The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series)

by Melanie Summers

“You really can’t see it? Chester was going gray around his face and was much bigger than this fish.”

  “I think you’ve been watching too many cozy mysteries.” I say with a light laugh. Tessa just stares at me.

  “What are you suggesting? That Troy killed him and tried to replace him without telling us?” I straighten up with an amused look on my face.

  “No, Troy would never do that.”

  “Exactly. Have you eaten breakfast yet? Shall I call down for some pancakes?”

  Tessa folds her arms over her belly and glares at me. “Troy would never do that. But you might.”

  “What—”

  Extending one arm, Tessa points to the kitchen counter, on which are the spoon and the Pet Life bag.

  Oh, fuck.

  ****

  “Good morning, Vincent,” I say as I stop in front of his desk.

  “Your Highness,” Vincent says without making eye contact. He continues to tap away at his keyboard, looking thoroughly annoyed.

  “I…um…just wanted to thank you for your help last night. I know it was outside the scope of your duties, and I apologize for getting you involved in such an untoward act.”

  “Yes. I’d appreciate it if that was the last time you request my involvement in such misguided decisions.”

  “Won’t happen again, I promise.”

  “Excellent,” he says, picking up a pen and writing something on his calendar. “How long did it take her to figure it out?”

  “About a minute, I’d say. Maybe less.”

  “Ah, I see. And would this be because you’re not married to someone with the IQ of a turnip, sir?”

  “Pretty much,” I say, feeling utterly sheepish. “Turns out Chester was a geriatric fish, so his colours were fading, which I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Whereas the princess…”

  “Could tell immediately, yes,” I say with a little nod. “If you’d be willing to hear me out, I’d love to explain my reasoning at the time.”

  Sitting back in his chair, Vincent gives me a steely look. “I’d actually like to hear this.”

  “You’d be alone in that, I’m afraid,” I say, my mind flashing back to Tessa yelling over me when I tried to explain. “You see, it wasn’t really about the fish. It was about what I’m afraid is our incompatibility as far as parenting goes. Since Chester moved in, we’ve disagreed on how much to feed him. Recently, Tessa’s been drawing a comparison between what she perceives as me overfeeding Chester and her concerns that I’ll be overly indulgent with the babies.”

  “So you didn’t want her to know she was right.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And now…?”

  “I see that she was right and, as she put it, will have to really dig deep and do some serious soul searching in order to make sure I don’t ruin our children and end up turning them both into Joffrey from Game of Thrones.”

  “Quite right.”

  “Yes, well she’s got a point, I suppose.” I stand in front of his desk, feeling rather awkward for a moment, then say, “What’s my morning like?”

  “You have that Earth Summit conference call in eight minutes, but after that you’ll have an hour and fifty-four minutes to do some soul searching whilst you answer correspondence.”

  Nodding, I say, “Perfect.”

  “If I may, I’d suggest using that time to pop out to hand-select a nice apology gift for Princess Tessa.”

  “Excellent idea,” I say, pointing to him. “Very smart indeed. Now, don’t give me any hints. I really should think of something on my own.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, with a satisfied look on his face.

  Damn, that’s a shame. Vincent is honestly the best at coming up with thoughtful gifts, whereas I tend to fall flat. I slink into my office, wishing I could disappear into the plush carpet.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Custom-Made Maternity Shoes & Good Enough Mums

  Tessa - 26 Weeks

  It’s late on Tuesday evening, and I’m sitting in bed cropping and adjusting the colours on the photos for The Weekly Observer’s feature. I hum to myself, genuinely happy to be working on a project I hope will make a real difference. Plus, it’s giving me a break from feeling ticked at my husband, the ‘fish swapper.’

  Although, I have to say my righteous anger has dissipated a fair bit in the past two weeks. I hate to admit it, but he may actually have done us a favour because the whole incident has led to a real meeting of the minds when it comes to child-rearing. So if nothing else, Chester didn’t die in vain, because we’re making sure to apply what we’ve learned for the sake of our unborn children.

  Plus, Arthur found the most amazing way to make it up to me. He noticed that my feet are too swollen to fit into any of my shoes, so he had my five favourite pairs reproduced in ‘maternity sizing’ (meaning much wider—much, much wider). Now, please don’t think my silence can be bought by fabulously comfortable pairs of gorgeous (if not slightly oddly proportioned) shoes—because it really was all of the open discussions we’ve been having that has me almost smiling.

  All right, fine. It’s also because of the shoes, dammit. What? Is it so wrong to want fab footwear when you’re as big as a house?

  Anyway, back to the project because it really is wonderful. The photos turned out much better than I thought even, giving me dozens of terrific shots of each of the models I rounded up from Dr. Dropp’s office. They all look absolutely lovely and filled with pride to be part of something like this. It’s like those Dove ads, only with exclusively pregnant women. If I had to describe the atmosphere in the room when we did the photo shoot, I’d say, it felt like we were on the cusp of a revolution. Oh, and we were also a really hungry bunch, so the kitchen had to stay on standby. I know it’s not a real revolution or anything, but I really believe the Good Enough Mum Campaign could be the start of a kinder future.

  Arthur, who was at a charity dinner this evening, comes home as I’m putting the finishing touches on one of the photos. I look up from my computer long enough to appreciate how ridiculously handsome he is in his tux, which must mean I’m warming up to him more than I thought. He walks over, stopping to greet Dexter, who has blocked his way.

  “You’re still up? I thought you’d be asleep by now?”

  “Who? Me or him?”

  “You.”

  “I’m too excited to sleep.”

  “Ah, your secret project. The one that has nothing whatsoever to do with a certain Lady Dr. Brooke Beddingfield Cunningham?”

  “That's the one,” I say, grinning a little. “I love that you feel no need to force me to actually admit why I started this.”

  “See? I'm becoming wiser as the weeks go by.” He walks over, says a big hello to my belly, then gives me a kiss.

  “Yes, you are. But to be honest, now that I’m into this, it really isn’t about showing Brooke up. It’s about showing women how beautiful we are.”

  “Can I see?” he asks, leaning his head over my laptop.

  I hold up one hand to block his view. “Not until it’s done.”

  “Fair enough.” He straightens up and pulls off his tie, then starts to undress. “Are you planning to run it by Dylan before you go public with it?”

  “There’s really no need,” I say, glancing up at him. When I see the concern on his face, I add, “I know sometimes my attempts at getting good PR don't go quite as planned, but this time it’s different, I promise. I'm about to kill three birds with one stone.”

  “By killing birds, you don't mean...?”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “Obviously, I'm not planning to actually kill anyone. It's an expression, only instead of killing two birds, I'm being 1.5 times as efficient, resulting in the death of three birds instead of two.”

  “Brilliant. Well, let me know if you need any help.”

  “I won’t,” I say with a big smile.

  Arthur goes into the en suite to shower, an
d I sigh happily as I work, glad to be able to do something completely independent of all my handlers and advisers. Rubbing my hand on my belly, I say, “If there’s a girl in there, I want you to know your mum is going to change the world so that when you grow up, people will learn to love themselves and be good to one another. Actually, if you’re boys, you’ll benefit from what I’m doing as well. And you can be there when I get my Nobel Peace Prize. Won’t that be exciting?”

  ****

  “Doesn't this feel like old times?” Hazel asks, turning to smile at me.

  We’re currently sitting side-by-side at the editor’s desk while we put the final touches on the special edition insert for this Saturday's edition of The Weekly Observer. It's a ten-page full colour insert to be printed on magazine quality paper. Each page features two women, introducing them to the world and providing answers to three questions:

  What is it about you that makes you beautiful?

  What advice do you have for other women to feel good about themselves?

  What's your greatest wish for your baby?

  Now that it's all been put together, the final version of our project brings tears to my eyes—of pride and an overwhelming sense of excitement.

  “Thank you for working on this with me, Hazel. It's absolutely lovely.”

  “And with any luck, this should make a big difference.”

  “Well, it's a good start, anyway.”

  Hazel clicks through the pages one last time. The last page features a shot of the entire group, everyone dressed in white except me. I’m sitting in the centre of the group in a black turtleneck and jeans (my expert photographer outfit). We had such a lovely time together that we wanted one group shot just for us to keep, but when Hazel came across it, she insisted we add it to the feature. My hair and makeup were barely done, but I'm still happy with how the photo looks because it's a group of women who are all saying ‘we’re good enough the way we are, and we don’t have to hide our imperfections or try to be someone else.’ (Plus, I’m wearing adorable brown leather shooties Arthur got me, so…)

  Hazel closes the file and sends it to the printer, then we both sigh with relief.

  “All right, Tess. You're supposed to be at home resting right now.”

  “Yes, I could use a bit of a nap actually. This was so fun though.”

  “It wasn't just fun, it’s important. I don’t know how to thank you enough for letting me be part of this. With this edition and a bit of luck, our little paper is going to survive another year.”

  “I hope so. There's nothing I'd like more.”

  I struggle a bit as I get out of my chair and then waddle over to pick up my long wool coat. Xavier, who has been waiting in the hall, stands and helps me put it on. Hazel and I give each other a big hug, agreeing to find future projects to work on together.

  Smiling the entire way home, a sense of calm comes over me for the first time in a very long time. Maybe this is my new life—becoming a fabulous champion for women everywhere. I could be the royal who smashes unrealistic expectations and brings the world back to a simpler time when women felt good about themselves as they were. Hmm…I wonder if there actually was a time like that?

  TWENTY-SIX

  Scent Detectives, Meat Cows, and Anti-climatic Climaxes

  Arthur - 26 Weeks 4 Days

  It’s Friday morning and I’m madly trying to get through some very tedious paperwork that our legal team has marked ‘urgent,’ just like they do every other item that they pass across my desk. I promised Tessa I’d be done by ten o’clock so we can sneak away for the weekend to Didsbury Castle for our baby prep weekend. We haven’t had a chance to go yet and if we don’t now, our window will close. Dr. Dropp said she has to go on a bed-rest of sorts starting in a week, so no trips anywhere for her after that.

  Today is a ‘do or die’ day. I could tell by the look on Tessa’s face when she asked me ‘what my day looked like’ when we were brushing our teeth this morning. I promised her that no matter what, we’ll be in Didsbury for lunch, and I better bloody well make that happen.

  We still aren’t what you’d call ‘sympatico’ since the whole fish-swapping incident, even though I’ve definitely tried to make amends. The next day, I went out and bought her a fish charm for her Pandora bracelet, three dozen apology roses, and a new Nikon, which totally backfired, by the way. Apparently, it came off as a ‘buy your way out of trouble’ move, which Tessa isn’t a fan of and if I knew her better, I’d know that, and she just couldn’t believe I’d flush Chester without so much as letting her say good-bye. All fair points.

  I then offered to hold an intimate memorial service for Chester, with Tessa, Dexter, and myself in attendance, but she just shook her head at the idea. She named the new fish ‘Walter.’ At the time, I couldn’t place why that name was familiar, but last night I remembered that was the name of the missing son in the movie, The Changeling, so it’s nice to know she’s not planning to forget how we came by the new fish.

  Last week, I took another crack at it and had her favourite shoes custom made to fit her um…new feet, which did seem to lift her spirits some. But honestly, that whole fish-swap thing was a monumental fuck up, and it’s going to take a long time for her to forget.

  In the end, the entire incident may end up helping us out, however, because it has really opened the dialog on ‘how do we not spoil the children.’ We’ve spoken at length about it, and I think I’m finally starting to understand the importance of chores, job charts, and accountability, and let me tell you, I am 100% on side. It’s either get on side, or I can look forward to a lifetime of seeing my wife’s face pinched in disdain.

  Anyway, I’m hopeful our weekend away together will help get us back on track again. Speaking of which, I better get my arse in gear so I won’t be late. I glance at the clock, and my stomach tightens. It’s now 9:18, and if I don’t pick up the pace, I’ll be forced to bring work with me, which won’t go over well. A quiet knock at the door interrupts me.

  “Come in!”

  Vincent walks in and shuts the door behind him. “Your Highness, your…er…mother-in-law is here with a group of friends. She’s requesting an audience with you.”

  “Oh, I really don’t have time for this today.”

  “I can tell her you can’t be disturbed.”

  Sighing, I say, “No, that’s fine. It’s not that bloody scrapbook group again? My eyes are still adjusting after all the flash photography.”

  “Based on their T-shirts, I believe these are bonsai enthusiasts.”

  “Show them in, but do me a favour and find some reason to have them out of here in a few minutes.”

  “Like a meeting with the Avonian Ambassador to the U.N.?”

  “Brilliant, yes. Something like that.”

  “You do have a meeting with the Avonian Ambassador to the U.N.”

  “Shit. Is that today?”

  “In exactly six minutes.”

  “Dammit. I haven’t finished with these bloody forms from legal.”

  “Why don’t I tell the bonsai people to come back?”

  “No. I’ll never get through these in time anyway. Maybe call legal and find out exactly how urgent these aren’t.”

  Vincent nods. “Excellent, sir.”

  When he turns to leave, I say, “Vincent, I really must—”

  “Be out of here by 9:52. I know. I’ll be in at exactly 9:50 to tell you the Prime Minister is on the phone and won’t be put off again.”

  “Perfect.”

  A moment later, Evi herds a group of about twenty people into my office, telling them how lucky they are that I have time to see them because I’m always so busy. I stand, plaster a smile on my face that’s leftover from my ‘campaigning to convince the public not to oust us’ days, and greet them.

  “Never too busy for friends of my dear mother-in-law.”

  “Oooh, you!” she says, blushing a little. “Such the charmer. Have a look around,
everyone. You’ll note the light is perfect for a Carmona microphylla.”

  “I’m not sure I’d agree, Evi,” a gentleman with a tidy white beard says. “I’m thinking Ficus retusa.”

  “Quite right,” Evi says. “Arthur, you remember my neighbour, Grace, from next door?”

  Grace smiles up at me, looking a bit shy behind her enormous lavender-rimmed glasses.

  “Of course. Grace, how are you?” I take her hand and hold it up for a second, as though presenting it back to her. It’s a little move I picked up a while back that allows me to avoid the whole double kisses on the cheeks thing whilst still managing to please most of the ladies I meet.

  She beams at me. “I’m doing well. Recently lost two hundred forty pounds.”

  “You did not,” I say. “I don’t remember you being…” What? Large? Heavy? What’s the proper term here?

  Evi saves me from myself. “She’s talking about her husband!”

  The group bursts into laughter, leaving me with my mouth hanging open.

  “I take it you’re not sad to be rid of him?”

  “Not at all. I should have kicked him out years ago. I’ve never felt so free in my entire life.” Grace says.

  “Speaking of being free,” Evi says. “If your father isn’t seeing anyone, I thought it would be fun for Grace and him to hook up. They’d have the most wonderful time together, if you know what I mean.”

  Christ, I hope I don’t. Grace blushes a deep red and starts to giggle wildly. “Never mind, Evi! I told you it was a terrible idea,” Grace says.

  “What are you talking about? It's a marvelous idea. You're single, he's single, you're both approximately the same age, and as far as I know, neither of you is attached at the moment.”

  “I'm not looking for anything serious,” Grace says. “I'm just looking for a little fun, is all, and your father seems to be up for it.”

  Dear God, what am I supposed to say to that? There is literally no way I can answer that question without completely insulting Grace, and therefore my mother-in-law. “At the moment, my father is on safari. I believe he'll be back in about six weeks, so if you're still free then, why don't you have Evi let me know and I can run the idea past him.”