The Royal Delivery

by Melanie Summers

  "Why don’t you guys come back? I'm sure whatever he said, he didn't mean. He’s just under a tremendous amount of strain at the moment.”

  “Which is exactly why we should stay away.”

  “Mum, it's ridiculous for you to live with Bram when we've literally got five hundred extra rooms here."

  "No, we’d never dream of it. Not after what happened."

  Tears fill my eyes for some inexplicable reason, and a wave of hot nausea comes over me as the weight of what's happened starts to settle in. In a matter of days (or hours, if I get on with my visualizing), I’ll be giving birth to two babies and am suddenly embroiled in a huge family conflict I didn't ask for.

  "Mum," I say, my voice cracking, “please come back. I need you to be here now."

  "I wish we could, Twinkle, but I'm afraid that would create a lot of trouble between you and your husband, and I'm just not willing to do that to you."

  I plead with her for another minute or so, then let her off the phone so I can have a mini meltdown alone. I don't know if I can remember a time when I've ever felt so angry with Arthur.

  Oh, yes I can—before we were married and Brooke slept over here and he neglected to mention it even though he had several months to do so. I was pretty ticked then. Or when he flushed Chester and replaced him with stupid Walter. Or when—you know what? Don’t go down that road. It won’t help. And the truth is, this situation is somehow so much worse because, well, because it’s happening now. I get up to go talk to him, then thinking better of it, I go back to bed and lay down, deciding I need to calm down before I approach this subject. Soon, exhaustion overtakes me, my eyelids grow heavy, and I’m out like a light.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Old Relics and Off-key Whistling

  Arthur

  It is now well after 9 o'clock in the evening, and I am just screwing in the last screw on the second crib, having spent over twelve hours doing a job that was supposed to take two. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and to be really honest, I'm a bit of a mess right now. As the afternoon wore on and the sun went down, my anger and frustration gave way to guilt. I've been trying to tell myself that in the end, it's a good thing to have Ruben and Evi out of here permanently because as crazy as they were driving me, it was nothing compared to the impact they were having on Tessa. So part of me—the part that wants to justify what happened—is telling me I had every reason to react the way I did and they deserved what they got. The better part of me, however, is horrified at how poorly I behaved.

  I stand, stretching my sore back and taking a moment to look at the sum total of my day's work. Two empty cribs stand end-to-end, waiting for our children. What should be a proud and happy moment shared between Tessa and myself has become an isolated, lonely one. I pick up one of the crib mattresses, which has been leaning against the wall airing out since it arrived, and place it into the first crib, then I walk over to the change table and sort through the freshly laundered bedding and find the one I assume is a mattress cover protector. I remember Tessa mentioning something about ordering it from a special organic children's bedding store, and based on the rubbery nature of the underside of the fabric, I'm pretty sure this is it. Over the next twenty minutes, I make the beds—an entirely new experience for me. There's something meditative about the process that makes me wonder why I haven't done this before. Okay, so I may be stalling on going to face my angry, uncomfortable, very disappointed wife, but can you really blame me? I have fucked up royally, and I'm not sure how to fix this.

  After packing up the tools I borrowed from our maintenance department, I realize there's nothing left to be done except go face the music. When I leave the room and walk down the hall, I realize Tessa must be in bed already because there isn't a light on in the apartment. I sigh, feeling both relieved and anxious that my apology is going to have to wait another day whilst Tessa's asleep.

  After eating some leftover salmon and rice, I take a long, hot shower, then drop into bed in the dark room. There's no sound of snoring, so I know Tessa must be lying here awake. My heart pounds a little in my chest as I open my mouth to speak.

  "I finished the cribs."

  "Great." Tessa's voice is devoid of enthusiasm, and I know it's my fault.

  "I suppose you’ve talked to your parents by now?"

  "My mum, anyway. They've moved in with Bram and Irene."

  "Oh," I say, my gut churning with self-loathing. "I wasn't sure if your father was serious or not. On the bright side, they won’t be here to drive you nuts anymore..."

  "Well, the thing is, they haven't really been driving me nuts lately. I've kind of gotten used to having them here, and with the babies coming so soon..." Her voice trails off, and I'm left to fill in the blanks for myself.

  "So, you've changed your mind about having them here?"

  "Yes, well I've been thinking it would be nice if they were here while I try to get my feet under me as a mum. But you’ve chased them away."

  "I never told them to leave. I merely requested that they keep that bloody cat in their apartment. I'm not sure if you went to see what he did to the throne room, but there is literally nothing that can be done to return that room back to the way it was."

  "They know that, and they feel absolutely horrible about it, so I really don't see why you needed to make them feel even worse." Tessa sits up, then flicks the light on and glares at me.

  "Well, someone had to say something, Tessa. You've been letting them treat you like crap your entire life, and they've been running around causing problems for the entire staff for months now. How long did you really expect I could go on without saying anything?"

  "Forever." She folds her arms over her belly.

  "Forever? You've had some wildly unrealistic expectations in the past, but this is a new height, even for you."

  "Oh, well thank you. I'm so glad to know that you're ready to pick up the ‘insinuate Tessa is an idiot’ ball where my brothers dropped it."

  "That's not what I was saying, and you know it. I just meant there's no way any reasonable person would expect her husband to put up with your parents’ antics indefinitely. Up until today, I have been a more than gracious host, and surely you must know that."

  "Yeah, well maybe that's true, but it really doesn’t help me at all now, does it? Maybe I've gone and taken a stand about how much help I'm not going to get when the babies arrive, and now I'm feeling like I've made an enormous mistake. And maybe, just maybe, I was secretly hoping the house repairs would take several more months so I could have my mum here to help get me through the first really hard phase of parenting."

  "Well, maybe I was just trying to protect you by getting them out of here! Just like I’ve been trying to protect you from anything that might remotely upset you for months now. But do you know what I’ve realized today? It’s literally impossible to make you happy because you don’t tell me what you want and I’m left to guess. And as it turns out, I guessed wrong today.”

  “Well, maybe I didn't want to admit it because I knew how you felt. And maybe I didn’t expect you to be a total jerk to them."

  "Well, maybe I didn't expect their cat to tear up a five hundred-year-old priceless tapestry."

  "Maybe you put too much value on old relics."

  “Are you talking about your parents right now?"

  “Oh, wow. Don't hold back, Arthur. Why don’t you tell me what you really think of my family?!"

  "I already have. And up until today, you agreed with me, so don't go acting like they're a couple of saints now that it suits you."

  Tears fill Tessa's eyes, and I’m immediately overcome by guilt for yelling at her. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. It's just been a really long, frustrating day for me, and I had hoped you would be happier once the nursery was all set up. I spent the entire day trying to prove I’ll be here for you and the babies."

  "All you did today was prove your stubbornness, which quite frankly concerns me if I'm going to raise children with you."

&n
bsp; "If? What is that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing. Obviously, I'm stuck raising these kids with you."

  "Oh, and what a horror that is for you—to have to raise children in a palace with a husband who loves you enough to spend the entire day building cribs."

  "Well, it doesn't really count if you throw it back in my face. If you think spending a day hunched over building a crib is a big deal, you should try carrying them around for nine months without being able to put them down."

  We’re both silent for a minute, neither of us knowing how to maneuver our way out of this.

  Finally, Tessa speaks. "You know what? I think it would be better for one of us to go sleep on the couch. Suddenly, this bed feels too small to have you in it."

  "I was hoping you'd suggest that. It will be nice to have a night without listening to the sound of your snoring." I stand and pick up my pillow.

  "Well, at least you don’t have to listen to my off-key whistling all day!"

  "I'll have you know I am considered a very talented whistler. A lot of women would be more than happy to listen to me whistling whilst I built furniture for them."

  “Of course. So good of you to remind me again how lucky I am to have you, Your Highness.”

  "Somebody's got to sing my praises. You certainly haven't been lately."

  THIRTY-THREE

  Sweaty Gym Shorts and Unexpected Heroes

  Arthur - 38 Weeks

  It’s the day before Christmas Eve. I sit with my back against the gym wall, panting after a grueling training session with Ollie. We spent the last half of our workout sparring Krav Maga-style, a particularly challenging form of fighting developed for the Israeli Defense Forces, for those of you who aren’t familiar. It’s a delightful combination of boxing, wrestling, Karate, Aikido, and Judo that focuses on rather brutal counter attacks. Just the thing when you’re in a total shit mood, which I am.

  Tessa and I basically haven’t spoken, eaten, or slept together for the past week. She is absolutely pissed about her parents moving out, and I can’t seem to bring myself to go beg them to move back in. Instead, I’ve been waiting for her to finally come to her senses and realize that having them across town is really in her best interest. But so far she hasn’t, and I’m starting to think she won’t, which means I’m likely going to have to swallow my pride, go over, and apologize.

  The shit part of it all is that I’ve spent the last nine months trying to protect her from anything that will be remotely upsetting to her, only to become the very cause of her current state of misery. At this point, I honestly don’t know how we’re going to patch things back together, but we’d better figure it out fast because in a matter of days we’ll be very busy, very tired parents.

  The door opens, and I expect Ollie to be coming back in. He left to go put some tissues up his nose to stop the bleeding. Instead, I’m shocked to find my father walking through the door, not only because I didn’t know he’d returned, but also because he’s in a room I didn’t think he knew we had.

  He gives me a little nod as he crosses the room. “Arthur.”

  “Father. What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you, actually.”

  “Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and readying myself for whatever attack he’s got planned.

  When he reaches me, he holds out one hand to help me up. This is...weird. I accept the gesture and rise to my feet, preparing myself to block a shot if necessary. Not that he’s ever hit me. He’s thrown a glass at me from time to time, but since his hands are empty, I may be able to relax.

  “Good God, you’re sweaty.”

  I nod, grabbing a towel off the nearby counter and wiping my face and neck. “That’s usually how it works. Exertion causes your body to heat, then sweat to cool you down.”

  He wrinkles up his nose. “Seems like a giant waste of time if you’re just going to end up cooled down again.”

  “And yet, I think I’ll continue to work out daily.”

  Shrugging, he then changes the subject suddenly. “How’s Tessa?”

  “She’s about as well as can be expected. Bored, uncomfortable, tired.” I stare at him for a moment, trying to sort out what he’s up to. He’s never once asked how my wife is.

  He nods. “It’s better to be a man.”

  “Agreed. Anyway, I should go shower and get started on my day.”

  “Yes, of course. But I’d like to talk to you for a minute first.” He sits on one of the weight benches, looking completely out of place in his suit with his stiff back. “Your gran came to see me, and she made me realize there are a few things that would be of benefit for you to know about.”

  I lean against the counter and cross my arms across my chest. “Like what?”

  “I understand you’ve been overly anxious about Tessa and the babies.”

  “Perfectly normal. We’re about to welcome our first child, who will be swiftly followed by the second one a few minutes later.”

  “Right, but your level of concern is not likely within normal range.”

  I’m just about to tell him he doesn’t know the first thing about my level of concern, or anything else about me for that matter, but he holds up his hand.

  “Phillip’s been keeping me up-to-date on the security system overhaul, the request for geese, the pedo-checks...you have to admit, it’s gotten out of hand.”

  Rolling my eyes, I say, “I don’t have to admit anything. Besides, I’ve backed off most of those things.”

  “You’re worried about how she’ll do after the babies are born, aren’t you?”

  “A little, yes, but—”

  “Tessa is not your mum, Arthur.”

  “I’m aware of that. This isn’t Game of Thrones, Father, there are no incestuous relationships among Avonian royals.”

  “Don’t try to be cute.”

  “I never try to be cute. It just happens naturally.”

  He shakes his head, then sighs heavily. “I almost wonder if there’s no point.”

  I drop down onto a weight bench in front of him and say, “I’m sorry. I’m a little on edge. But if you’re about to tell me it wasn’t my fault that Mother killed herself, you can save your breath. I already know that.”

  “Good. Because it would be ridiculous to think a five-year-old child could cause an adult to do that. You were a bit of a brat, but you weren’t that bad.”

  “That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “You’re welcome.” My father almost smiles, turning this into the closest thing to a Hallmark moment we’ve ever had.

  He stares at me for a second before he speaks. When he does, he turns his gaze to the floor instead of meeting my eyes. “Your mother was very young when I met her. Nineteen. She had the right upbringing, the right family, and she was truly lovely. As you know, my parents selected her. Getting married wasn’t my idea. I was twenty-eight and wanted to play the field for a few more decades before getting on with the business of producing heirs.”

  “You make it all sound so romantic.”

  “It wasn’t.” He glances back at me. “But then the strangest thing happened. I fell in love with her. Madly, stupidly in love. But what I didn’t realize was that she would never love me back. She’d already given her heart to a classmate of hers—a young man who was training to become a butcher, of all things. Her parents forbid their relationship, handed her over to me, and I thought the matter was settled.”

  “Oh Christ, you’re not about to tell me I’m not really your son, are you?”

  Shaking his head quickly, my father says, “No. Obviously not. What I’m trying to tell you is that your mother was miserable here long before we had children. I thought I could win her over, I mean, what’s not to want? A Crown Prince, a beautiful palace, her every desire fulfilled with a snap of her fingers. I believed she’d grow to love me, but she never did.

  “After you were born, I grew resentful of her because I realized I’d never be the love of her life. I’d
always be a distant second to him. I started to hate her for it. Grew cold. Took comfort elsewhere. I knew then I never should have married her, but it was too late. Divorce just isn’t something this family did. No royals did at that time without it turning into a spectacular scandal. I thought we’d have our second child—”

  “The spare—”

  “I’ve always hated that saying.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Then why use...never mind. Anyway, I thought we could just live basically separate lives and ride it out for the next fifty years or so. But clearly, she couldn’t live with that.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying she wasn’t ill, because she most certainly was. But there was just so much more to it. After she died, I found some letters—cliché, I know. Turns out they’d been writing since we got married. I forced myself to read them although it nearly killed me. In one of the letters, he wrote that he, too, wished that you were his son and the three of you could be a family, so that provided enough insight into her state of mind for me. Eventually, he wrote to tell her he found someone else and was getting married. It was postmarked a month before she died.”

  My entire body goes numb as I let his words sink in.

  “So it wasn’t so much postpartum, and it certainly wasn’t because you shouted at her that day. It was the thought of a lifetime with me instead of him.” His eyes have a glassy look, and for once it isn’t because he’s three sheets to the wind.

  I find myself doing the most surprising thing. I reach out and put my hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry, Father. That must have been awful for you.”

  He puts his hand on mine. “It was. I wasn’t left only grief-stricken, I was guilt-ridden and angry. It was like the most spectacular way to be rejected, to have my wife choose death over having to be with me.” Shaking his head as though to clear the fog of this horrible memory, he says, “Anyway, all that to say you and Tessa will be fine. You are the love of her life. Anyone who’s around the two of you for more than a minute can see that. It’s truly sickening.”