Page 49 of The Rest is History

THREE YEARS LATER

T he key turns in the door.

Luke and Leia leap off the sofa and race into the hallway, a maniacal edge to their barks.

I bounce Jack as he stands in my lap.

One-year-old Jack, that is. Not my brother. That would be odd.

‘Mummy’s home!’ I exclaim, widening my eyes and opening my mouth in a comedic expression of surprise, and he responds in full, his green eyes huge and his toothy grin widening until it practically splits his little face in half. He waves his hands in the air, his tiny fists opening and closing.

‘Ma!’

‘That’s right, mate. She’s come home to see her boys.’

I clock the moment he sees his mother over my shoulder, because he bends his little legs and practically tries to vault out of my arms. I hold him firm around his waist and he bounces on my nuts.

I flinch. ‘Oof.’ And turn.

There she is.

The woman who’s turned every fantasy I’ve ever had into reality with her magical powers.

I married her, obviously. As soon as I could get a ring on her finger, which was that first summer together in Italy.

I proposed at our tiny, charming hotel in Ravello, and alongside visiting grottos and swimming in enchanted coves and making love, we tentatively began our research into the sperm donation process.

I married her here, at home. We discussed having the wedding at the palace, but by then El had left her role as Anne, though she still sees her queens religiously for (raucous) monthly drinks.

I’d transitioned from Henry to in-house historian, and getting married at the palace would have felt too much like being at work.

Home was the right place to say our vows.

This place holds our future.

We got seriously lucky. The insemination of the sperm worked second time around, and the fantasy that had tortured me since I laid eyes on her, its allure seemingly impossible, came true.

Elodie was pregnant with our child.

And let me tell you how bowled over I was. Watching my wife go through pregnancy was the most spellbinding, humbling, and erotic experience of my life.

She was fucking glorious. She’ll tell you she was bloated, and her back ached, and she got too many sinus infections.

And that’s true. I tried my hardest to soothe her when she was in discomfort and to take on any part of the burden I could.

But as any partner of a pregnant woman knows, a large part of the experience is standing back in awe and helplessness as the woman you love carries this enormous responsibility essentially single-handed.

My absolute favourite part of the whole process was helping her manage her crazy pregnancy libido.

She got horny in her first trimester, and even as she was battling nausea and exhaustion, her sex organs were on a trajectory all of their own.

We’d fuck in the evenings and make lazy, half-awake love in the mornings.

Whichever way we did it, whatever she needed from me, I was staggered to be able to worship her body.

When Jack arrived two weeks early, we were both punch-drunk. For all that I’ve dreamed of having kids, nothing could have prepared me for the love that would hit me like a fucking freight train.

For that indescribable sensation, when I first laid eyes on him, that I’d met him before. Of course it’s you , I thought. Of course our baby looks like this.

Obviously, I had to come to terms with the fact that the baby my wife was carrying was biologically another man’s child. I went back to my therapist during El’s pregnancy, but the moment I met Jack, all my worries went out the window.

He was the son I was meant to have.

The child I was meant to father for the rest of his life.

El took a full academic year off, and when she went back to work a few weeks ago, I cut my working hours at the palace to three days a week.

I haven’t come this far, or been this desperate to father a child, only to see him for an hour or two before bedtime each weeknight.

The school has worked things so El can cover all of her classes over four days, and on that day we’re both at work, Jack hangs out with our fantastic housekeeper, Gwen.

This arrangement means we get three full days together every week as a family, which is non-negotiable.

And Tuesdays, when Elodie’s at work and I’m at home, are Jack and Daddy days.

They’re rock and roll.

Today we did the park and walked the dogs along the river. We went for ice cream and lay on our tummies in the garden with the dogs. And when Jack had his nap, I caught up on some reading for work.

These days mean everything to me. It’s always been important to me that Jack’s equally close to both of us. That he’s accustomed to having both his parents around in equal measure.

In the earliest days, that meant El feeding him before handing him over to me to burp and change.

It meant taking turns with the night feeds.

Getting her to pump so she could catch up on sleep and I could experience the wondrous intimacy of feeding our sleepy son, his eyelids flickering as he sucked his bottle, his tiny fingers wrapped around one of mine.

These days, it means that we both get to spend quality time with our son. To share his firsts. To have a front-row seat for the greatest show on earth: the growth of this tiny human.

I hold Jack tightly in my arms and stand.

It never fails to hit me.

She never fails to take my breath away.

Every time I see my wife, I marvel at the fact that she agreed to make a life with me. To give me her entire future.

‘Hi sweetheart,’ I breathe, rounding the sofa. Jack has his arms out already, and I get it. We both want a piece of her.

She’s smiling broadly as she puts down her bags and holds her arms out. ‘My boys. Ugh, I’ve missed you both. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’

I hand Jack over and she wraps him in her arms and exhales, as if a part of her was missing and is now complete.

‘Hi, angel,’ she croons into the side of his scented head with its dark, downy hair. ‘How’s my big boy? Did you have a lovely day with Daddy?’

I hover, waiting, and she lifts her head and looks at me. The light of love shining in her eyes takes my breath away, like always.

‘Hi, gorgeous.’ She tilts her face up to me for a kiss and I oblige, stepping around our son to get closer to her.

I touch my lips to hers, my mouth revelling in her pillowy softness.

It’s our signature greeting. Tender. Loving.

And slightly open-mouthed. I run a hand around the back of her neck as I pull regretfully away.

‘Good day?’ I ask, gazing down unashamedly at her. She is so fucking beautiful.

‘Great day.’ She smiles up at me as her hand does laps of Jack’s little back. ‘We ended up getting a bit carried away in our A Level class and talking about Anne Boleyn’s trial. It was a brilliant discussion—they’re so smart. Remember when I took that class for you?’

I mock-frown. ‘How could I forget? I hope you stuck to the syllabus this time.’

Her eyes dance. ‘Not a chance. My former boss gave me his lesson notes when he moved on, but I have to say they’re dull as ditchwater, so I chucked them.’

I move in closer, my hand tightening its grip on the back of her neck, my eyes stern. ‘Is that a fact?’

She bites down on her lower lip and looks up at me through her eyelashes. ‘I’m afraid so. Remember what you did to me last time I pulled that stunt?’

My fingers drag across her beautiful skin. I exhale hard. ‘Damn right I remember.’

‘Fancy a replay later when this one’s in bed?’

‘Here?’

She laughs. ‘All we need is a wall, darling.’

I gaze down at my beautiful wife, wrapping my spare arm around her and Jack to draw them closer.

‘I’m in. Jesus, that was the hottest experience of my entire life. Didn’t you accuse me of making you my “Tudor plaything?” afterwards?’

‘I think so. You acted so weird. And everyone knew you had a massive hard-on for Anne Boleyn. I was paranoid you didn’t really want me.’

‘I’ve never wanted anyone else.’ I pull my hand away from her neck and press my thumb to her lower lip.

‘You’ve always owned my heart, sweetheart.

And all my other body parts. I have a massive hard-on for Elodie Vaughan, and no one else.

I took one look at that little neck of yours and fell hard. And the rest, as they say, is history.’

THE END