The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

11

Erik and Clara returned to Fervia a week later. Rhonda was feeling much better, and he'd managed to meet her father and reassure him of his intentions, promising that Clara and the baby would be well taken care of. They'd spent every day either hanging out with Rhonda or prowling around London, and every night finding new and interesting ways to enjoy each other. It was idyllic, and he enjoyed every minute.

He’d also had a chat with Clara about her parents’ finances. Given that she’d uprooted her whole life to be with him, including her job, he felt it important to contribute to the emergency fund that she’d started for her mother. She’d protested until he pointed out the cost of the jet and the hotel alone, and which point she winced and acquiesced. “Only because I want them taken care of, no matter what happens to me,” she said. “And while we’re talking private jets… let’s not use them anymore.”

He quickly arranged for enough money to be deposited that her mother could take off the next ten years if necessary. When she marched up to him later, eyes wide, he pointed out that Rhonda was to be his mother, too, and that he wanted her protected no matter what happened between them, no strings attached.

She nodded, eyes suspiciously bright. They didn’t speak of it again.

Now that they were assured Rhonda was able to manage her latest flare-up, it was time to go back to his world—and royal responsibilities. They now sat in a private “receiving room” in the castle, one that was smaller and more intimate, before going to the larger ballroom for the actual press conference. It was a jumping off point.

"All right. I've discussed it with the publicists, and we all agree it'll be better for you to have a one-on-one exclusive with The Fervian Times to start," Erik said to Clara, nervous knots tangling in his stomach.

She blanched. "You won't be there?"

"No, no. I will be there, I promise," he said, stroking her shoulder. "I wouldn't leave you to handle this on your own. But let's face it: they're not going to be interested in me. They're going to be interested in you."

She leaned her cheek against his hand for just a second, sighing, and he felt ten feet tall. He wanted to take care of her, protect her. He'd had his share of press, both glowing and derisive, and he knew that the intensity could take its toll. He'd shield her from that, if he could.

"All right," she said, straightening in her chair. "I've got the talking points: I know what I need to say. I can do this."

"I know you can," he replied easily. "I believe in you."

Her smile was warm, glowing, appreciative. He smiled back.

Within minutes, his father and Pelle entered, trailed by the Minister of Communications, their head of publicity, and the family solicitor, Stanley, who still looked twitchy and nervous. It was the man's default state. His father sat in a chair, obviously intent on watching the proceedings, while everyone else stood to the side.

A woman walked in, a notepad in hand, a professional business suit and equally professional smile on her face. "Your Majesty, Your Highnesses," she said with a little curtsy. "I'm Holly MacPherson, lead reporter for the Times."

To Erik's shock, Clara's face burst into a wide, happy grin. "Holly!" She actually got up, crossing the room and meeting the woman halfway. "I didn't know you'd be the reporter with the exclusive!"

"Clara, it's wonderful to see you," the woman—Holly—responded cheerfully. "I assumed that getting the exclusive was because of our personal connection. They didn't tell you?"

"Not a word." Clara's whole expression relaxed, the tension leaving her body as she gave Holly a hug. "This should be fun! And we'll have to catch up." She paused, looking at his father, who was frowning slightly. "Um, obviously not now."

"No, let's definitely get the interview going," Holly said, apparently catching the King's mild disapproval. They sat at a small table. Erik took a seat next to Clara, feeling a little awkward. "Your Highness, I understand congratulations are in order."

"Call me Erik, please," he said, and saw his father's frown deepen to a scowl. "I've read several of your articles. I enjoy your work."

Holly pinkened. "Thank you! That means a lot." She set up her phone. "I'm going to be recording this interview, if that's all right?"

He glanced at Stanley, who sent over an almost imperceptible nod. "That's fine," Erik said.

"All right. How did you two meet?"

They'd practiced this. After much discussion with the publicists, they realized they couldn't and probably shouldn't hide Clara's "humble" background. Instead, they were simply going to adjust the initial meeting slightly.

"Erik was at a wedding where I was a waitress," Clara said, as easily as breathing. She smiled at him, covering his hand with hers, a clear gesture of affection. "He was dazzling, but I'll be honest: I had no idea he was a prince!"

Holly laughed. "No, really?"

"Really." Clara's smile was expansive. "I couldn't believe he was interested in me, but he managed to convince me."

"It is a bit sudden," Holly said, her expression carefully neutral. "And Erik, you have been dating a lot of women fairly recently. Why the engagement now?"

He bristled. This was supposed to be their "soft, easy exclusive"? "Now, that's unfair..."

Clara squeezed his hand, her eyes shining a warning. "Holly has to ask those kinds of questions, Erik," she said, her voice soothing. "If she doesn't, others will."

Erik realized he wasn't coming off well and quickly bit his tongue.

Clara took a deep breath. "It just seemed so... so unrealistic. Like a fairy tale, you know? That a prince would fall for a waitress." She leaned her head against him, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around her. "But the heart wants what it wants."

This was easy enough to follow-up with. He pressed a kiss to her temple, squeezing her lightly. "I thought Fervia might be better served by a royal marriage that was stereotypical, with candidates that were more... traditional," he said carefully. His father was scowling by this point, even though they'd discussed these very talking points exhaustively prior to this interview. "But I kept coming back to Clara. We have a connection. I don't want to sacrifice that just because of outside expectations."

"Oh! That's so romantic," Holly said with a smile. "Right out of a movie, really. And now, engagement! And a quick wedding." Holly's eyes were curious, and her question probing. "Any particular reason for the, ah, haste?"

Erik gritted his teeth. He knew that there were going to be questions, but it still felt invasive. He cared about Clara, and felt more for her than he'd felt about any woman he'd ever been involved with. His protective instinct had kicked into overdrive.

But Clara looked like a princess, straightening. She shot Holly a rueful but affectionate smile. “We knew we were right for each other,” she said with a firm but friendly smile. “And while some might think it’s a bit fast, we don’t want to let outside opinions and judgments stop us from doing what we feel is best.”

Erik swallowed. She'd handled that like a pro. Hell, she'd handled it better than he would have. It was a bit demoralizing. "We're thrilled," he added instead, hoping that his expression was as composed. "I can't wait to be married to this woman."

Holly looked happy with this answer. After some more back-and-forth, the doors to the sitting room opened. Erik was surprised to see his friends Nic and Ben enter. He got up, hugging them in greeting. "What are you two doing here?"

"The trade summit, remember?" Nic's smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his good friend so relaxed, in fact. Of course, meeting his own bride, discovering he was the father of a toddler, and giving up medicine to focus on his princely duties (and being a dad) were probably contributing to that.

"Oh, good, you're here," Holly said. "I was just finishing up here. We'll shift focus to the trade summit exclusive—the princes who are going to be representing their countries." She looked at her notebook, ticking off things with a pen. "So I'll need, ah, Prince Nicolas, Prince Ben, and of course Prince Pelle."

Erik blinked. "I'm going to be at the trade summit, as well," he pointed out, trying not to feel affronted.

"You are?" Holly asked, then blushed. "I'm so sorry, I didn't realize. Historically, you haven't really, um, participated in trade talks?"

Erik felt embarrassment curl through him like smoke. It was mortifying. "Well, I couldn't just be a party boy forever," he said, his words edged in bitterness. He could see the publicists' eyes widening and Stanley grimacing. His father looked like he was chewing on nails.

"Erik's deciding to be more hands-on," Ben said, patting Holly on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Holly."

Did everyone personally know this woman but him? Erik felt completely out of his depth.

"Ben! Great to see you," Holly said. "You ready for this interview?"

"I've been around journalists enough to know I’m never really ready," Ben said with a half-laugh. "That said, I don't suppose you have any juicy gossip or news I need to know about?"

"You never change," she said, shaking her head, her tone amused. "We'll touch base later, as well."

From there, the interview shifted to the details of the trade summit. Erik fought to stay focused. If just the interview was this boring, how was the actual summit going to be?

He noticed that Nic and Ben, and of course Pelle, were all making insightful comments about the economies and different consequences to different industries. Even Holly was interjecting here and there with her own observations. And all he could think was he'd rather dig out his own intestines with a spoon than talk about economics on a regular basis.

Suck it up, he scolded himself. He was a prince, dammit. And he'd promised.

This was his life now. He needed to step up and live it.

* * *

After their exclusive one-on-one, the princes went off to one side to hang out and catch up, including Erik, who looked happy to be reunited with his friends. King Elias was conferring with the minister and various publicists, his stern face looking hard to read. Clara had thought she did a reasonable job with the interview. Now, Holly was tucking away the phone she'd recorded the interviews on, and put her notebook away in a cross-shoulder messenger bag. "How'd I do?" she asked Holly, feeling unsettled. "Did I sound, you know, potentially royal?"

"You did wonderfully, don't worry," Holly reassured her. "Trust me, I've interviewed princesses who couldn't hope to sound half as composed and, well, regal as you did."

Clara almost collapsed with relief. "I guess all those pressers I helped out with at the party headquarters will actually come in handy," she joked.

"Are you all right?" Holly asked, sobering. "How are you holding up?"

Clara immediately stiffened. "I'm fine. Why? Do I not seem fine?"

The minister and the King had decided it was too early to mention the pregnancy, but she wondered if Holly could tell somehow. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, and she kind of hoped that she could at least share with Holly off the record. She was feeling pretty isolated here in Fervia, except for Erik... it would be nice to have a friend here on the island, someone who wasn't a servant or her in-laws.

"I think you're putting up a brave front," Holly answered slowly. "But then, I know you. You're fantastic in a clutch; you never let them see you sweat, you know? But when it's all said and done, you collapse."

"Well, I don't think I'll be collapsing," Clara said, forcing a laugh.

"I meant more metaphorically," Holly said, and Clara realized that Holly did not realize she was pregnant. "I think you're very capable—I always admired that about you, on the campaigns. But there's a big difference between being a supporting player in strategy and publicity, and being in the crosshairs of a tabloid that's eager to sniff out some gossip."

Clara suppressed a shiver. "That... sounds unpleasant," she remarked. "But why would they go after me? It's not like I'm some Hollywood actress or socialite. I'm not even nobility. I'm literally nobody special. So why would they care?"

"Precisely because you're not anybody special," Holly pointed out. "Well, not that you're not special. But you don't have notoriety. If Erik were going to marry someone equally famous, they would have tons of past stories to mine. They would write up stories just like they would if she weren't marrying Erik. Readers would already be thinking about the glamorousness of their clothes and their travels and their homes. But you? A waitress who didn’t get her degree yet?"

"Um, ouch?" Clara said.

"I'm not saying it's shameworthy, or that you’re somehow less for dropping out. You’re one of the smartest, kindest people I know. I'm saying, tabloids are going to be irritated, and they’re going to use that against you," Holly explained patiently.

"I thought the Cinderella angle might save me, honestly," Clara said. "I discussed it with the publicists. They were initially taken aback at..." She paused. "This is off the record, right?"

Holly smiled. "Off the record, I promise," she echoed. Then she jotted down her phone number on a piece of paper from her notebook, tearing it out and handing it to Clara. "In fact, if you ever need someone to talk to, don't think of me as a reporter. I'm your friend first, okay? Because you're diving into a weird royal world. If you need a sounding board, I promise, I'll be there."

Clara felt her chest warm. "Thanks. I will probably take you up on that," she said, emotion welling enough for her eyes to tear a little. She blinked quickly. Damned pregnancy hormones! "Anyway, when we talked about releasing the engagement, the publicists and I agreed that positioning it as Erik falling in love with a commoner, as a Cinderella story, where a gorgeous royal could become engaged to someone completely opposite... well, I think a lot of so-called normal people would find that charming."

"You're not wrong," Holly said thoughtfully. "But I'll warn you: the tabloids around here have made Erik and his 'perpetual partying bachelor' routine their bread and butter. They want high fashion and high drama. And the only thing they'll love more than a Cinderella story?" She leaned forward. "Tearing someone apart."

Clara swallowed. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Miss Clara?" One of the publicists tapped on his watch. "It's time for the press conference."

"Oh, goody," Clara said, feeling her heart race. She looked at Holly.

"Shoot. I shouldn't have said anything," Holly said, looking aghast. "You're not nervous, are you?"

Erik was at her side immediately. "Don't worry, I've got you," he said.

His warmth, his offered comfort, was as reassuring as a weighted blanket. She gave him a quick hug without thinking, and he tucked her head under his chin, rubbing her back.

"It's just a few minutes," he said. "We'll keep the questions limited, and we'll get right back to the apartments. If there are any questions you don't feel like answering, just look at me, and I'll field them. We will manage just fine."

His voice, that caramel-smooth richness, was so soothing. She sighed. "All right. Let's do this."

She followed the entourage of publicists to the ballroom, Erik holding her hand. When they arrived, she blinked at the flashes of light from various cameras. There were rows upon rows of chairs. She hadn't thought this was that newsworthy, but apparently the international press had other ideas.

"Prince Erik! Prince Erik!" various reporters were yelling, trying to get his attention. They were asking questions, one atop the other, the words mushing together into a cacophony of sound. Clara forced herself to stand up straight and keep on walking, keeping her face placid.

It's just a press conference, she told herself. Won't even be half an hour. And they're just reporters. This is not life threatening.

Still, she had trouble swallowing past the lump in her throat. She only prayed no one else noticed.

The publicists managed to calm everyone down, to silence. Then they read a prepared statement about Erik's engagement. When they got to the word "engagement," however, the room exploded into more questions.

"You're getting married?" one reporter asked in shock.

"Who is Clara Campbell?" another demanded.

"Why the rush?" a third pushed.

Erik held up his hands, and he and Clara stood behind the podium they'd set up. "This is Clara, and yes, we are engaged," Erik said, his ice-blue eyes gentle as he looked at her. "And yes, I'm in a hurry to marry her, because she's wonderful and I can't wait to make her my wife."

Clara felt her stomach go sugary, and for a second, it was as if there weren't anyone else in the ballroom but the two of them.

"Clara!" An impatient voice cut through the tender moment. "How did you manage to bag the prince?"

Clara jolted, looking at the impertinent questioner. It was a reporter, with a press badge and a cheap looking brown suit, his mustard tie crumpled, his expression disgruntled. "Bag the prince?" she repeated, letting out a surprised laugh. "I didn't realize he was a hunting trophy."

That made the other reporters laugh—and the one questioning her turn red with irritation and embarrassment. "It's just odd," he continued, his voice tinged with anger, "that literally no one has ever heard of you, and now you're marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe. One that has dated literally hundreds of the most beautiful and famous women in the world," he tacked on, with a malicious smile. "So we want to know: how did you manage to make Prince Erik marry you?"

Clara was shocked at his cheek. She looked over to see Erik turning red with fury, and she quickly put a hand on his arm, shaking her head. The last thing he needed was bad press over this. Rude reporters and invasive paparazzi were probably going to be part of their lives—she needed to learn to deal with it.

"I'd like to think that Erik and I met each other at the right time," she said, pitching her voice gentle and slow, making the reporter look even more rude in the process. "I was lucky. I am lucky. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing Erik how grateful I am that we're together."

The red color receded on Erik's face, and he took her hand, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. She smiled, nodding.

"That's sweet," the reporter said, although his saccharine sarcastic tone suggested it was anything but.

"Where are you from?" Another reporter from a major news outlet interjected, making the tone more hospitable.

Clara spent the rest of the interview telling them about herself and her family, sticking to facts. The whole thing lasted perhaps half an hour, but afterward, she felt as wrung out as a mop. Erik escorted her back to the apartments, arranging for the castle's kitchen to send up tea and scones.

"That was harder than I thought," she admitted. "How do you stand it?"

Erik sighed. "This is why I've never loved the political side of what the family does," he said. "I can get lost in music for hours at a time, and it seems like a blink. But put me in a room full of reporters or ministers for fifteen minutes, and it feels like a century. All relative, I guess." He looked resolved. "We'll get used to it."

She frowned, thinking of the rude reporter.

"We'll handle it, I'm sure," she echoed, even though she got the feeling things were about to get even rougher.