The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

13

Clara was nervous and excited as the trade summit got into full swing. She was wearing a sober but stylish white Chanel suit, her hair up in a French twist. She was also wearing a flashy engagement ring that the royal jeweler had concocted, although she missed the cheap plastic ring Erik had given her. It gave her a boost of confidence, and she’d tucked it away in her pocket.

The delegates were in a gorgeous conference room, all paneled dark wood walls and matching wood tables, the flags for the various countries flanking the walls. The large round table was equipped with microphones and each country’s party had its own area, little name tags, the works, much like a tiny U.N.

It was one thing to read about this sort of thing in dry white papers and various professorial texts about international economics. This was seeing it in real life. It was all the difference between seeing a football game down at the pub, and actually being in the stands. She was over the moon.

She glanced over at Erik. He seemed… well, less interested in the goings-on, she thought with a tiny smile.

“Mynia has been increasing its exports in pharmaceuticals, and providing cutting-edge medical research to the world at large,” Pelle said, his ease and comfort in communicating the information telling her he was used to this kind of thing. “Reinia has been creating electronics and high-performing technology, attracting some of the best scientists and engineers across Europe and beyond. And of course, Fervia has a robust and growing financial and insurance industry, as well as an increased interest in alternative energy, especially wind turbines.”

“Yes, this country is indeed windy,” the Aldland Finance Minister said with a chuckle. He was wearing an expensive suit, his hair had enough product in it to fend off a missile attack, and his grin reminded her of a shark, as did his flat, emotionless eyes. Pelle smiled indulgently.

“We also have a growing entertainment industry,” Erik interjected into his microphone, which Pelle acknowledged with a nod and a slight frown. The Aldland Finance Minister seemed less impressed by this.

Clara took notes as the various Ministers of International Trade spoke their piece about the benefits and opportunities that Aldland joining the trade bloc with the island nations would offer. Erik was also scribbling something in his notebook. She peeked, only to find that he wasn’t writing words at all. He’d doodled a picture of windmills along the margins, then he’d made rough musical staves with various notes sketched along them.

Apparently he was a bit bored, she thought. And composing.

It looked like they were going to wrap up the day’s events, before perhaps some private meetings later in the evening between various countries. They would have the afternoon free. The Aldland Finance Minister cleared his throat.

“Your mention of the entertainment industry brings up a point, Prince Erik.” His voice was slimy, just this side of smug… or at least, that’s how it sounded to Clara. He had a smile that looked like one of those late-night adverts where a too-toothy man tried to sell you glue that could keep a naval ship from sinking. “Before we break for the day, I thought it might be prudent to mention a very small addendum to the agenda.”

She felt the tension immediately snap into the room as the various princes looked at each other. Even Erik seemed a little on edge. “Addendum?” he asked.

“Minor point, really.” The Finance Minister’s sharkish smile went wider. She hadn’t thought that was possible. “Aldland will be imposing tariffs on countries that are exporting intellectual property that we feel… well, that doesn’t reflect the standards and principles of our country, and which might have a morally questionable influence on our beliefs.”

The island princes exchanged glances, looking surprised, uncomfortable, and confused. “I’m sorry,” Erik said. “I’m not sure I’m following. Could you give an example of this questionable influence?”

“Specifically, we will be imposing tariffs on countries that allow for entertainment which mentions, ah, things that we do not as a country support or find appropriate.”

“Such as…?” Prince Nic asked.

The Finance Minister cleared his throat. “We find same-sex marriage objectionable. Just as a simple, solitary example. And any entertainment—including in this trade collective—that portrays this sort of moral depravity will either have significantly increased tariffs, or be banned from the country altogether.” He looked around the table. “It is a minor point, but one we feel strongly about, and one we’d like to think the trade committee will consider adopting not only in light of Aldland, but for themselves, as well.”

Clara choked. “Excuse me?” she burst out, too shocked to stop herself.

The Finance Minister’s fake-polite veneer slipped as he took in her outburst. “I assure you, young lady,” he said with all the confidence only a habitual mansplainer could muster, “this is not an unusual request. In fact, the World Trade Organization has provisions built in to protect a country’s public morals. The General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade…”

“The GATT allows for trade-restrictive measures on things like… like unfair labor practices, and animal cruelty, and environmental destruction!” she protested. “Are you saying you see same-sex marriage in the same light as illegal child labor and species endangerment?”

“Not the same, per se,” he said, all semblance of a smile wiped out as he glared at her. “But we do feel that these sorts of, ah, examples will affect our country’s long-held traditional beliefs, not to mention contributing to worldwide moral decay.”

“Do your conditions also feature further morality provisos, not included under ‘questionable’ intellectual property like books and films?” she pressed. “Are you including any of the aforementioned issues that the GATT normally addresses?”

“Well… no.” He huffed out an impatient breath. “We didn’t see the need…”

“So, to clarify: you’re all right with an eight-year-old getting paid pennies to go blind hand-sewing rugby balls, and you’re fine with, say, endangered baby seals getting clubbed to death for luxury coats… but a fictional depiction of two grown, law-abiding men promising to love each other for life is somehow ‘morally questionable’ and open to economic reprisal?”

“We are a Christian country, Ms. Campbell,” he all but growled. “We will not abide this!”

“Are you the Vatican, then?” she shot back. “Because unless you’re The Holy See, I’m fairly certain that there aren’t any other official theocracies in Europe!”

The man’s face was turning a livid shade of purple. “Does this Londoner speak for Fervia, then?” he spat out to Pelle, who was pale.

Clara blinked as the enormity of what she’d just done sank in.

She’d just told off a pompous, bigoted…

… Finance Minister.

During a trade summit.

Where she was a guest, and barely even Erik’s fiancée.

Oh, shit.

* * *

Erik had never been particularly interested in statecraft, and he’d never really attended a trade summit before. The whole day, he’d been feeling like he was sprinting just to keep up with everyone strolling. It was definitely not his wheelhouse.

But he was fairly certain things had gone unequivocally to hell.

The Finance Minister of Aldland was apoplectic, Pelle looked like he’d swallowed an angry blowfish, and Nic and Ben seemed agog at how quickly things had jumped the rails. Clara’s expression held a combination of obvious dislike of the Finance Minister—who, in her defense, was a complete wanker—and utter horror that she’d essentially caused an international incident.

Since Pelle had not answered, the Finance Minister turned to Erik. “Well? She’s your fiancée,” he snarled. “What do you have to say about this insult?”

Erik swallowed hard. The thing was, he had no background in this. He didn’t know what a GATT was, or about tariffs, or any of that. He imagined he’d be picking stuff up in context as he went along. He knew his father was counting on creating this trade commission, a bloc between the island nations and Aldland. To see it jettisoned this way would probably create an unbelievably damaging chaos and jeopardize future trade deals between Aldland and Fervia.

That said… he also knew, on a gut level, that what Aldland was asking was prejudiced at best, utterly reprehensible at worst. And if he were going to step up as a prince, and a husband, he couldn’t back down and give in to the whims of a homophobic regime—especially when homophobia was only the single example he knew about. God knew what else Aldland might consider problematic.

“I stand by my future wife,” Erik said, enunciating clearly and covering her hand with his. “While she may have originated in London, she is going to be Fervian, as are our children. She has a future here, with me. I insisted that she participate in this trade summit.”

“She’s not even your wife yet,” the Finance Minister snapped. “And frankly, I don’t understand why these spouses have any part in this anyway. That’s what the damned gala is for, if you want to show off your women! We’re here to discuss business!”

Aliana, who had been silent up to this point, leaned forward, her aqua eyes bright. “I have a Master’s in International Finance from HEC in Paris,” she said, her tone quiet but powerful. “And I, too, can speak for Fervia when I say we are not a monolith.”

Pelle looked proud, stroking his wife’s shoulder, before shooting a chastising glare at the Finance Minister. “She’s absolutely right. We recognize diversity in all things in Fervia—including, but not limited to, both sexual orientation and religion.”

“Mynia absolutely supports personal freedoms,” Nic added. “And we cannot, in good conscience, support any agreement that arbitrarily and judgmentally limits those freedoms.”

“The fact that Aldland expects the island nations, who have long supported inclusivity, to support this kind of draconian tariff, gives the kingdom of Reinia pause when it comes to entering this trade agreement,” Ben finally added, looking stern.

The Finance Minister could see he was vastly outnumbered and outclassed. His face looked purple. “I will discuss this with the Prime Minister,” he said, each word clipped and curt.

“You do that,” Erik murmured, as he watched the Finance Minister retreat, followed quickly by his retinue. Erik turned to Clara, who looked pale as a sheet. “You were magnificent,” he said, and meant it. “You told him off but good.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed. “I didn’t… I shouldn’t… it wasn’t my place. At all. I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“You were thinking that the man was a bigoted jackarse who was trying to sneak in his own prejudice and get us to go along,” Erik said, causing her to let out a watery hiccup of a laugh. He grinned. “How are you feeling? That meeting was stressful.”

“It was,” she agreed carefully. “I think I’ll go up to the apartments, have a bit of a lie down.”

He kissed her cheek. “I think I’ll need to stay here a bit, but I’ll come up shortly,” he told her. She smiled at him, still looking a little wan. He gestured to an assistant. “Please make sure she’s accompanied to our apartments?”

“Of course, Your Highness.” With that, the assistant escorted her out.

Erik got up, trying to subtly stretch. He hated sitting for that long. It was like the worst parts of uni all over again. Pelle, Aliana, Nic, and Ben were already talking together when he approached. “How bad is this? Are things ruined irrevocably? Should I have done something else?” He frowned. “Although honestly, I don’t know what else I should have done. This whole thing caught me completely off guard.”

Pelle sighed. “We knew that they were more conservative than most of the European countries,” he said. “But this was…”

“Underhanded,” Ben said with obvious distaste. “He thought that, since we’d gotten this far in negotiations, we’d think it was too late, or be too hesitant to wreck the existing agreements. That we’d be too greedy to throw away a plum deal over what he considers a negligible issue.”

“Bastard,” Nic said succinctly.

“Sexist, phobic bastard,” Aliana added, leaning against Pelle.

“You all were brilliant, though,” Erik added. “I appreciate you backing Clara’s stance.”

“She was the brilliant one,” Pelle said with an encouraging smile. “Perhaps not the most diplomatic, but in this day and age, and with certain people, couching your intent in fancy phrases is pointless. She was knowledgeable, she was inimitable, and she absolutely flayed his argument. That woman was born for politics.”

“Yes,” Erik said with feeling. “Yes, she was.”