“We haven’t had sex since right before the king announced our engagement,” I admit softly. “Over three weeks ago.”
“When you say right before,” Evie states, “are we talking in the throne room before? Or…”
“No. Not the throne room,” I giggle, already feeling better and a little less homesick.
“Pity.” Chloe smirks. “But getting back to this unusual dry spell… What’s going on with you two? Why no hanky-panky?”
For some couples, three weeks wouldn’t be long at all. We’ve gone longer, but not when we were living together. And certainly not when we shared a bed every night.
“We haven’t had time. Our days are filled with obligations. Even on the weekend, we’re torn in two different directions. There have been a few nights I’ve tried to stay up until he got home, but I’m constantly exhausted. Plus, morning sickness has kicked my butt. Most days, I can barely stomach more than some dry toast or crackers. And let’s not talk about how much the royal family hates me.”
“Esme doesn’t hate you,” Izzy reminds me. “At least the few times I’ve met her, she seemed quite nice. Not like a princess at all.”
“Oh, Esme’s great. It’s Anderson’s grandmother who worries me.”
“God, that woman.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “She’s been known to make even some paparazzi cry, and they usually have thick skin. You have to in order to not give a shit about invading someone’s personal space in their moment of vulnerability, all for a buck. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a jar where she stores all their tears. Or souls. Or hearts.”
“Either would I. Pretty sure she tried to get me to cry when she invited me for tea.”
All my friends lean closer to the screen, hanging on to my every word.
“Do tell.” Evie grins mischievously.
“You guys can’t repeat a word of this conversation. Or really anything. My PR team wouldn’t like the idea of me talking to you at all, since you two work for a magazine.” I point between Evie and Chloe. “But that’s not going to happen.”
“Damn straight,” Evie snips. “We’d hunt you down. Plan a rescue mission if we had to. Bust you out of there.”
I bark out a laugh at the image of a very pregnant Evie and extremely pregnant Chloe being part of any sort of rescue attempt.
“Plus, you know we’ll never share things you tell us in confidence,” Chloe adds. “That’s not how we work. We may love our jobs, but we value our friendship more. We’ve kept you out of the headlines so far, haven’t we?”
“Yes. You certainly have.” I smile, although my heart squeezes, emotion overwhelming me. I love talking to these girls, but every minute I do makes me miss them more than I thought I would. Makes me want to pack my bags, hop on a plane, and never look back.
But if I did that, I’d be leaving a piece of my heart here.
I’d be leaving Anderson here.
“So what happened at tea with Queen Veronica?” Evie presses.
“She tried to bribe me.”
Their eyes widen.
“As long as they’re able to establish paternity, of course. They won’t pay if I’m not actually carrying Anderson’s child.”
“Bribe you? So you’d…leave?” Izzy’s voice rises at the end.
“Yup. Unless I opted to ‘eliminate’ the problem,” I tell them using air quotes.
All their mouths drop open simultaneously.
“That hag!” Evie exclaims once her shock wears off.
Hag isn’t a word I’d use to describe Queen Veronica. At least not regarding her outward appearance. She’s the picture of beauty and grace. But I can attest to the fact that the inside doesn’t match the outside one bit.
“What did you tell her?” Izzy inquires.
“I told her to shove it. And not just metaphorically. Word for word, I told her she could take her bribe and shove it up her ass.”
The line goes silent, my friends staring at me in shock, mouths agape. Then Chloe laughs. Soon, everyone joins in, including myself. I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed. The last time I’ve felt this happy, even if it’s fleeting.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Wait a minute…” Chloe clutches her protruding stomach as she struggles to breathe. “You told Queen Veronica, Anderson’s grandmother, the queen mother, to shove it up her ass?”
I shrug, my lips quirking into a small smile. “Then I got up and stormed out of there. But not before curtseying and saying ‘Your Majesty’ in an overly dramatic way.” I swipe at the tears streaming down my cheeks, unsure if it’s from laughing or crying. Possibly a combination of both.
“It’s official,” Chloe says. “You’re my hero.”
“What was I supposed to do?” I counter. “Accept her offer to leave? Not an option.”
“And now?” Izzy interjects. “Is leaving still not an option?”
The frivolity filling our conversation mere seconds ago vanishes, all our expressions becoming serious.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“What did you and Anderson fight about last night?” Evie asks.
I glance toward his side of the bed, the covers still drawn up, evidence he didn’t sleep here last night.
“It all started because he missed my doctor’s appointment yesterday.”
I don’t even have to explain why that’s a big deal. They know. To most women, that first appointment with your OB is a big deal. But for me, for someone who’s experienced an excruciating loss in the past, it’s even more important.
“Did he tell you why?” Izzy asks.
“Wait…,” Chloe interjects. “He had an appearance with the Queen of England, didn’t he?”
It doesn’t matter that she was promoted to the current affairs desk at the magazine a few years ago and is no longer working on the celebrity news column. Chloe still likes to keep an ear out for gossip. Then again, this is probably more current affairs than gossip.
“Queen Veronica was supposed to greet her and appear with her at Westerly College,” I explain, “but she woke up with a head cold and didn’t want to get the queen sick, so she asked Anderson to fill in on her behalf. I know how it sounds,” I add quickly. “He definitely had a valid reason, so I didn’t go all crazy on him because of one isolated incident.”
“But because of everything else, too,” Chloe states matter-of-factly.
“It was just the catalyst. The event that drew into focus something I’ve felt since our engagement was announced.”
“And what’s that?”
I look up at the ceiling, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. “As I stood next to Anderson, his arm around my shoulders, while his father announced to the media that he’d granted us his permission to marry, it felt like a stranger’s arm was around me. It wasn’t Anderson’s. It was Prince Gabriel’s, this man I know nothing about. I brushed it off, though, because I still saw bits of Anderson, too. But in the past few weeks, as I’ve learned more and more about the royal family, its history, seen coverage of his public appearances, it feels like I’m sharing a bed with a man I don’t know. That I’m about to marry a man I don’t know.”