Page 48 of Coronation (Royally Forbidden #1)
Thirty
Zelda
“ A re you sure everything is okay? Like, absolutely positive?”
Jean, my newly hired private midwife, frowns as she wipes off the end of the ultrasound wand.
“There is no way to be absolutely positive about anything, dear,” she tells me calmly, setting the device back into its holder with a plastic clatter and planting her hands on her hips.
The woman has a strong, grandmotherly vibe that immediately put me at ease, but I don’t get the sense she tolerates a lot of nonsense from soon-to-be first-time mothers.
“As of now, we have no reason to believe anything is wrong. You’re young, healthy, and your baby is measuring appropriately.
We’ll know more when we get the results of the genetic testing back and following your anatomy scan at twenty weeks. ”
It’s not the best reassurance I’ve ever heard, but it will have to do for now.
Tearing my gaze away from Jean, I stare at my bare stomach, still shining with ultrasound jelly.
It’s still flat for now, but the tiny, fluttering heartbeat I just heard for the first time proves there really is something happening.
The baby isn’t just an abstract idea anymore. I’m really pregnant. I’m having an actual human baby— Ben’s baby.
“Do you have any reason to believe something is wrong?”
I wince, finally taking the napkins she left beside me to mop up the jelly. “No. I’m just tired. More tired than I’ve ever been in my life. I could sleep all day, and it wouldn’t be enough.”
“Yes, well, your body is undergoing a fairly significant change. Tired is to be expected. Aside from that, do you have any of the father’s genetic history?
” She poses the question tactfully, as if she has never seen my face on the cover of a magazine alongside a very well-known man in this country.
I suppose she wouldn’t know for sure that Ben is the father, but I really doubt the woman has failed to consider she may be caring for the King of Stelland’s firstborn child.
Jesus, it’s just now occurring to me that I’m carrying an actual prince or princess. Or, wait, am I? Ben and I aren’t married. Does that matter? Something tells me that in an institution as old as the Ashwell royal family, it most certainly does matter.
I swing my legs over the side of my bed and sit up, offering Jean a grimace. “He doesn’t know. About the baby, I mean. Not yet. He’s, you know, healthy though.”
Jean nods slowly, taking this in. “A good start. Are you planning for him to be involved?”
“I… I think so. If he wants to be.” Even with the uncertain status of our relationship and the rocky beginning, I know he’ll want to be.
Ben isn’t going to be a deadbeat father, or the kind of parent who writes a check every month to avoid taking any actual role in his child’s life.
He’ll be there for our son or daughter, and I’m running out of ways to convince myself that could be anything but good .
He’s trying so hard, doing actual work on himself to earn my trust again, and he isn’t a bad person.
In the week since my unexpected move into Fernmoor House and our kiss, he’s been acting very boyfriend-y , calling every night we aren’t together, and making an obvious effort to be more open and transparent about himself.
It isn’t at all difficult to imagine Ben rising to the occasion and being a really good dad. We’re hardly the first couple to find ourselves in this situation—okay, maybe not this exact situation—but still. It’s becoming increasingly apparent that I’m the problem here. Or, rather, my fear is.
Telling Ben would mean trusting myself and him, and that’s… a lot. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, but I don’t have the luxury of unlimited time to get it together.
“Well, dear. I’ll see you next month.” Jean pats my hand, obviously sensing the internal spiral won’t be concluding any time soon. She fixes me with a stern look. “The best you can do now is relax . Stress is as bad for a growing fetus as anything.”
Oh, this lady has my number. I let out a strained laugh. “I’ll try. Things have been a little crazy.”
The midwife hums as she turns away, setting her medical instruments back in her bag. “I understand you’re here working on a movie. That must be exciting.”
“It is,” I agree, getting to my feet. We’ve set up in my bedroom at Fernmoor House, and once Jean leaves, I’ll only have an hour to prepare for yet another not-so-fake date, one that’s a step into much more serious territory.
This won’t be another semi-public appearance, carefully engineered for us to be seen together, but to leave plenty of room for the press to speculate about the nature of our relationship.
Tonight, I will be the King of Stelland’s official date. That is anxiety-inducing on its own, but the fact that we’ll be stepping out together at his ex-wife’s gallery opening definitely isn’t making me any calmer.
Jean finishes packing up her massive medical bag and pauses, looking over at me. “Should I expect to see you as a patient through delivery, or will you be returning to the States?”
“It will depend,” I admit. “The baby’s father is from Stelland, and there are some, um , factors to consider. It’s all kind of up in the air right now, I’m sorry.”
My apology is waved off as Jean heads for the door. “My assistant will be in touch to schedule your next appointment. Remember, minimize stress!”
Easier said than done.
With the movie only a week from wrap, my career seems to have been catapulted to unprecedented heights.
The roles I’m being offered—no audition, screen test, or strings attached—come with paychecks that are about double what I’m making on The Dark House , and Cindy is officially over me being so non-committal.
While I can’t exactly blame her, I also can’t tell her why. Not yet.