The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

17

Clara was sitting in Holly's charming little house, not far from the heart of Fervia's capital city. It was a small house—well, compared to the castle, anyway. Compared to her flat or her parents' home, it was a spacious three bedroom, full of windows and cute furniture and cheerful photos of Holly and her husband. It was obvious that a happy family lived here. Clara was so envious, she was almost sick to her stomach with it.

Holly poured her a cup of tea, a lemon ginger blend, nothing caffeinated. Clara had sobbed out the details of her engagement with Erik, including the pregnancy. With the grace of a truly good friend, a surprised Holly had quickly offered herbal tea and even some biscuits. Clara couldn't stand the thought of eating. She could barely take the thought of drinking, but she wrapped her hands around the ceramic mug, trying to get the warmth from the hot liquid to somehow seep through and warm her up. She was numb—there was no other word for it.

He just sent me away.

She felt the same way she had when she'd finally figured out that Oxford was not going to happen when she was nineteen. There had been that brief time of euphoria, the delicious sense of possibility... before the rug had been harshly yanked out from under her as she realized there was no way she could leave her parents when they needed her help so desperately.

I got my hopes up.

When will I learn?

She should have known better. She should have bloody known.

"When you're ready to talk about it," Holly murmured, sitting across from her with her own cup of tea, "I'm right here."

Clara took a tentative sip of the tea, probably burning her tongue, but at this point not even caring. "I have to go back to London," she said, her voice seeming to come from somewhere far away.

Holly startled. "What? Why?"

"Erik called it off."

"What, the gala?" Holly whipped out her mobile, scrolling through messages. "I hadn't heard. Has it been canceled?"

"Not the gala. Us." Clara's throat felt like sandpaper. She stared at the mug, a pale blue. Almost like Erik's eyes. She felt a slash of pain, then... nothing.

"You mean... Erik broke up with you?" Holly asked, sounding shocked.

All Clara could do was nod in response.

"Are you all right talking about it?"

Clara shrugged. "I don't know what there is to say," she said, her voice steady, if soft. "It's over."

"Did you fight? Did something happen?"

"You mean other than causing a scandal with Aldland that made them target me in the tabloids?" Clara let out a rough laugh. "Well, there's the little problem of me being a commoner and a political liability. And the fact that he basically had a buffet of eligible women that he slept with prior to me, and he's looking forward to getting back to sampling. So yes. I suppose something did happen."

"Oh, Clara," Holly said, her eyes swimming with sympathy and pity, and Clara had to look away before she started crying. The numbness was jarring, but at the moment, it was protecting her from pain and from completely losing it. She clutched onto it like a life preserver. "Did he say all that?"

"Some of it. I put together the rest myself."

"He couldn't have meant it," Holly said staunchly. "I've seen him with you. The guy's head over heels."

"If he is, he has a funny way of showing it," Clara said with a teary laugh. She bit her cheek, trying to prevent herself from full-blown crying. "It's all right. It's fine. I just... I need to get back to London."

"Are you sure?" Holly asked. "It seems so sudden. Maybe with a little time..."

"He said he wanted me out of Fervia today." Another slice of pain. It hurt, it hurt so badly.

I should have known better.

Holly's eyes narrowed. "This sounds really suspicious."

"Really? I thought it sounded very straightforward," Clara said with a touch of acid in her voice. "He doesn't want me. He said he'll pay for the care and upbringing of our kid, who will still be in the line of succession. But he and I... we're through."

"He's not like this," Holly said.

"Yes, he is!" Clara yelled back. "I literally just talked to him, and he tried to make it sound magnanimous, like he was doing me a favor, but then he simply told me to leave and not come back and it just hurts. It hurts so much!"

Just like that, she broke down, the tears streaming down her cheeks as sobs choked her. She rested her face in her hands, her grief hitting her like a storm. She vaguely registered the sound of Holly dragging her kitchen chair closer to Clara, then the warmth of her hand on Clara's back, rubbing between her shoulder blades, the way you might comfort a child, making soft, soothing noises.

When the worst of the tears passed, she took a napkin, wiping her face, blowing her nose. She looked at Holly, imploring.

"I never should have trusted him. I should have stuck to my guns, asked for the child support, and then kept things... separate,” she said, her voice weary. “But he said it was important for him, and for Fervia. He pointed out how much chemistry we had. What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to marry him?"

She looked over to see Holly smiling at her, a little sadly. "You were in love with him," Holly pointed out. "You still are."

Clara jolted. "What? I'm..."

She blinked. Was she? After so soon?

You've been in love with him for months. Almost since you met him.

She groaned, rubbing at her face. No wonder things went so horribly wrong—and why they hurt so badly right now. "I am," she admitted. "How incredibly stupid of me."

"Why would that be stupid?" Holly's face was inquisitive—it was her reporter's face, the one she wore when she was digging into a story.

"Because it was never a love thing," Clara said brusquely, gripping the mug so tightly she was surprised it wasn't burning her palm. "He asked me so we could make the baby legitimate. It was always a political thing. He's not in love with me."

"Did he say he wasn't in love with you?"

"He didn't say he was," Clara countered. "And he did tell me the other stuff."

"Did you tell him that you were in love with him?"

Clara looked away.

"I'll take that as a no," Holly said. "You said that you should have known better. Why? Has Erik done things that make you realize you shouldn't have trusted him?"

"Are you a therapist as well as a journalist?" Clara snarked.

Holly sighed, not pushing. But her expression was one of disappointment, and Clara immediately felt ashamed.

"It's... it's not Erik," Clara replied. "It's just that good things, really amazing things like that? Don't happen to people like me."

"People like you?" Holly echoed. "What kind of people are those?"

"I don't know. Unlucky people? All I know is, there are some people that the world shines on, and there are some people that it shits on, and if you're smart, you figure out which one you fall under, and prepare accordingly."

"And you're one of the latter."

Clara grimaced. "Historically? Yes."

"When else has it happened?" Holly asked gently.

Clara didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive the pain. But Holly was being so patient, and some part of her felt like it might help drain some of her feelings. She just wanted to get rid of the poisonous anger and despair she was feeling. So she found herself talking, her tongue tripping over itself to keep up with the torrent of emotional words. "Mum got diagnosed with fibromyalgia right when I was making college plans, and after the first year was done, I went back for the summer and never returned to school. How could I, knowing they were at risk of losing the roof over their heads? I moved back into my old bedroom for a bit and helped cover her missing salary while she went from doctor to doctor, trying to figure out how to manage her pain. Oxford had always been my dream, and it was finally there, but my parents needed urgent help. I pushed back my plans for one year, then two, then three… now I’m twenty-five and it all still feels so precarious, like I’m still just one disaster away from losing any progress I’ve made. My parents were so sad, but it can’t happen until I have enough money to make it work." She laughed, a short, bitter laugh.

"You still found ways to build up your political experience, even if they weren’t the most traditional methods," Holly said, quoting what she'd learned during their interview. "You love politics. Why didn't you do something in politics? Why didn't you use your volunteer experience and the connections you’d made to get a job in the field you love?"

"Because I wanted Oxford!" Clara said. "I still want to get my degree from university."

"I see," Holly said. "And you think it was better to waitress and save up that way? To get the college degree? Rather than be a publicist, or something closer to politics, which has more stability, while also saving up money? Take a risk with a loan, given how much that degree would have helped in the long run?"

Clara tilted her head. "Where are you going with this?"

Holly's face was compassionate but held a touch of sternness. "Did it ever occur to you that you always assume that things are going to go badly—so you retreat to what you're used to, and stop struggling for what you think will be hopeless?"

"Excuse me?" Clara snapped, affronted. "I have worked hard every day of my life! I have fought for everything I've ever wanted!"

"Do you want Erik?" Holly asked, her voice kind. "I'm so sorry that you two have had this argument. I know that you're hurting. But if you assume that only bad things happen to you, if you assume that you have to keep fighting and trudging and doing the hardest things and that life will still be horrible... isn't that what you're going to get?"

Clara felt that like a slap. "So you're saying it's my fault?"

"No! No." Holly gave her a comforting pat on her shoulder. "I'm saying it's easy to fall into that trap. When bad things happen, it's self-protecting to try to armor yourself against the disappointments of the world. But after a while, assuming the worst, embracing the worst? That's not a self-protecting mechanism. That's self-harming. It's an overreaction, a good thing turned bad."

Clara bit her lip. She wanted to rail against Holly, and if she'd been her old self, back in London, maybe she would have. But now she was too tired, and too emotionally fragile—and what she was saying made an odd sort of sense.

"One more question," Holly said, her expression serious. "The belief that life will always disappoint you, will punish you for wanting something better. Is that what you want for your child?"

Clara gasped audibly.

"Oh, my God." The thought was devastating. She couldn't bear it.

"There's a chance that Erik doesn't want to have a relationship with you," Holly said quietly. "But from what you've said, and what I know about him... I get the feeling this is his way of doing what you're doing. Protecting you and maybe himself... but doing a bad and hurtful thing in an attempt to do something good. And if you don't fight, you're both going to pay for it."

Clara sniffed. "Thank you, Holly." She sent Holly a lopsided smile. "How do you know all of this?"

"I deal with people every day," Holly said. "I see what makes them tick, and I see how they are when they're under extreme pressure. I've seen Erik, and I've seen you. I know you two are in love, and I want you two to make it."

Clara took a deep breath. "I'm not afraid of fighting," she said. "And I'm not going to back down from taking a risk. Not again."

"That's the spirit," Holly said with approval. "Anything I can help with?"

Clara's mind whirred as she developed a plan. "Do you think you can stop by the castle and grab some things for me?"