The Royal Delivery

by Melanie Summers

  “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.”

  She laughs and shakes his hand. “Well, that makes one of us.”

  “So, I take it the obstetrics community is rather tight-knit?” he says.

  “Not really, but you managed to make quite an impression on my colleagues. We’ve seen nervous fathers before, but you may be the champion of the world in that regard.” She gestures for us to sit in the two chairs opposite her desk, and not in a look-at-me-I’m-Vanna-White way, but rather in a welcome-to-my-office-I’m-a-very-competent-doctor way. Once we’re all seated, she looks down at a paper in front of her, then says, “I do not have a vagina fixation. I got into the field because I wanted to help women with their particular health issues. I’ve never misplaced or dropped a baby, even though I’ve been doing this for forty-two years and counting. My hands are as steady as they come because I do yoga every morning to keep limber. I’ve never been drunk and/or high whilst on call, and I know the names and how to use all the medical equipment required to bring a child safely into the world. Oh, and I also have never mistaken a bad case of indigestion for pregnancy.” She chuckles when she says that last bit, then takes off her glasses and sits back in her chair, her shoulders shaking.

  Arthur tucks his upper lip in and makes a little clicking sound, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  “So, do I have the job?” she asks.

  We both nod. Arthur clears his throat. “Yes, if you’ll take us on as patients, I’ll do my best to stay back.”

  Tilting her head a little, she says, “I don’t need you to stay back. I need you to stay calm. So does your wife.”

  “I will do my best.”

  “Good. So, let’s get to work, shall we? I’m guessing you’d like to hear a heartbeat today?”

  “Very much,” I say. One healthy heartbeat. Not nine.

  “Excellent. I have a few questions, then we’ll get you to hop up on the table so I can examine you.” She opens my file and picks up a pen.

  “What was the first day of your last period?”

  “Oh, God,” Arthur says. “Perhaps I should wait outside.”

  I level him with a look that says he better keep his royal arse in his chair. “March twentieth.”

  “Okay. And you’ve done an at-home pregnancy test?”

  “Yes, several.”

  “Any spotting or cramping?”

  “No, none.”

  “Excellent. Any nausea yet?”

  “A little, yes,” I say.

  “A little?” Arthur says. “That girl in The Exorcist vomited a little compared to you.”

  I glower at him, and Dr. Dropp laughs at our exchange.

  “So, quite a bit of nausea, then?”

  “Yes, I really have felt very unwell.” Oh, now that sounded like a true princess, no?

  “Seems awfully early for that, but not to worry. There’s a surprisingly large range of what’s considered normal.” She picks up a prescription pad and starts to scribble on it. “No need for you to go on like that. I can give you a prescription to get you feeling tiptop by this afternoon.”

  I open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. “Perfectly safe for the baby. I promise.”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, I’m lying on the exam table while Dr. Dropp checks my tummy. Arthur stands next to me, holding my hand. I squeeze his fingers, feeling terrified and excited at the same time, and to be honest, a little awkward at having my shirt lifted and my belly showing.

  She gets the Doppler monitor and presses the microphone thingy to my tummy. Immediately, a thumping sound is heard through the machine. Tears fill my eyes, and when I look up at Arthur, he’s every bit as emotional as I feel.

  We listen for a moment, then Arthur’s face screws up in concern. “That sounds too fast. Is it too fast?”

  Dr. Dropp shakes her head. “No. Perfectly normal.”

  “And I only hear one heartbeat, so there’s just the one baby in there?” I ask.

  Dr. Dropp moves the microphone away from my tummy for a second. “Actually, even with multiples, this machine only picks up one heartbeat at a time. The one nearest.”

  Damn. So there could be nine of them in there, and I would never know.

  When she puts the mic back down, it’s on a different spot on my tummy. She pauses for a second, then says, “Oh, look at that. The baby must be on the move. She’s over here now.”

  “Or he,” Arthur adds.

  “Or he,” Dr. Dropp says.

  WHEN WE’RE SETTLED in the back of the limo, I turn to Arthur. “So?”

  He leans down and gives me a kiss on the forehead. “You were right. She’s the best one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Wasn’t that something to hear our baby’s heartbeat? I mean, there’s a real baby in there. Tiny, yes, but real.” He sighs happily. “Now, let’s get your blood work done and pick up your prescription so you can start to feel human again.”

  “Yes, let’s. I can’t wait to feel better.”

  “It cannot happen soon enough,” Arthur says.

  I raise one eyebrow at him. “Oh, has this been very hard for you?”

  Without noticing the look on my face, he answers, “Christ, yes. It’s been awful. I’ve barely had any sleep at all, what with the vomiting and lying awake waiting for you to vomit. It’s been...” his voice trails off when he finally glances at me, “...nothing compared to what you’ve been going through, obviously. That goes without saying. For me, it’s really only been difficult watching you go through all this and being powerless to fix it for you.”

  “Right,” I deadpan.

  “Oh, are we at the lab already?”

  EMAIL FROM HAZEL NETTLEBOTTOM

  RE: Congratulations

  Dear Princess Tessa,

  Just a quick note to wish you the best as you and Prince Arthur embark on the journey of a lifetime. I hope you’re feeling well now and that the rest of your pregnancy is smooth as silk.

  Things are a little worse at the paper. Our circulation is down to 6,000, so our advertising revenue is down some as well. The team and I are working hard on trying to find ways to increase our online profile, as that’s where the ad dollars are these days.

  But such is life—always a challenge to overcome. It’s half the excitement, really.

  All the best,

  Hazel

  Email from Me to Hazel Nettlebottom

  RE:RE: Congratulations

  Dear Hazel,

  Thank you so much for your kind words. I appreciate the encouragement. I have finally seen my obstetrician, who had a cure for my morning sickness in the form of tiny round pills I take each morning and evening. I’ll keep you and the team at The Weekly Observer in mind going forward and see if I can’t find ways to help in increasing your subscriber base.

  Your friend,

  Tess

  NINE

  Pretty, Young Nannies and Krispy Kreme Contraband

  Tessa - 12 Weeks

  Have you ever been seasick? Like, really, horribly seasick where you could n
ot stop vomiting and you’re sure you’d welcome death, but then almost the instant you step foot onto solid ground, you feel completely better and can’t wipe the smile off your face?

  The past month has been like that for me. I feel so absolutely fabulous, I want to run around shouting, “Hoorah for anti-nausea drugs!” I won’t, obviously, because it wouldn’t be very regal of me and would likely cause some sort of scandal, which would mean I’d have Dylan on my arse—and that’s something I’d rather avoid, thank you very much. So instead, I just wake up each morning, thrilled not to need to bring Buckety everywhere.

  Although I do have to say the meds have a little bit of a surprising side effect I wasn’t expecting. I now find myself utterly famished and basically eat everything in sight (and then send for more food when everything that was in sight has been devoured).

  I’m justifying my current eating habits based on the fact that I lost four pounds in the first several weeks of my pregnancy, so I need to make up for it. But if I’m to be honest, I’m a little worried that if I keep eating at this rate, I’ll balloon up beyond recognition, thus losing my shot at the cover of Hello! Magazine (not a cover I’d pose for, obviously—royals aren’t allowed to pose for magazine shoots. But secretly, between you and me and the gate post, I’ve been dreaming of going somewhere in a ball gown looking so fabulous that I’ll land the cover and be dubbed, ‘Duchess of Wellingbourne, Most Beautiful Pregnant Royal of All Time’).

  Well, excluding Kate, obviously, who has that sewn up. Oh, and Meghan, I suppose, should she and Harry decide to have a family. She’ll be ab fab, I’m certain of it.

  Maybe ‘Most Beautiful Pregnant Royal of Avonia in This Decade?’ That could be within my grasp—not that it matters. Looks really are irrelevant. But still, it would be a lovely ego boost. I stare down at my emerging bump, which has really come in fast now that I think of it. I may want to slow down on the baked goods. I’ve already gained fifteen pounds since seeing Dr. Dropp, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Besides, it’s really only eleven pounds, since I lost four during the first part of the pregnancy.

  Yes, I’ll stop with all the baked goods binging.

  Tomorrow morning.

  I can’t very well stop this evening. Nikki’s coming over to gorge on Krispy Kreme Donuts and season two of The Crown. We’ve both watched it before, but a show this good requires double binging.

  Plus, I’m hoping to be inspired on the whole ‘find a way to win the people over’ thing because so far I’m drawing a total blank. For the past few weeks, I’ve been managing to avoid Dylan (using my evasiveness skills from my previous life), but I’ll have to face her soon, and when I do, I better have a damn good plan to avoid teaming up with Awful Brooke and her Perfect Pregnant Group (or whatever the hell it’s called).

  At just after eight o’clock, there’s a knock at the door. I hurry over, and when I answer it, Nikki’s standing there with a sly grin. She taps her oversized bag and winks.

  Xavier, who’s just finishing his last security check of the hall before he goes home for the evening, sniffs the air. Damn, I was really hoping he’d be gone already because if he discovers the donuts, I'll never hear the end of it. Xavier's interest in my nutritional habits has become almost obsessive, with him spouting ‘helpful encouragement’ and bringing me healthy choices for the muscle, brain, and bone development of my unborn child.

  I know I should be grateful, and I am...well, probably. Deep down. Very deep beneath my irritation. I mean, there’s only so much nagging a girl can take from her bodyguard when she’s ravenous for something salty, fatty, and/or sugary.

  “Oh, are you off then, Xav?” I say quickly. “Have a great evening!”

  He narrows his eyes a bit and looks at Nikki. “You’re not bringing donuts for Princess Tessa, I hope. I distinctly smell Krispy Kreme."

  "Of course she isn’t," I sing out, yanking Nikki inside the apartment. "It’s a fancy new room spray housekeeping started using. I don’t much care for it so I’ll probably ask them to go back to the vanilla bean scent. Anyway, see you later!"

  From the look on his face, he clearly isn't buying it. "I hope it’s not real donuts, Your Highness, because there are few things worse for a developing embryo than saturated fat and processed sugar."

  “Oh, trust me, I haven’t forgotten our conversation from last week. Goodnight, Xavier, thanks for everything today!” I say as I shut the door, positively giddy to be one step nearer to my goal of scarfing down warm, deep-fried dough sprinkled with processed sugar.

  The two of us hurry to the living room, where Nikki yanks the box out of her bag. I pick up one of the warm, delectable treats and jam the entire thing into my mouth, moaning in ecstasy as the sugar-laden fluffy confection melts on my tongue. As soon as my mouth isn't stuffed, but far before it's polite to speak, I say, "Oh my God, this is amazing. Quite possibly better than I remember sex to be."

  Nikki looks horrified. "How long? And why the hell not?”

  "Not since we found out about the pregnancy."

  I help myself to another donut while Nikki gasps and sputters in shock. "That's like, well...it's...how far along are you?"

  "Three months." Taking a more delicate bite this time, I say, "First, we were both worried about doing anything before the pregnancy could really take hold, you know? Then I got so sick that sex was most definitely the very last thing on my mind. As soon as I got that under control, I've just been so bloated and kind of...well, off...so I’m just not up for it."

  Nikki stares at me for a second, then makes a ‘hmph’ sound. “Do you mind if I open a bottle of wine?”

  "Of course not,” I say, leading her into the kitchen. “But you don’t have an opinion on this? I thought you’d be shocked.”

  Nikki shrugs. "What’s to say? It all makes perfect sense to me."

  A few minutes later, we’re settled on the couch. I have a sip of boring old water while Nikki pours a very nice Malbec into a glass. The mesmerizing opening credits start, and as gold is forming into a crown, my mind starts to wander to Dylan and the stupid charts and then to her rude comment about pretty young nannies, which causes my stomach to flip.

  Plucking a third donut out of the box, I say, “Did you know there are a surprising number of powerful men who fall for their children’s nannies?”

  Nikki stares at me for a second. “That was random.”

  “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking about nannies lately, on account of us possibly hiring...a few.”

  “A few?”

  “It’s a labour law thing. Don’t ask,” I say, having a sip of water.

  Nikki shifts on the couch so she’s facing me. “Okay. I take it you’re feeling a little insecure about the idea.”

  Shrugging, I say, “I wasn’t until Dylan the Devil made a comment under her breath about us not hiring a pretty, young one.”

  “Oh God, don’t let her bother you. She’s nuts,” Nikki says, waving her hand.

  “I know. And honestly, doesn’t bother me in the least. Not really anyway. I mean, I trust Arthur completely...”

  “As you should. He’s nothing if not committed to you.”

  “Exactly,” I say with a firm nod.

  “But?”

  “But I did a little research—you know, just as an academic exercise—and it seems there’s something about watching a young woman care for a man’s children that causes him to transfer romantic feelings from his boring, old wife to the new—and therefore more exciting—woman in the house.”

  “So, hire an old, wildly unattractive one,” Nikki says, having a sip of wine. “Or a manny. Ooh! Do that. A young, hot manny.”

  Chuckling, I say, “Yes, both great options. But that’s not the point. I’m bothered by the fact that this bothers me, you know? I feel as though even entertaining the notion that Arthur might fall for the nanny is somehow highly insulting to Arthur.”

  “That’s because it is highly insulting to him, but don’t worry. What he doesn’t know won’t
cause a tiff.”

  I shrug a little. “Believe me, I have no intention of admitting that. It’s not about him anyway. It’s about me being suddenly very insecure. A nurse at the doctor’s office the other day was giving Arthur the eye, and the things I was calling her in my head were definitely disproportionate to the situation.”

  “Did you say them out loud?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then I think you should cut yourself some slack. It’s surprisingly normal to feel this way when you’re pregnant.”

  “Really?”

  She nods, licking her fingers. “I see it all the time at the salon, especially with women who are expecting for the first time. It’s scary shit—your body’s changing, and you have no idea how it’ll look when you’re done. Not to mention the fact that you can’t know what being a mum is like until you’re in it, and it’s not like you can return the baby if motherhood isn’t what it was cracked up to be. It changes a person—no more carefree days or wild nights out. You have a little person to look after for, like, twenty years or so. It completely changes your marriage, too. It’s bound to make a woman wonder if her husband will still feel the same way once the baby comes.”

  “I never thought of that.”

  She pauses with a hunk of donut halfway to her mouth. “Shit. Did I just make things worse?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  “Damn. Forget what I said. All rubbish. You and Arthur will be just fine. You’re madly in love, and this baby is going to strengthen your already sickeningly sweet bond.”

  “Right,” I say with a confident smile. “Yes, exactly.”

  “But just in case, maybe don’t hire any hot female nannies.”

  TEN

  Bad Dreams and Dad Bods

  Arthur - 14 Weeks

  “Arthur, wake up!”

  The light comes on, and I bolt out of bed like a bat out of hell, shouting, “Where’s Buckety?!”