their names, let alone have time to really get to know them and nurture their individual talents. Oh fuck, I hope there aren’t nine babies in there.
God! What if when they examine me, it turns out I’m missing some vital lady part required for carrying and/or birthing a child? Like the cervix. What is a cervix anyway? Why can’t I remember anything from year seven health class? What kind of woman am I that I don’t really know all my bits and pieces and what they do?
Arthur slips his hand through mine and gives it a squeeze. Leaning into my ear, he murmurs, “Don’t worry. I promise to be on my best behaviour today.”
I snap out of my anxiety frenzy and grin up at him. “Good, because we’re running out of options, and of all the people we know, Xavier seems most qualified to deliver a baby.”
“Won’t say a word, I promise.”
Slutty nurse spins and gestures like Vanna White for us to go into the
room to our left.
Yeah, I’ll buy a vowel, Pat. It’s a ‘u’, as in F.U. lady. He’s mine.
Dear lord, where did that come from? I wonder if Kate has thoughts like these? No, never. She’s far too secure and fabulous to let anything like this get to her. Maybe Arthur can introduce us someday and we’ll become lifelong friends and she’ll share the secrets to how to stay so serene all the time. Hmm, I wonder if it’s some sort of Botox treatment that holds her face in that lovely smile no matter…
“Tessa! Wonderful to see you, dear.”
Dr. Dropp stands from the chair behind her desk and walks around to greet us. She’s a tiny little woman with short salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a warm smile. When she shakes my hand, she places the other one over top of it and gives it a comforting pat. Yup. She’s the one.
“Dr. Dropp, can I get you and our new patients anything? Some tea, perhaps?” slutty nurse asks.
Dr. Dropp looks momentarily confused, then shakes her head. “No, thank you. Just close the door on your way out, please, Simone.”
Ha. Yeah, Simone, and don’t let it hit your perfect arse on the way out.
Turning to Arthur, Dr. Dropp holds her hands out in front of her and crouches a little like she’s ready to catch a pass. “Fire away, Your Highness.”
Arthur grimaces, and his face turns a bit red, which is highly un-Arthur-like. He holds both palms up in surrender. “No trick passes today, Dr. Dropp. I promised my wife to be on my best behaviour.”
The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series) Page 57
