The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

12

After the press conference, Erik and Clara began braving the public more, under the blessing of his father and the publicists. They had dinner at a fancy restaurant in the heart of the capital; he showed her the historical sites of the country, acting as tour guide, even while he surreptitiously made sure that she wasn't exhausting herself. They'd made a conscious decision not to let the press know about the pregnancy yet, knowing that they'd probably be nasty about it, casting aspersions about a royal shotgun wedding. Erik wanted to protect Clara from that, as best he could.

Today, they were going to the opening of a charitable cafe, one of Pelle's wife Aliana's pet projects. The cafe trained people from disadvantaged backgrounds how to cook, and offered jobs either front of house, waiting tables, or in the back, cleaning up. The cafe also offered a sliding scale, paying what you could, and catered to the needs of the homeless in Fervia. Aliana supported a number of charities, but she was particularly proud of this. He wanted to make sure he and Clara showed their support.

The cafe itself was modern and bright, with big windows and clean, minimalist design, very Scandinavian. There was a line at the counter, and Pelle and Aliana were actually behind the counter, talking with some of the staff, taking selfies. Erik grinned.

"What can I get you?" he asked Clara, squeezing her hand. But when he looked over, she was ignoring the glossy glass cake of pastries and the shiny coffee machines. Instead, her gaze was fixed on a tabloid paper that some customer had left behind on one of the tabletops.

He picked it up, ignoring her sound of distress, and read the headline: PLAYBOY PRINCE ACTING AT HAPPY FAMILIES.

He bristled. "What the hell?"

"It's not a big deal," Clara said, but her voice sounded weak. "I think it was that reporter who didn't like me at the press conference."

Erik continued scanning the article. Prince Erik hasn't had a relationship that's lasted longer than a few months, and he's certainly never been engaged. While he seems sincere, how long will it be before his eye starts roving and those bored feet head for the door?

"What. The. Hell." Erik felt his blood boiling. He was used to tabloids and gossip—you couldn't be a prince, or any sort of quasi-celebrity, and not make some sort of peace with journalists thinking they had the right to every corner of your life. But while they'd poked fun at his casual lifestyle and maybe nitpicked his relationships, they'd never been quite this bloodthirsty about it. He felt Clara squeeze his arm. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said, but he could tell that she wasn't. She looked pale, when her cheeks usually glowed with the pregnancy. She bit her lip. "They do seem to feel like you're going to bolt, don't they?"

"I'm not," he said quickly, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a comforting hug, ignoring the curious smiles of the people around them. He kissed her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

"That's a comfort," she said wryly. "But they're just looking to stir up trouble. I have to think that they'll get bored and find someone else to torment when we don't provide them any scandal fodder."

"You're probably right." Even as he said the words, a niggling little doubt was stuck in his mind, like a thorn. The reporters seemed downright offended that their bachelor playboy was settling down. It was edging into mean-spirited.

"Come on," she said. "I'd like to try an eclair, I think. I didn't eat anything this morning, and I'm starving."

"Still having some problems in the morning?" he murmured, but not loudly enough for anyone else to overhear.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "Get me something decadent, with a million calories."

He laughed and ordered her an eclair, while he got himself an espresso. Then the two of them admired the cafe, met all the staff, and talked with some of the cafe customers, who looked a little starstruck by the attention.

“Aliana and Pelle did a great thing with this café,” Clara noticed, as she nibbled at the sweet. “They’re good people, aren’t they?”

“Even though he can be somewhat stiff, Pelle’s one of the best people I know,” Erik admitted. “And Aliana is quiet, and somewhat shy, but that just means she’s underestimated. She’s sweet, and she works behind the scenes.”

“I like them,” Clara said, a bit absently. “And I like the idea of helping people, through charitable work and policy. I can’t wait to see what I might be able to contribute.”

“I’m sure you’ll be amazing,” Erik said, and he meant it.

“How about you? What would you like to pursue?”

He frowned. He’d never really thought about it, and his father usually dictated, rather than asked. “Something with music,” he said instinctively, then winced. “Our schools often have trouble finding the funding for musical instruments, and there are studies that prove that musical aptitude helps with, you know, maths and things.” He felt his chest warm. “I think that would be something.”

“I think,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it, “that you would be great at that.”

After an hour, Clara was looking a little wrung out.

"You all right?" he asked again. He got the feeling he'd be asking that for the next six months.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was tight. "The eclair was delicious, but I think I'm ready to head back to the castle. I could use a nap."

He called his driver on his mobile phone, then tried not to be too obvious in helping her up out of her chair. She smiled at him, and they headed for the door.

When he opened it, though, they were met with a wall of bodies. Reporters surrounded them like circling sharks, yelling a chaotic overlapping mess of questions as paparazzi’s camera flashes peppered them like lightning.

"Prince Erik! Prince Erik!" a reporter asked, as the crowd jostled around them. "Are you planning on going to the upcoming trade summit? Prince Nicolas of Mynia and Prince Ben of Reinia are here, as is the Prime Minister of Aldland. Is it true you're going in Pelle's place? Why would you replace the Crown Prince?"

"I'm not replacing anyone," Erik protested, then realized he'd been baited into answering. He sighed. "I will be attending the trade summit, however. While it has been traditionally attended by only the Crown Prince, we're working on making the summits more inclusive. I take the welfare of Fervia seriously. That's why I want to be there, to learn more about our country and contribute however I can to its well-being and growth."

He thought that was all right, considering it was on the fly. He was sure he'd get an earful from the publicists later, but he'd deal with that then.

"And you, Ms. Campbell?" The reporter turned to Clara. "Are you planning on attending the trade summit? After all, you've got a background in politics." He paused a beat, then snickered, speaking in an aside to the other reporters. "I mean, if setting out chairs for a campaign presser and stuffing envelopes could be considered a background."

Erik wanted to strangle the man. Clara, on the other hand, stood straight, eyes snapping. "Was there something you want to say specifically about me, sir?" she asked, in an even, icy voice. "Let's not mince words."

Erik realized he had to step in, both to protect Clara, and to prevent any further bad blood between the royal family and the press. "Of course Clara will be attending the trade summit as well," he said, and he could see the reporters' surprise as they held out their phones, recording his statements. He hoped he hadn't screwed that up, but damn it, he wanted to include Clara in as much of his life as possible, and he hated the mocking tone in their voices. "As I said, inclusive. I for one am very interested in hearing Clara's comments and contributions, since she's going to be a citizen of Fervia, as well. Thank you."

With that, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and shoved his way forward, making a hole to the door. His driver and bodyguard cleared the rest of the way to the backseat of the glossy black Escalade. He let out a long breath as the car got started.

"Well, that was a nightmare," he said off the cuff, then looked at Clara. "I hate that I keep asking, but are you all right?"

This time, though, she didn't answer. She'd barely slipped her seat belt on when her eyes rolled back in her head, which lolled against the seat back.

Erik's blood went cold. "Shit!" He turned to his driver. "Get us to the hospital. Now!"

* * *

Erik sat in the small private waiting room at the Fervian hospital, sweating in his suit, his mind racing with worry. He wished he'd remembered to stick his earbuds into his jacket pocket. His father had disapproved of his habit, saying that there was no reason a grown man needed to have headphones all the time, and that it was rude to ignore the people around him. But right now, music would calm him down immensely. He was still angry at the reporters, whose invasive questions he felt were probably responsible for Clara's collapse. A good dose of thrash metal or even some Wagner would probably help with that. Or he could go the other way, and listen to something soothing. Mozart, or Saint-Saens. Hell, he'd even settle for crooners like Michael Bublé or Frank Sinatra at this point. Music was a lifeline for him, and it really would've been helpful right about now.

He frowned, looking for some way to distract himself. He ignored the magazines that were fanned out on the side table, seeing that many of them were Royal Watch styled glossies, and he knew that would just get him angrier.

He looked instead at the financial newspaper. There was mention of the upcoming trade summit. The island nations of Fervia, Mynia, and Reinia had been acting as a collective bloc for economic reasons for decades, and it had served them well. Now, Aldland was looking at entering the bargaining. Aldland provided a lot of imports for the islands, ones that they could not easily provide for themselves, especially agricultural supplies, while the islands provided finished goods. He knew that the minister of the economy had left him documents to bone up on the trade summit, and he'd given them a cursory glance. He really needed to buckle down and get more serious. He could probably access the documents from his phone, now that he thought about it. Not that he could concentrate, though. His attention for economic details was limited in the best of circumstances. Now, waiting to find out if there was something seriously wrong with his future wife and child? There was no chance in hell that he was going to be able to focus.

It was amazing how something so small, this tiny, amorphous, almost sheerly conceptual child had upended his life. He'd already made a promise to his family after his mother's death, to be more serious, to prove that he was a worthy member of the royal family. His father had been so heartbroken and lost when his mother died... and Erik felt like he'd contributed to his disappointment and loss. Now, he had even more people counting on him to be responsible, to prove that he was ready to be an adult and to take on all the duties that entailed. He needed to prove himself worthy. He couldn't screw this up.

The doctor walked up to him, and Erik was on his feet before he consciously thought about it. "How is she? How is the baby?" he asked in a rush.

"First, the baby is fine," the doctor, a middle-aged woman with ash-brown hair, said with a small smile. "The mother's fine, as well, but obviously tired. I know she's got an OB-GYN here on the island, so I consulted. We're going to be adjusting her vitamins. And I know she's been suffering some morning sickness, but you need to make sure that she's hydrated and eating properly, as best she can, when the sickness dissipates."

Erik thought of the eclair he got Clara and winced. "Eating properly. Got it." He made a mental note to accompany her on all her OB-GYN appointments from here on.

"Honestly, I get the feeling that she was reacting to stress," the doctor added. "I don't suppose I need to ask if she's been experiencing any stress lately."

He laughed. "Um, yeah. It's been a transition."

"Why don't we go see her?" the doctor offered. She led him into the hospital room, a dusty pink room that had a comfortable looking bed. She then excused herself, giving them a moment of privacy.

Clara was in a hospital gown, looking sheepish. "Sorry," she said. "I don't know what happened."

Erik sat by her side, taking her hand. "The doctor says that we need to make sure you're hydrated and eating well," he said. "Oh. And avoid stress."

She snickered. "Yeah, okay. We'll see how that goes."

"I'm serious," he said, squeezing her fingers lightly. "I know I said you should go to the trade summit, but if it's too much..."

"Erik," she said firmly. "When you asked me to marry you, what kind of wife did you think I'd be?"

He blinked. "I don't understand."

"Did you think I would be... I don't know, ornamental?" she asked, and her gaze bore into his. "Just a trophy?"

He shook his head. "Hardly."

"I wanted to be involved in politics," she said. "Admittedly, this isn't the way I thought I would be involved, but if there's a chance for me to make a difference—in policy, in trade, in law—I want to be able to see what's going on first hand. I don't want to be protected." She grimaced. "Besides, if I don't go, the reporters will no doubt print up something horrible. While I don't normally give a damn what people think, it will look bad for you. For the family. I don't want that."

He sighed. She was right... and thinking much more clearly about the situation than he was.

The doctor came back in, interrupting them with a small smile. "I meant to ask," she said. "Were you planning on keeping the sex of the baby a surprise until birth?"

Erik goggled. "You know that?"

"We did an ultrasound to make sure the baby was all right," the doctor said. “We can’t be a hundred percent certain yet unless we do more testing, but I can make a fairly educated guess. If you want to wait, you can find out in another few weeks.”

Erik looked at Clara. She looked excited, and nervous, but she nodded. Erik turned back to the doctor, nodding as well.

"Congratulations," the doctor said warmly. "You're most likely expecting a baby girl."

Erik felt his heart hammer in his chest. "A girl," he repeated, feeling stunned.

Clara squeezed his hand. "A little girl," she marveled, then wiped at her eyes. He kissed her, gently. He was going to have a wife, and now a little princess of his own to take care of.

If anything was going to hammer home the point, this was it. He had to get his act together, grow up—become the prince his father and everyone else seemed to expect. Too much rested on it.