The Billionaire Prince’s Pregnant Fiancée by Leslie North

7

I think I’m ready.

Clara couldn’t stop thinking of their karaoke night, and more importantly, the charged moment after they had sung—right before she’d gone to bed. She had barely slept as a result. She’d almost gotten up, padded barefoot down the hallway, and knocked on Erik’s bedroom door. And told him that her whole decision to keep things platonic until they were sure that marriage was a good idea was possibly the worst decision she’d ever made in her life.

She would probably then drop her robe, leap upon him on the bed… and then things would… ensue.

Right now, though, she’d survived another eating lesson with that horrid etiquette woman. At least they’d decided that Clara could consume food without too much embarrassment, so they’d moved on to the riveting topic of “properly sitting in chairs.” And if she passed that with flying colors, they’d eventually graduate to shaking hands in a receiving line. Heady stuff.

Still, it meant that she could leave class early. She didn’t have to meet with the minister of Communications or any publicists for the rest of the week, so she and Erik had some free time to just hang out. They’d spent some time walking the medieval parapets, and while the heights made her a little dizzy, the view was simply stunning. Having Erik’s arm around her shoulder didn’t hurt, either, warding off the chill of the wind. From there, they’d descended to check out a courtyard garden she’d seen from atop the wall. It wasn’t huge, like the grounds around Buckingham or anything, but it was precious and sweet, filled with an abundance of multicolored flowers, like a little jewel box. There was even a small pond in the center, where a mama duck and her downy little babies swam in lazy circles. She held Erik’s hand, sighing.

This felt very couple-y. And natural. And right.

We’re definitely ready to move to the next level, from an intimacy standpoint.

“Is that a new dress?” he teased, since pretty much all her wardrobe was new. “It’s pretty.”

“Yes, thank you for noticing,” she said, doing a little fake curtsey. “You look rather nice, yourself.”

Although “nice” didn’t quite do it justice. He was wearing another suit, this time in a deep navy blue, with a snowy white shirt and a dark blue tie with silver diagonal stripes. He looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ. He could put that on Instagram and get a billion likes within minutes.

She swallowed. Definitely ready to move to the next level.

She knew that she might be justifying things because, on a physical level, she simply wanted Erik, to the point where she was ready to smuggle him up to his royal apartments and spend the rest of the afternoon replaying their night in London—and then some.

“Erik, I was thinking…”

“Are you all right?” he asked quickly, concern crossing his handsome face. “Do you need to sit down?” He guided her towards an ornate stone bench. She sat, patting the seat next to her. When he sat down, she could feel his body heat, up against her side.

“Um. Last night was a lot of fun,” she began, wondering how to say “I would like to have wild passionate sex with you” in a delicate and couth way.

“It was fun.” He grinned. “We should do that again sometime.”

They were quiet for a moment, just watching the ducks. She cleared her throat, trying again.

“I know I said…”

But before she could continue, the mobile phone in her pocket rang. She winced, having forgotten she’d brought it with her. She pulled it out, then frowned when she saw it was her father. “I’m sorry,” she quickly told Erik, then answered the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, petal,” her father said, sounding uncomfortable. “I’m not catching you at a bad time, am I?”

Well, he sort of was, but she was hardly going to say that. Besides, she hadn’t spoken with her parents in a week. “It’s fine, Da. How are you and Mum doing?”

“Now, that’s the thing.” The discomfort in her father’s voice intensified. “Your Mum’s had another flare-up, I’m afraid.”

Clara shot to her feet. “How bad?”

“Ah, Clara, you know how these things go…”

“How bad, Da?” she asked, more insistently.

He sighed. “She’s having trouble walking, pet. All that pain in her hips. We’re thinking she won’t be able to go back to the café for at least a few days, maybe a week.”

Clara blanched. “Oh, God.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Now, now!” he quickly protested. “I just wanted you to know, because I know you’d scald me if your mum was off her feet for a week and I didn’t tell you. Mum didn’t even want me to ring you, to be honest.”

“Why not?”

“Because your life just got a lot more complicated, didn’t it?” he replied. “Pregnant, and off with a prince, to boot!”

She’d shared the news with her parents over the phone, letting them know that she was moving to Fervia and marrying Erik. They’d taken it largely in stride, although she suspected her father thought it all might be some kind of reality show prank or something. She could still hear the disbelief in his voice.

Of course, there were some days she wasn’t sure it was real, either, so she couldn’t blame him.

“I’m pregnant, not completely incapable,” she protested. “And you can’t tell me you don’t need the help.”

Her father remained stubbornly silent.

“Besides, I don’t want Mum alone all day, in pain, if I can help it,” she said. “I’ll figure out a flight and be home soon. All right?”

Her father sighed. “It would be a help,” he agreed. “But I’m sorry we’re dragging you away…”

“It’s no trouble when it’s family,” she said, her heart warm. “Talk soon.”

She rang off, then turned to Erik, who was studying her carefully. “Your mother,” he said. “Something’s wrong? Is there an emergency?”

He looked worried. Actually, he looked like he was going to be sick. Then she remembered abruptly: his mother had died, some five or six months ago now. “No, no, nothing like that,” she quickly reassured him. “My mum has fibromyalgia, and every now and then, she has flare-ups. It’s not life threatening, but it is chronic. The attacks last a few days or a week, sometimes a bit longer. In that time, she has difficulty moving—walking, getting from room to room, what have you.”

“I don’t know much about it,” he admitted. “It sounds bad.”

“It’s no picnic,” she said, sighing. “But Mum’s a trooper. That said, when Mum’s in that way, she can’t go to work. She can barely get herself to the loo, you know? She certainly can’t clean or cook or anything.” She felt her voice slipping into the cadences of Towers Hamlet, her parents’ accent, not the plummy upper-class accent she’d cultivated during her work at Kew and her course at college.

Erik tilted his head, like an inquisitive bird. “So…?”

She blinked at him. “So?” She paused, surprised by the question. “So I need to go back to London.”

He blinked back. “Why?”

“Because… because she needs my help!”

He frowned.

“But Clara,” he said, his voice completely matter-of-fact. “Of course you can’t go. Not now. Not at all.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open. “I beg your pardon?”

* * *

Erik knew immediately that he’d said the wrong thing somehow, but he just wasn’t sure what. “You can’t possibly leave right now,” he restated. And sure enough, her green eyes glowed incandescent with anger.

“We’ll get to the part where you’re telling me what I can and can’t do in a moment,” she said, her voice glacial cold. “First off, though, why do you think I shouldn’t leave?”

He sighed. “We’ve got the royal engagement announcement in just ten days,” he pointed out. “That’s going to be huge, a bigger deal than I think you realize. News outlets from around the world are going to be covering it. We still haven’t nailed down all the talking points around revealing the royal pregnancy, either, and I know the minister will want us to practice the language.” He sighed, wanting to rub his temples at the headache he knew that would induce. “And on the heels of that, we’ve got the trade summit between Fervia, Mynia, Reinia, and Aldland. Not that you need to be a part of that, per se, but I’m sure there are more etiquette lessons and whatnot that will have to happen, especially prior to the big gala at the finale of the conference. And that doesn’t even touch on the royal wedding plans that we really need to address a bit more quickly.”

She glared at him. “Let me get this straight: you’re saying that a press conference, and a fancy dress party, and some more lessons from Miss Bloody Manners, are more important than helping my parents?”

“Well, that seems unfairly simplistic,” he muttered, then sighed again. “What I mean is this is globally important. More, ah, macrocosm than microcosm.”

“Yes, well, I love my ‘microcosm’—because it’s my family,” she said sharply. “Somehow, I think the world will still spin if I botch a sentence in a prepared speech at our engagement announcement!”

“I don’t suppose your father could help your mother?” he asked, feeling irritated himself. “With the cooking and cleaning, that sort of thing? Especially if it’s only for a week!”

“My father’s a custodian at a school,” she retorted. “It’s a good steady job, but not exactly a gold mine. It takes both my parents’ salaries to keep them afloat. So when my mum can’t work, he picks up the slack by working at a pub, getting paid under the table, to make up for her lost wages. He doesn’t have the time or the energy to boil himself an egg after that, much less make a dinner for Mum!”

Erik sighed. Obviously, he was coming off like a right asshole, and a heartless one at that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand,” he said, and was glad to see her expression turn somewhat mollified. That is, until his next sentence. “We can certainly fix this. I’ll call my father’s private secretary, make sure that your mother gets some help. Private chef, house cleaning service. And I’m sure we could simply cover her lost wages, so your father doesn’t feel the need to work the extra hours. That would be exhausting for anyone.”

There. He’d solved the problem. He preened a little, proud of himself for finally fixing something.

She looked at him like he was something nasty that she’d stepped in. “This isn’t about throwing money at the problem,” she said, shaking her head. “I haven’t even seen them since I found out about the pregnancy. They found out about their grandchild over the phone. And I’ve helped Mum with this for ages. Now, you want me to simply… simply hire some outsiders, and tell them best of luck? What am I supposed to do if it turns out to be more serious? Offer them a check? Have some… some private secretary visit them with condolences and a hearty handshake? Make a public proclamation?”

“Well, now you’re just being dramatic,” he said, and knew immediately that he’d screwed up. Royally, one might say.

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what it’s like,” she said, her voice harsh despite its quiet tone. “To work three jobs to make ends meet. To be bone-exhausted at the end of the day, and know the next day is just more of the same. There’s no calling down to the kitchens or having the housemaids make up the bed. There’s just struggle, and making it work. And counting on your family, if you’re lucky, to help you through it.”

She crossed her arms.

“They count on me,” she said. “And I am not abandoning them.”

He swallowed. She was right—on a number of levels.

When was the last time anyone, least of all his family, had ever counted on him?

“You’re right,” he said, slowly. “We should go.”

“Wait.” She gaped. “We?”

“I’ve made a mistake here, obviously,” he added. “Besides, I should meet your parents, don’t you think? And despite my glaring errors, I’d like to think that I could be there. You know, in case you needed anything. From me.”

He cleared his throat, feeling his heart beating like a panicked thing in his chest.

She nodded. “All right. You can come with me.”

“I’ll get it all arranged,” he said, then retreated before he could say anything else that would set her off, and damage their fragile relationship further.