“That was my mother,” I tell him.
His face blanches. It doesn’t take a genius to know precisely what that means. I have no doubt Anderson’s already briefed both men regarding her.
“I apologize, ma’am. The incoming call came from a hospital in New York. When she claimed it was about your friend, Chloe, I thought—”
“And I thank you for that. I had the same thought when you told me. From now on, the only people I want you to put through are from the numbers already stored in my phone. Even if it’s an emergency, my friends are more inclined to call from their cells.”
“Understood,” Lieutenant Thomas says, bowing his head slightly. “It’ll never happen again.”
I nod with an appreciative smile. “Thank you.”
I tap my fingernails against the arm of the chair as I sit in the waiting room of the palace physician’s office.
When I learned I’d be attended to by one of the “in-house” physicians throughout my pregnancy, as is the protocol, I assumed the appointments would take place in a private office located somewhere in the palace, similar to the nurse’s office at school, but on a much classier level.
Never did I expect to walk into an entire hospital wing within the palace walls. Apart from having a private waiting area reserved for immediate members of the royal family, it’s like every other medical complex I’ve been to. Sterile surfaces. Fluorescent lights. The smell of bleach and latex. It’s a small taste of normal in a life that’s anything but.
I steal a glance at the clock hanging over the doorway leading to the exam rooms, every tick seeming to echo and vibrate through me, almost mocking me. I try to tell myself it’s not a big deal. He’s only fifteen minutes late. Perhaps he got delayed at one event, which caused a ripple effect throughout his day. I know first-hand how one delay can put the rest of your day behind schedule.
But when the sound of a cell ringing echoes through the room, a premonition settles in my stomach that he’s not simply running late. I lift my eyes toward Lieutenant Thomas sitting beside Lieutenant O’Kelly in the far corner, remaining as discreet as possible.
He pulls the phone from the inside of his jacket pocket. “Ms. Tremblay’s line. This is Lieutenant Thomas.” He meets my gaze as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “Of course, sir.” He rises to his feet and walks toward me, holding out my cell. “It’s His Royal Highness.”
I take the phone and bring it up to my ear. Closing my eyes to fight back my tears, I attempt to collect myself. “You’re not going to make it, are you?” I manage to say, my tone even, emotionless.
“Nora…” Regret laces Anderson’s voice. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important. And… Fuck!”
I picture him tugging at his hair. I’ve heard that tone before, and that’s precisely what he did.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats. “But my grandmother fell ill and I must cover for her. She was scheduled to appear with the queen—”
“But she is the queen.”
“No. She’s the queen mother. I’m talking about the queen. The Queen of England. She flew in to attend a function at Westerly College. It was partly to show her support of the opening of the school of medicine, but also to try to help turn the tide on this referendum. And since my father is currently in Spain—”
“It now falls on your shoulders.”
“You have no idea how sorry I am, Nora. I promise to make it up to you. I’ll be at every other appointment, no matter what.”
I stare blankly at the wall in front of me. Today started with so much hope. So much possibility.
How could it go downhill so quickly?
“Please, Nora. Say something so I’m not sitting here wondering what’s going through your head. I swear to you, I won’t miss anything else baby related.”
“Like I told you earlier,” I begin after a protracted pause, “don’t make any promises you have no intention of keeping.”
I tear the phone away from my ear, jabbing the screen to end the call. Then I stand, Thomas and O’Kelly remaining stoic and unemotional. I hand the cell back to Thomas, keeping my shoulders squared and expression even.
“Can you tell them I’m ready to go in now?”
A flash of remorse crosses his face. “Would you like to wait? Perhaps call Her Highness Princess Esme to see if she’d be able to join you?”
I vehemently shake my head, never feeling so alone, despite constantly being surrounded by people. “That’s not necessary.”
I should get used to being alone now.
I may very well be alone for the foreseeable future.
Chapter Eighteen
Anderson
“Have you heard from her?” Creed asks, glancing into the rearview mirror as he drives faster than normal on the way back to my estate.
What a crap day this has turned out to be. I had every intention of being there for Nora. Was looking forward to seeing that first ultrasound of our baby, then devoting the rest of the afternoon and evening to her. It’s no secret we haven’t had much time to ourselves since arriving here three weeks ago.
But the second Bridge’s phone rang around lunchtime and he gave me a concerned look, I knew my plans had all gone up in smoke. If it were anyone else, I would have insisted someone other than me attend, perhaps Esme or one of my cousins, all of whom the royal household often calls upon to help when needed.
But the Queen of England is too important to send third or fourth in line to the crown. Hell, she’s too important to even consider sending the second in line, which was why it fell on my shoulders.
I check my phone, seeing my texts have been delivered but not read.
“No.”
Creed nods subtly.
After a few more moments of silence, I blurt out, “I’m a complete fuckup, aren’t I?”
“You had your reasons for missing her appointment,” he offers.
“But?” I say, sensing he’s holding back.
“Regardless, she also has every reason to be upset with you.”
“I know.” I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting against a headache, like I have been most of the day. “So what am I supposed to do? How do I make this right?”
He studies me for a beat in the mirror as he slows to a stop in front of my residence. “You grovel.” He puts the SUV into park and turns to face me. “And when you’re finished groveling, you grovel some more. That woman has not only sacrificed everything for you — her home, her friends, her job — she’s now carrying your child. I’m not sure you’ve ever shown her your appreciation for everything she’s done for you.”
I open my mouth to protest to the contrary, searching my brain for proof that I’ve shown her my appreciation. But nothing comes to mind. I’ve told her how grateful I am. I’ve showered her with gifts, but Nora’s not the type of woman who cares about material things.
How would I feel if our roles were reversed?
Probably exactly like Nora feels right now.
Alone.
Lost.
Betrayed.