He scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bedroom. In a few months I know I’ll be too big to be carried around like this, so I need to enjoy it while I can.
There’s a part of me that wants to be thrown down on the bed and taken roughly, but I know he doesn’t dare toss me around while I’m pregnant. He’s gentle instead, settling me onto the pillows, standing at my feet to remove his clothes.
He pulls open the tie of my bathrobe and lays me bare, kissing his way from my ankle all the way up one side of my body and down the other. He’s deliciously patient, taking his time, leaving me squirming and begging for more.
“God,” he says, his voice husky with want. “I could watch you all day. I should. I should do this all day.”
“You’d better not.” I reach for him, but he pulls back, smiling.
“You can’t tell me what to do,” he says. “I’m a prince, remember? I outrank you.”
“You do not. I’m Princess Aeryn Redfall, and I command you to get over here and finish what you started.”
He laughs. “As you command, your highness.”
When we’re finished, he pulls the blankets up over both of us and wraps an arm around me.
“I could use a nap,” he says. “It’s been a long day already.”
“Mmm, a nap sounds nice,” I say softly. “Will you be here when I wake up?”
“What?” he asks. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“One of us is always leaving the morning after,” I say. “That’s how it’s been so far.”
He kisses the back of my neck. “I’m not leaving,” he says, and I hear the promise in his words. “Rest now, Erica. I’ll be here.”
Chapter 18
At first I’m not sure what woke me, because my nap hasn’t been that long and I’m still feeling tired. I’m anxious and uneasy, but I don’t know why. Alex. Is he gone?
No. No, he’s still here, a big warm presence in the bed beside me. Even as I think it, his hand wraps around my hip and subconsciously pulls me closer.
I’m worried about nothing. Everything’s fine. I allow my eyes to drift closed again…
And then I feel it—an intense pressure, bordering on painful. And I know immediately that this is what woke me up, that I felt this once before because it’s familiar. It feels like my insides are in a vice. My hands move to my stomach, cradle it, and I wish I could reach in to my little one and reassure myself that he or she is okay.
The pain fades, leaving me gasping. What was that? And should I be worried? I know better than to ignore any pain when I’m pregnant, but I feel fine now. I’m sure I just ate something funny. It was just a little cramp, right?
The tightness hits again. This time it’s so intense that I can’t help myself—I cry out. Just a little, but he shifts beside me, and I know he’s awake immediately.
“Erica? What is it?”
I want to say “I’m fine, go back to sleep,” but the words won’t come. To my astonishment, I find myself crying, overcome by fear.
“Something’s wrong,” I whisper. “I think something’s wrong, Alex…” Another wave of pain hits and I gasp and double over.
He’s on his feet. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve got you. Look at me. Hey, focus on me. I’m sure this is nothing to worry about. How long has it been going on?”
“Just a few minutes, I think…” I’m breathing heavily, trying to recover. The pain has receded, but I’m sure now that it will be back.
He slides out of bed and dresses quickly before helping me to my feet. From somewhere, he produces jeans and a sweater.
“Here we go, put these on.”
“Why…?”
“We’re going to head over to your doctor’s office and make sure everything is okay. I’ll call on the way if you give me the number.”
I nod. “On the fridge—no, don’t leave me,” I beg as he pulls away to retrieve it.
I feel pathetic, but I also feel like I’ll fall to pieces if I don’t have him to hold on to. This is terrifying. What if something is wrong with our baby?
Alex nods. “All right,” he says, and he stays with me while I dress.
Together, the two of us go to the kitchen and retrieve the info for my OB/GYN from the fridge before Alex leads me outside to a small blue rental car that waits in my driveway. He opens the passenger door and helps me inside just as another cramp hits.
It’s not until he has trouble extricating his arm from my grip that I realize how hard I’ve been squeezing him. I hope I haven’t hurt him. I add that to the list of wishes that are running desperately through my head right now.
As we make our way to the doctor’s office, Alex showing his usual disregard for speed limits, I’m vaguely aware of the sound of him talking on the phone. I hear a few words that I know pertain to my symptoms, “cramping” and “woke up with it.” I wrap my hands around my stomach and try to imagine I’m giving comfort to my child.
It’s all right, I think desperately. Hang in there. You’re going to be fine. I love you, and your father loves you, and we’re going to get you the best care there is. Everything’s going to be okay.
I wish I believed it. I wish I could feel as calm and confident as Alex seems to, because I know the baby can pick up on changes in my body, and the rush of anxiety I’m bringing to the table right now isn’t doing anyone any good.
I take deep breaths, trying to steady myself, trying to keep my body at peace. I can’t hold my distressed child. The only thing I can do to take care of him or her right now is to keep calm.
Chapter 19
It worries me not to be walking into the doctor’s office under my own steam, but Alex has me in his arms almost the moment the car stops. He carries me so easily. And, in truth, there’s a bit of relief to relaxing and letting someone else handle things right now. He places me in a chair and speaks to the receptionist in low, urgent tones, and I stare at the paintings on the wall across from me and try not to think about what might be happening.
Pain during pregnancy isn’t good. I know that. It’s not supposed to feel like this.
Is it my fault? I’ve been so stressed out. I know I have. Maybe it’s wrong that I’ve allowed my personal worries, my fears about my own life, to get into my head. All the time I’ve spent wondering what’s going to happen between me and Alex—has that been harmful to our child? I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I only wanted to help. I wanted my baby to have a father. I never wanted to cause any harm. Am I a terrible mother?
“Hey.” An arm settles around my shoulders. His lips are at my temple. “Hey. Calm down. Everything’s all right.”
“No, something’s wrong…”
“I told that receptionist about your symptoms, and she said everything was probably okay but that the doctor would take a look for us,” Alex says. His hand rubs slow circles on my back. “He’ll be right out, okay?”
“It’s my fault.”
“Shh, no, it’s not.”
“I wasn’t careful enough. Alex, if something happens to the baby…”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” he says firmly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Erica?” a voice calls.
I look up. There’s Dr. McGill, waiting in the doorway and smiling that easygoing smile of his. I get to my feet before Alex can pick me up again.
“I understand you’re having a little pain?” the doctor asks as he walks me back to an exam room.
I stop and double over in the hall as another spasm hits. Alex catches me with an arm around the chest and supports me until I can stand again.
“How long has this been going on?” the doctor asks.
“Not long,” Alex says. “Less than an hour.”
“Okay. Let’s have a look.”
Dr. McGill guides me into the exam room and indicates that I should undress and get up on the table. I do so, letting Alex help me into my gown.
Ordinarily I’d feel shy about this exam happening right in front of him like this—he might
be the father of my child, we might be in love, but we’re still very new to each other—but I’m so anxious about the results that the last thing I want is to be alone.
The doctor runs several scans I don’t really understand and examines me up and down. Finally, he seems to have all the information he wants.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed, Erica, and I’ll have a nurse bring you a cup of juice,” he suggests. “I’m sending your tests to the lab for a quick turnaround, and when they’re back we’ll discuss the results.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Alex’s arm wraps around me, and I lean gratefully into his warmth.
Dr. McGill nods and leaves the room.
“He doesn’t seem worried,” Alex notes, tightening his arm around me just a little. “I’m sure that’s a good sign.”
“He’d be a terrible doctor if he showed he was worried,” I say. I close my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Alex asks.
“I feel a little dizzy.”
The door opens, but I don’t open my eyes to see who it is or what’s going on. A moment later, Alex speaks. “Orange juice, Erica.”
I shake my head. I’m so nervous, I feel like I’m going to be sick.
“You need to have some,” Alex insists. “You didn’t eat any breakfast, and your adrenaline has been through the roof because of this incident. You’re going to crash in a minute. Come on.” I hear the crinkly sound of a lid being peeled back from a cup, and then he’s closing my hand around the plastic. “Here. Drink.”
I don’t have the energy to argue. I raise the cup to my lips and take a sip.
“Keep drinking,” Alex urges, so I do.
Sure enough, the juice seems to revive me a little, and after some time has passed, I open my eyes. He’s watching me, concern written all over his face.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I just need to know about the baby,” I say.
Alex opens his mouth—perhaps to say that we’ll find out about the baby soon enough—but the door opens again, cutting him off. Dr. McGill has returned to the room, clipboard in hand.
“Okay, Erica,” he says, and a smile breaks across his face. “It’s good news. All your tests came back fine. You’ve got nothing at all to worry about.”
I can’t believe it. I’m stunned into silence for a moment. Finally, I find words.
“My baby is okay?”
The doctor pulls something off his clipboard and hands it to me. I look down. It’s an ultrasound photo.
“Is this him?” I ask. “Or her?”
“Them,” the doctor corrects me.
Alex gasps, but I don’t understand.
“Who?”
“Your babies,” Dr. McGill says. “You’re expecting twins, Erica.”
“I’m what?”
“Are you sure?” Alex asks.
“I’m certain,” the doctor says. “Look.” He approaches and points to the ultrasound photo. “Here’s one, and here’s the other. There are definitely two. And all our tests indicate that they’re both healthy and strong, and you’re doing well, too. Get home and get some rest and you’ll feel much better.”
“So she’s all right?” Alex confirms. “There’s nothing wrong with her?”
“Just a bit of anxiety, I’d say,” the doctor says. “Take care of her today.”
Alex nods. “I can do that.”
Back at home, Alex carries me to bed and tucks me in.
“You’re staying right here for the rest of the day,” he insists. “No moving. Anything you need, I’ll get it for you.”
“Come on,” I say. “I’m not comfortable with that.”
“Please.” He sits on the foot of my bed. “Let me do this, Erica. You’re carrying our baby—our babies. You get to give a part of yourself to them every single day. I can’t do that, so please let me do what I can. Let me wait on you a little. It would be a gift to me.”
I close my eyes. It’s hard to accept someone serving me. I’ve always been self-sufficient. I’ve never even gotten comfortable with the costumers and hair and makeup artist helping me get ready for a day of filming, and I never sent anyone to get food for me during work hours. But Alex is looking at me with a genuine plea in his eyes, and I believe what he’s saying. He wants to help with the babies, and really, there’s so little he can do. Taking care of me is his only recourse.
I nod assent. “I could use my book. I left it in the living room. And maybe…some breakfast?”
He jumps to his feet eagerly. “What would you like?”
“Oh, anything is fine.”
“Pancakes?”
“That sounds great.”
He squeezes my hand and disappears. After dropping off my book, he heads to the kitchen, and I hear him rattling around with pots and pans. Has he ever cooked before? He’s a prince, after all. He must have someone in his employ who does that sort of thing for him. I wonder whether he has any idea how to make pancakes.
But he must, because a few minutes later he returns with a huge, fluffy stack and a bowl of cut-up strawberries and bananas.
“Breakfast is served,” he says, bowing slightly enough that it feels sincere and not like a mockery.
I smile and pick out a strawberry. It’s perfectly ripe and delicious, the flavor bursting across my tongue.
“Do you mind if I call home?” Alex asks. “My family will want to know about today’s news.”
“Of course not,” I say. “Please, go ahead.”
He pulls out his phone.
“I should really wait,” he confesses as he dials. “It’s the middle of the night in Ava—Father? It’s Alessandro—no, let’s speak English, I’m in America, and Erica is here with me.” He shoots a glance at me. “We’ve just been to the doctor.”
A pause. I can hear a voice on the other end of the phone. The king. It gives me a little shiver to think about it.
“She’s fine,” Alex says. “But we did get a surprise. She—we—we’re expecting twins.”
Another long, ominous pause.
Then I hear a burst of laughter through the phone, and a rattling of Avaranian as the king forgets to speak English. I don’t know what he’s saying, but a smile breaks across Alex’s face like the dawn, and I know instantly it must be good.
“That’s right,” Alex agrees. “Two royal babies.”
The voice over the phone laughs delightedly and then continues to speak in Avaranian. Alex gives my hand a squeeze, gets to his feet, and leaves the room to speak to his father.
I rest a hand on my belly, wondering. Two royal babies. Two little princes, or princesses, or one of each. What will their lives look like? What will it be like to grow up as the children of a Hollywood actress and a member of the royal family? How famous will my children be, and how sought after by the paparazzi? Will they ever know a moment’s peace or privacy?
Royal babies, Alex called them. And he was echoing the king. So what does that mean? What are royal babies, royal children, expected to do? And how will that change if Alex is stripped of his title? He doesn’t have a sibling, so who will be next in the line of succession? Will the throne fall to his cousins, to Enzo’s children? And if so, would our babies still be in line?
Royal babies.
I think about my friend Lizzie, who grew up in Hollywood, whose perspective on life and the world is so vastly different from mine. I’ve often felt she wouldn’t make it in the real world, that if she was transplanted to Ohio and had to deal with things like shoveling snow and paying taxes and taking her car to the shop she would fall apart. But it’s unfair to judge Lizzie on those terms, and I know it. That isn’t Lizzie’s world. Her world is the world of fame and fans and followers, and she navigates that like a pro.
That’s the skill my children will have to have. They’ll have to learn their way around Avaranian courts, in addition to managing the perils of Hollywood. Their upbringing won’t be anything like mine was. They won’t have the struggles of getting b
y in an average high school. They won’t learn to drive when they turn fifteen—will they ever?
Even if Alex is forced to give up his throne, they will be highborn royals in Avaran. Alex will no doubt take some lesser title, just like his uncle did. My children will never be normal.
Alex comes back into the bedroom, phone in hand, all smiles. “Well, he’s happy,” he says.
“I could tell,” I say. I reach behind me to rearrange my pillows, but Alex jumps in and does it before I can. “What did he say?” I ask.
“Good news on that front too,” Alex says.
“What do you mean?”
“Parliament came to an agreement.”
I grab his hand. “Tell me.”
“They’re not going to force me to abdicate,” he says. “My father went back and pled my case after I left Avaran, and in the end, enough of them saw sense. I’ll retain my title.”
“Oh, God, Alex, that’s wonderful.” I fling my arms around him.
He nods. “And it means our children will be the rightful heirs to the throne.”
And there it is, the part that frightens me. But I am not going to allow myself to be worried by that, not right now. Not on this miraculous day when everything is going so well. Alex is here with me, and we are in love. Our babies are healthy and whole, and there are two of them, two new children to welcome into our family and share our love. And now Alex will get to remain as prince of his beloved country.
This couldn’t possibly have worked out any more perfectly.
Alex is watching me carefully. “Are you all right with it?” he asks.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“There are going to be challenges,” he says. “There are going to be complications, raising royal children.”
“I’m trying not to focus on that right now,” I tell him honestly. “I want to have your children. That makes them royal. It’s a fair bargain.”
He laughs.
“What?” I ask. “What’s funny?”
“It’s strange to hear you put it that way,” he says. “Do you know how many people feel the opposite way about it? That they wouldn’t mind whose children they had to have, as long as those children were royal? As long as their children could help them gain status, power or money?”
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