The Crown Jewels Boxed Set (A Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series)

by Melanie Summers

  She smiles at me reassuringly, then her face falls. “Mind you, no one had cell phones back then, so it wasn’t like everyone who saw you could video you. Not like nowadays. Pretty much everywhere I go in the kingdom, people whip out their phones.”

  “Right?!” I say. “That’s part of what’s freaking me out. I can’t work out how to protect her from any of that. I can’t even seem to help myself in this regard, let alone help the baby.” I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “But apart from all of that, I’m going to be the mum of the next monarch, and I honestly don’t have a clue how to raise a royal baby. I don’t even really know how to raise a normal child, although I think I’d have an easier time figuring that out.”

  Arabella sits next to me on my chair and says, “Relax, Tess. You’re going handle it beautifully. I promise.”

  “How?”

  “One day at time,” she says, smiling as though that answer should dissolve all my concerns. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You can always ask me, or Gran, or Arthur if you’re not sure about something to do with the whole regal thing.”

  I smile back, feeling slightly better. “Thanks. I’ll take you up on that.”

  “Good. Fire away when ready.”

  “Okay,” I say. “What was the weirdest part of your childhood?”

  “Oh, now?” Arabella asks, looking a little caught off guard. “Mmm...that’s a tough one. I mean, as a girl, it all seemed very ordinary, of course. It was only once I started to meet people who weren’t raised in palaces that I discovered it’s not the norm to have people refer to you with a title or obey your every command when you’re a small child. That bit can go to your head if you don’t have someone to rein it in.”

  “That’s what I figured would happen. I want the baby to grow up to be in touch with what it’s like to be a regular person, to have to earn her keep and do things like wash the windows or cook a real meal. So, I’ve been thinking maybe I should raise her like a normal child, the way my mum raised me. Well, except without the unnecessary criticizing and favouring any male children should we have them. But you know, make her scrub toilets and vacuum her room on Saturdays.”

  Arabella gives me a blank look. “I don’t understand. You’re planning to teach the baby to do all kinds of manual labour he or she will never actually do?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “So she can learn to appreciate what others do for her. And besides, you can’t know that she’ll never have to sew a button on a shirt or something. What if she goes on some ski holiday in the Italian Alps and gets stranded in a cabin for a few days?”

  “Pretty sure she won’t have to sew any buttons in that particular scenario,” Nikki says.

  “Maybe not, but what if there’s only canned beans and she can’t work the can opener, so she dies of starvation even though there’s perfectly good food right in the cupboard?”

  “I wouldn’t call canned beans perfectly good food,” Arabella says.

  “Well, better to eat the beans than starve, wouldn’t you say?” I ask with a pointed look. “Yes. I think it’s best if our children grow up learning how to perform household tasks, which will mean Arthur and I must start to do them to set a good example.”

  Nikki cuts in. “Seriously? That kind of defeats the purpose of the whole marrying a prince thing. I mean, if you’re planning to do all the super crappy mum jobs anyway, you could have just married a bus driver or somesuch and left the prince for someone who’d really enjoy the lifestyle.”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “I didn’t marry Arthur because he’s a prince. I married him because I love him for who he is.”

  “And now you should enjoy it,” Nikki says. “By delegating all the things that suck about motherhood.”

  “The thing is, I’m not sure I want to delegate things. Except maybe diaper cleaning. That sounds awful, but the rest I want to do myself.”

  Arabella’s nose wrinkles up at the thought. “Oh God, no. Don’t do that yourself.”

  Shaking her head, Nikki says, “Tessa, I think you’ve got baby brain. You’re literally living every woman’s dream. Married to a handsome prince. Rich beyond your wildest imagination. Able to get backstage at any concert to come to Avonia pretty much forever. Plus, you can have a baby without having to ever clean up after her or cook for her or go to the grocery store to do the weekly shopping with a screaming toddler in the trolley. Just enjoy it. Please. For me. The nightmare is just…nonsense.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Nikki puts her hand on my arm. “I am right. Trust me. Everything will be fine.”

  “Right. I know. It’s an amazing life.” I have a sip of water while alarm bells go off in my head.

  Arabella’s cell phone buzzes. When she looks down at the screen, she sighs heavily. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to step inside to make a phone call. It’s about the People for Animals Run.”

  She slides on her flip-flops and hurries in, with Bellford following her.

  When we’re alone, I say, “I’m sure it’ll all be fine.”

  “The charity run?”

  “No, raising the next heir to the throne.”

  “Oh, that. Yes. Of course it will. It’ll be more than fine. It’ll be fabulous.”

  “It’s just that…”

  Nikki sighs. “I knew you weren’t going to let this go.”

  “I didn’t want to say this in front of Arabella, but what if raising humans in such a state of luxury isn’t healthy? What if she ends up being a totally spoiled, entitled brat who I won’t even like when she’s grown?”

  “Hmm.” Nikki taps her cheek with one finger. “You may have a point there.”

  “I know, right? Like, how is it possible to hand a child everything their heart desires without turning them into a total nightmare of a human being? I mean, Arthur and Arabella are obviously wonderful—”

  “—obviously.”

  “But what if together, Arthur and I make terrible parents and we screw up so badly that we end up producing a Joffrey from Game of Thrones?”

  Nikki’s eyes grow wide. “Oh, God. I never thought of that.”

  “What if we think we’re doing everything right, but she becomes a total tyrant? I mean, it’s not like turning out a nasty accountant or a surly postal worker. This is the future queen.”

  “Or king,” Xavier calls over his shoulder.

  “Either way, this baby could end up ruining the lives of millions of Avonians. Say, if she wants to suddenly increase taxes or cut pensions or…or I don’t know…be the fairest of them all so she has all the models in the kingdom put to death.”

  “Okay, well that last example is probably unlikely, but the other two…”

  “Could totally happen, right?”

  Nikki bites her bottom lip. “Shit, Tess. This is high stakes parenting.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell Arthur, but he won’t listen. He keeps insisting everything will be fine. But I don’t see how he could possibly know that. I mean, we’ll basically be raising the baby in a vacuum. How will I know if we’re doing it right if I don’t have other mum friends to compare babies with?”

  Xavier pipes up from his position by the door. “There are thousands of parenting experts out there. I’m more than happy to start researching books and articles for you.”

  “Oh, well, that’s…very kind of you, Xavier, but I could never ask you to do that. You’ve already been such a help with the whole nutrition thing.”

  And the last thing I need is the world’s most muscular nag after me for my lack of parenting skills for the next twenty years or so…

  TWELVE

  Guess Who’s Coming to Live with Us?

  Arthur - 15 Weeks

  It has rained for three solid days. Not just a sprinkle, but pouring rain. The banks of Langdon River are rising quickly, and as I stare out my office window, I watch as a troop of soldiers stack sandbags on
either side. The river has only flooded once before—the year I was born, in fact. For some stupid reason, this pleases me, knowing I now have a child on the way. It’s as if somehow Mother Nature flexing her considerable muscle is also a welcome to the next generation and a sign that everything will be all right.

  And the fact that any of this is running through my mind right now is truly a sign I need more sleep because that was some seriously sentimental horse shit. I thought I’d get more sleep as soon as Tessa’s nausea was over, but the truth is, I’ve been keeping myself awake, my mind spinning about how to keep the baby and Tessa not only safe, but happy as well. It can’t be that hard to make sure I provide my wife with a calm, easy life from here on. I’m the Crown Prince of Avonia, for God’s sake. If I can’t make that happen, what good is all the money and power?

  Yet, for some reason it’s harder than I thought it would be. I’ve managed to get Dylan off Tessa’s back here and there, but overall, I know Tess is worried about her reputation affecting the baby, about us doing a horrible job of co-parenting, and well, basically the baby turning out to be a total tyrant. The crap part is that I don’t have any solid foundation on which to reassure her—I’ve never raised a child before either, but I can’t very well say, “Sorry, babe. I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here. Let’s just wing it and hope for the best.”

  No. I need to seem confident at all times for Tessa to have someone she can rely on. I need to be her rock, the man she can lay all her worries on, knowing I will gladly shoulder the burden. I’m not just any man. I’m the future king, which means I better bloody well have the answers at all times. Even when I don’t.

  Like this morning, for example. I’ve been trying to write a memo to the staff, but I cannot seem to find the proper wording that won’t make me look like some chauvinist who considers pregnancy a medical condition. I’ve been accused of being a chauvinist on more than one occasion (mostly by my grandmother), and I’d rather not provide actual written proof that this is the case. This is what I’ve got so far…

  Memo from Prince Arthur to all Palace Staff:

  Good day to all. I hope this finds you well. As you know, Princess Tessa and I will be welcoming a child early in the new year. I would like to ask that we all do whatever possible to ensure her life will be stress-free during this delicate time. Please direct any and all questions/problems/issues to myself or Vincent Hendriks…

  You see why I can’t send it. “Delicate time” is definitely not going to go over well. In fact, I’m wondering if perhaps some people may take exception to me making this request at all, really. It does suggest I don’t think Tessa capable of handling stress or problems whilst pregnant, and I have a feeling if she finds out, she’ll be pissed. After all, she did give me the whole ‘I can’t hide behind you if I want people to respect me’ thing a few weeks back. And she’s not wrong. But is it so awful of me to want to shoulder the extra burden while she’s carrying my child? I mean, really?

  I wonder if I should ask for a second opinion on this. Gran’s, perhaps? Or Arabella’s?

  Hmm, I wonder if the very fact that I think I should check with a woman makes me in some way sexist…

  Anyway, chauvinist-tendencies aside (or as I prefer to call it, ‘protectiveness’), I intend to find a way to make my wife’s life shiny and wonderful. It’s the least I can do since she’s the one who has to suffer through the pregnancy. Not suffer through. I don’t mean it like it’s an illness. It just doesn’t look all that easy or fun so far. But if I really think about it, things are looking up already—her morning sickness is long since over and we’ve had no major scandals or embarrassing incidents since Vomitgate, so that’s a huge win already.

  Huh...maybe I’m worrying needlessly. As long as nothing else crops up that may cause undo stress, she should be just fine.

  My cell phone rings, and when I pick it up, I see my father-in-law is calling, which has honestly never happened before.

  “Ruben, how are you?” I say.

  “Hi, Artie. Not too well, I’m afraid.” Ruben’s voice is oddly quiet, and it gives me a bit of a fright.

  “That doesn’t sound good. What’s happened?” I sit on the edge of my desk, bracing myself for the worse.

  “First off, Evi and I are fine.”

  In the background, I hear Evi’s voice. Even though I can’t make out what she’s saying, her shrill shrieks say she’s anything but ‘fine.’

  “Okay, I’ll tell him,” Ruben says. “Mr. Whiskers is also alive.”

  “That’s…good.” I have no bloody idea what he’s talking about right now. Oh Lord, is this early onset dementia? Or wait, how old is he? Maybe it’s just normal onset dementia?

  “But we’ve had a bit of an accident—”

  His voice cuts off, and I hear a rustling sound, then Evi’s voice comes on the line. “He’s smoked out the house, Arthur. Completely smoked the entire bloody house out! Burnt the kitchen to a crisp. My knives melted! My knives! All the gold’s come off my royal commemorative collection…” She sobs loudly, unable to describe the horror.

  “Oh shit. The Smoke-R-Ator 3000?”

  “Yes! That bloody smoker! The genius I married thought it a good plan to bring that damn thing into the house and smoke a salmon in the kitchen! You can’t even imagine the smell, Arthur!” she screeches. I hear her suck in a deep breath, then her tone is suddenly low and measured. “I’m sorry to have lost my temper and used such strong language. I’m just really upset. We’ve lost everything.” Her voice cracks, and there’s a rustling sound again, and she’s gone before I can offer her my condolences.

  Ruben clears his throat. “So, not my best idea, I suppose.”

  “The important thing is that you’re both all right. Possessions can be replaced. People can’t.” My mind swirls with how this will affect Tessa. She’s going to be very sad, which is the last thing I want right now. “What can I do to help, Ruben?”

  “Nothing, really. We’ve got insurance, which will cover the losses. At the moment, we’re trying to find somewhere to stay for a while. Lars and Nina don’t have room, same with Noah and Isa. Bram’s just had Irene move in, so it wouldn’t exactly be the right time for us to camp on his couch. Finn’s place is too small…”

  Oh, fuck. They want to move in.

  “If only there was someone who had extra space…”

  I close my eyes and fight the deep sigh building in my chest. “Ruben, you and Evi should come stay here.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh, definitely. We have more than enough rooms.”

  He must have given her the thumbs up because the next thing I hear is her voice. “Mr. Whiskers, too?”

  “Mr. Whiskers, too,” I say, dreading the thought of having the devil cat in the palace. I can just picture him shredding every last linen in the entire place.

  “Are you certain? Because the insurance adjuster said it’ll likely be about eight months.”

  I snap the pencil in my hand. “I’m absolutely positive, Ruben.” Positive that you’re going to drive me mad for about eight solid months.

  “Thank you, Artie. This means the world to us,” Ruben says, his voice sounding emotional. Dear God, do not let him start crying. If he does, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look him in the eye again.

  “No need to thank me. It’s nothing.” Nothing I would ever want to do.

  “Okay, we’ll pack what’s left of our clothes and be there in a couple of hours.”

  “Do you need help? I’d come myself, but I have a meeting with the Swedish Ambassador this morning. I can send some staff, though.”

  “No, we’ll be fine, thanks. I think Evi needs some more time to yell at me before we get there, and that’s probably best done in private.”

  “Understood.” I almost feel sorry for him. “I’ll tell Tessa.”

  “Oh, yes, please do. Break it to her gently about the house. We don’t want to upset her.”

&nbs
p; Then maybe don’t move in. “Me neither.”

  “See you soon. We should be there in time for lunch. Are they making those blueberry scones today?”

  “Not sure.”

  “They would certainly ease the pain of what’s happened.”

  “I can call down and ask for some.” I roll my eyes so hard, they feel like they might get stuck in the back of my head.

  “Thanks, Artie! You’re not such a bad son-in-law after all.”

  In the background, I hear Evi say, “Tell me you didn’t just ask for them to make you a batch of scones!”

  He rings off, leaving me to take the short walk to Tessa’s office, where she’s spending most of her days now that she’s feeling better. Excellent, so I get to interrupt her and tell her the horrible news. I cringe, thinking of how upset she’s going to be. This entire thing is going to completely undo all the hard work trying to keep her happy and calm whilst she’s in such a delicate state. And before you go getting up on your high horse, suggesting I’m being a chauvinist, may I point out that she’s still looking very pale, so in my mind, she really is very delicate.

  When I pass Vincent’s desk, he opens his mouth to say something, then clearly notices the expression on my face and changes his mind. I stop in front of him.

  “Vincent, my in-laws will be moving in today for the better part of a year. Could you have the kitchen make some scones to welcome them?”

  His jaw drops, then he shakes his head and nods. “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, and arrange for them to have an apartment as far from ours as possible. Their cat, Satan, will be joining them, and I want him as far from Chester and Dexter as can be managed.” I also want Evi and Ruben as far from Tessa as can be managed.

  “Shall I postpone your meeting with the ambassador?”

  I shake my head. “I’ll be back in time. If I’m not, just give him some of that tea he loves and ask him about his son—the one finishing med school, not the one in rehab. He won’t even notice I’m not there.”