He hummed a soft laugh and nudged his nose against mine. “I like this side of you,” he murmured. “If this is what I get for bringing you clementines, consider this a daily routine.”
I bit my lip on a laugh and let him kiss me again, very carefully. “No promises,” I whispered, taking the clementines from him.
He winked at me, knowing I was probably lying, and stepped away very pointedly. “I’ll just go be a king now, shall I?”
“Or something,” Lemon muttered, drumming her fingers on the counter.
He saluted and started to tie his tie as he left the room.
I cleared my throat and set the fruit on the counter, peeling one of them without looking at Lemon. “So, how’s your energy?”
She shrugged and said, “About the same, I want to sleep all the time. You?”
“Same. Strange cravings?”
“Salsa and chili cheese Fritos.”
“Pickles. Sometimes with peanut butter.”
She made a face. “We’re disgusting.”
“Yep.”
Then I looked up at her and we met eyes, then cracked up.
She unplugged the curling iron. “Okay, lemme go see if my baby daddy has my sandwich, then we can go. After I kiss the bejeezes out of him, of course.”
I grinned and wandered out of the bathroom after her, peeling my clementine and laying on my lovely, tempting, far-too-seductive-in-my-current-state bed, and sighed. Citrus and a nap should be fine, right?
After all, I was a pregnant queen.
I could do what I want.
I looked around to make sure no one was in the room with me, then put my hand on my little, but not so little bump, and smiled.
CHAPTER THREE
The Second Trimester
“Come on, come do yoga.”
“I have no desire to move, thank you.”
“The baby will love it.”
“The baby loves being lazy.”
“Kat!”
“The couch people have accepted me as one of their own. It is my diplomatic duty to appease them.”
Lemon frowned and put a hand on her hip, her bump jutting out in her tight yoga outfit. “Katerina McTaggart Fiorelli, you have to be seen or the Royal Baby Watch is not going to work! I am kicking your trash in Battle of the Babies, but you’re the one they want to see!”
“I’m going to the children’s hospital later!” I protested, yanking my slippered feet away from her suddenly swiping hand. “And tomorrow we’re dedicating the new park!”
“Come and do something physically active!” Lemon barked. “For heaven’s sake, Kat, you’re lazier than a basset hound!”
I glared at her, then clambered to my feet with a heavy sigh. Because she was right. I spent every day propped up somewhere in my sweats until about noon, and I wasn’t about to admit how long it had been since I’d stepped on a scale.
Scales were outlawed. Unofficially. Nico wouldn’t let me make it official.
“I am not a yoga girl,” I muttered, shoving my hair back and throwing the matted mess into a ponytail.
“Today you are,” Lemon said, sounding calm again, and helping me into the kind of workout clothes that I had never before worn in my life. “I have a few photographers coming and our instructor is a top trainer from Italy. After that, we’re doing some pictures and an interview down in the kitchens, where we will show how healthy we’re eating for our babies.”
I snorted loudly and covered my mouth. Lemon and I had a standing date with the kitchens just before midnight and there was nothing healthy about it. I still had my gelato every night, but I was also having at least two bowls of cereal and some potato chips.
Lemon was still eating randomly, choosing to foray into the unknown every night. She thought it was hilarious that she never wanted the same thing twice, but the idea of that drove me crazy. I was as regular as clockwork and so was my weight gain, which was irritating, but my doctor seemed happy about it.
Nico reminded me daily that I was gorgeous, the liar, but it was sweet that he tried.
I looked down at my bump, which was now more pronounced in the fitted clothing, and sighed, rubbing it. “All right, kiddo, let’s go see who makes a fool out of us today.”
Lemon rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand. “You’ll be fine. Pregnancy yoga is supposed to be really good for you, and it won’t hurt.”
“Says the woman who’s never tried it,” I reminded her.
She looked over her shoulder at me. “It’s pregnancy yoga in our private room at the palace or being seen walking in the park in public. Which would you prefer?”
I frowned. Frak. Both options seemed awful.
But I wasn’t comfortable being in public yet, so I shut up and let Lemon lead me to my impending doom.
I had to admit, the last couple of weeks had been awesome. Coming out of the first trimester was amazing. I never threw up anymore, wasn’t even nauseous, and my energy was slowly getting back up to normal levels. I still slept more than normal, and was constantly starving, but I was starting to feel like me again.
I wasn’t as chipper as Lemon was, but she was bizarre like that.
We entered the gym, nodded at the reporters and photographers that were in a corner waiting, and were greeted by a very trim, very toned, very gorgeous woman with long dark hair. She smiled at us with a perfect smile, and her abs made me sick. “Buongiorno! My name is Natalia, and I will be working with you today. Are we ready to begin?”
I smiled as best as I could. “I suppose we should. I ought to warn you, I’m not exactly a yoga master.”
Lemon barked a laugh, then covered her mouth.
Natalia grinned and winked. “Not to worry, Your Majesty. I will make you look good and no one will know the difference.”
Well, that was easy for her to say, she didn’t know I was hopelessly uncoordinated.
She seemed to know what I was thinking and stepped a bit closer. “Truly, you will be fine. I have made women who were much further along than you seem graceful, and they did not have your excellent frame.” She stepped back and smiled, looking over at the press. “They are so small, are they not? Such perfect pregnancies; I am quite envious.”
She was delusional, but I took up my position on the mat, somehow managing not to be completely awkward about it. “Whenever you’re ready, Natalia.”
She clapped her hands and the press started clicking away, and I put on my perfectly queenly smile, ready for whatever disaster was about to occur.
As it happened, Natalia was awesome. She worked with us despite our limitations in flexibility and the pictures that came out of that session looked fantastic. I looked like I was actually good at yoga, even though I’d had a couple of mishaps, but apparently that made me more human and it worked in my favor.
The interviews in the kitchen were great, considering Lemon had brought in a special cook for us, and he explained everything that was important for us to be eating, and somehow still allowed us the food we were craving. All he did was display the sort of meals he “had been making” for us and would continue to do. And they were real meals, too, not the crazy “uber healthy” stuff that Pinterest was flooded with. It was healthy enough, but still tasted freaking amazing.
I leaned over to Lemon and asked if we got to keep him, and she smirked and nodded.
I so owed her.
The press took our pictures and asked us questions about how things had been going, and between the pair of us, and Tino the chef, we had a great time. We made them laugh, we gave them information they’d been dying to hear, and we had enough secrets to keep them interested.
When they left, I sat back and sighed. My hands automatically went to my baby bump, as they always seemed to these days, and rubbed absently.
“Crackers with peanut butter, Your Majesty?” Tino asked, wiping his hands on his apron.
I raised a brow. “Are you a mind reader, Tino?”
He grinned and gestured for Lemon to explain.
&n
bsp; She sank onto the stool beside me. “I’ve had Tino fully briefed on our cravings and all that jazz for a bit now. He wasn’t available until this week, but he emailed me pretty regularly with suggestions and such. He knows what we want and what we don’t, so I’m pretty sure we are set for the rest of this thing.”
I gave her a solid high five, and did an air five with Tino. “Crackers and peanut butter, please, Tino.” I grinned and said, “And something fizzy to drink.”
He saluted and started whistling to himself.
I turned to Lemon, who was sitting with her hands on her stomach, eyes wide and staring at her perfect little bump.
“What?” I asked, a little worried.
“I think…” she said slowly. “I think he just kicked.”
My brows rose in shock. “You’ve felt baby move before…”
She shook her head. “Not like this. That was like gas and fluttering and stuff. This, I’m pretty sure, was a solid kick right here.” She patted her bump and I reached over to feel.
Nothing.
She frowned and huffed in irritation. “Well, that’s disappointing. I swear, it happened.”
“I’m sure it did,” I assured her, trying not to feel disappointed. I hadn’t felt anything except the faintest fluttering, and I really wanted to feel the baby move. It almost didn’t seem real when you didn’t feel it. I might have just been gaining weight and needing sleep. I wanted to know that there was a baby inside me, not because pictures told me or the doctor said so or I had heard the heartbeat, but because I could feel it.
Maybe if I could feel Lemon’s baby move, it would kick something into gear with me.
But it seemed that neither of us were going to feel that yet.
We ate our crackers and peanut butter in silence, except for Tino’s whistling, and then it was time to get ready for the public.
I was ushered upstairs by Giacomo, and was met by my sisters-in-law, all of whom had opinions on what I should wear, and my own staff had suggestions, and I really didn’t have any opinion on the subject. I let them all dress me as they saw fit, had my hair and makeup done by the lovely professionals who made me look radiant and perfect, and pretended that this was all normal to me now.
It wasn’t, and it probably never would be, but it was also really awesome.
When they were done, I took a look at myself and almost gaped.
I looked like the most perfect pregnant woman ever.
The bags under my eyes were gone, but I didn’t look like I was loaded down with makeup. My clothing was flattering and the bump was barely evident, but still noticeable. I looked like I was well rested, healthy, full of energy, and having the easiest pregnancy on the planet.
“Well?” Violetta asked, grinning behind me.
I turned and pulled her in for a hug, surprising us both. “You are all hired. Forever. Permanently.”
The room of people laughed and then Giacomo was ushering the non-royalty out and letting the girls fuss over me.
“I still think yellow would be better than the blue,” Chiara said with a bit of a frown, shaking her head. “The color would look good on her.”
“True,” Violetta replied with a nod, “but it would make her look bigger than she is. We can go with the yellow when there’s more of a bump. No point hiding that in a few weeks.”
I snorted and fussed at my too-perfect eyebrows, when a small hand slid into mine. I glanced down to see Serafina watching me with wide eyes.
“What’s up?” I asked softly.
She looked at my belly and tilted her head. “Can I feel the baby?”
I looked at the other girls, barely restraining a grin, which they echoed. I looked back down at Nico’s adorable sister. “You can touch it, but you really can’t feel anything yet. The baby isn’t big enough.”
She put her hands on me and pushed around, her brow furrowing with the effort to feel something. “How big is the baby now?”
I pulled out my phone and checked the app Violetta had found for me. “Umm, I’m seventeen weeks, so about the size of an onion.”
Serafina wrinkled her nose up and took her hands away. “I don’t like onions.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m having a baby and not an onion.”
She giggled and took my hand again, jabbering away as we left the room.
She’d asked me every now and then how big the baby was, and it was kind of fun. A raspberry, a lime, a prune, a lemon. It made so much more sense to have it related to food instead of numbers, and we both could understand what that meant. I was paying attention to when certain things were developing, had spent way longer than I would ever admit looking up what the baby was doing and how things would progress, but Serafina just wanted to know how big it was.
And it was really cute.
Nico waited for me downstairs and smiled when he saw me and my mini entourage. He stepped forward and slid his hands around me, pulling me in until the bump nudged him, which made him smile until his eyes crinkled.
“I can see that the baby is keeping me at a distance,” he teased, though he knew exactly how big I was, considering his hands were always on me.
Serafina rolled her eyes dramatically. “Nico, the baby is only as big as an onion. He’s not big enough to do anything.”
Nico glanced down at her with a raised brow. “Oh no?”
She shook her head emphatically. “No.”
“Oh,” he said, looking back up at me with a wink. “My mistake.” He leaned forward to kiss me. “Hello, bella.”
“Hey yourself,” I replied, kissing him back playfully. “Ready?”
He quirked his brows mischievously. “To get away from my family and have a pretty girl all to myself? Always.”
Now I rolled my eyes and looked at his sisters. “Honestly, how old is he?”
They laughed and suggested various numbers, but Nico ushered me away before any definitive answer could be made.
“I am plenty old enough for you, my queen,” he murmured into my ear. “And don’t you forget it.”
I slipped my hand into his and squeezed hard. “Behave, my liege,” I scolded with a warning look. “We’re about to visit a hospital, remember?”
He winked again. “Remind me to take you to the nursery when we are there. Just for practice.”
I closed my eyes and tried not to wince. He was always saying things like that, and while I wanted all of this to be real, I did not want to be reminded of what was going to come. I used to love seeing the roomful of newborns, but now…
Now I was going to have one of those.
And it was terrifying.
The administrators, doctors, and nurses waited for us when we went to visit the new wing. I had a thing about public appearances, but the hospital was something entirely different.
Nico was practically a god here, and that was so cute to see. His charity, the Fiorelli Foundation for a Cure, had done a lot for the hospital, the research into pediatric cancer, and the families affected by all of it. It was something that he was pretty passionate about, and so was I, and no matter what our diplomatic schedule was like, we always had time for the foundation.
One of the things I loved most about Nico was that he was just as invested in my charity as I was in his.
We believed in each other’s dreams. We might be royalty, but we weren’t going to let that get in the way of accomplishing something we really wanted in the world. We could open so many doors with our titles and that was what we liked to do.
There was a translator for me, which I appreciated as we took a tour of the new wing, specifically set up for cancer treatment, and though there were no patients actively being treated in this area yet, some of the patients from the current wing had been wheeled down to greet us.
I couldn’t help it; I beamed in delight and left my trusty translator and approached the nearest child, a little girl with an Elsa doll in her grasp. Her hair was brutally short, as if it had just started growing back in, which I suspected it had,
and her skin held a bit of a sunken quality, but she was smiling.
“Hello,” I said softly, forgoing any attempt at Italian. I knew enough to greet people and get directions, flirt with my husband, and politely excuse myself, but everybody and their uncle knew I was an English speaker.
She smiled at me, showing adorable tooth gaps. “Buongiorno.”
“Do you speak English?” I asked, hoping she would. It was so much easier to be friendly if the translator wasn’t involved.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” she answered in very clear and accented tones.
I squatted down a little to her level. “What’s your name?”
“Stella,” she answered promptly, earning her a hand on her shoulder from the nurse beside her.
“Stella, your English is very good,” I complimented. “Where did you learn?”
She positively beamed. “At school, Your Majesty, before I got sick. I was the best in my class.”
That tugged at my heartstrings. “I bet you were,” I said, somehow managing not to sound too choked up. “I bet you can’t wait to get back to school.”
She nodded at once, very enthusiastically. “But I am caught up on my studies,” she insisted, looking up at her nurse for confirmation, which was given.
“You are?” That was shocking, and impressive. The treatment for any cancer was grueling, and I didn’t even know what sort Stella had, or how serious it was.
“Stella does her schoolwork every day,” the nurse told me proudly. “She does not wish to fall behind and wants to keep her place when she returns.”
Now my eyes were swimming in tears and there wasn’t anything I could do about that.
I covered Stella’s hand with my own. She looked so much like Serafina with her dark hair and brown eyes, her little nose turned up and wrinkling with her smiles, and impossibly long eyelashes that a runway model would have killed for.
“You are a very special girl, Stella,” I told her with a wobbling voice. “Will you let me come back and visit you?”
She nodded eagerly. “Can you come to my school? I might be there when you want to come back.”
The Royals of Monterra: Royal Delivery (Kindle Worlds) Page 5
