by Renna Peak
“Okay. Well, the doctor is going to want to do some tests. It’s just standard stuff.” She gives me a look of pity and lowers her voice. “You know, with everything you’ve been going through, a stomachache isn’t too unusual…”
I know she’s right, of course. But I’ve been through packing up and leaving my homeland for America before, and it wasn’t like this. And as far as my relationship with William, I’ve been through much worse things than that, too.
The woman—Marcia—stands and rifles through the paperwork I’ve already filled out. “One of the lab girls will be in to get the samples in a little bit.” She reads something in my chart, nodding. “And the doctor will have a look at all of this before he comes in to see you.”
“Fine.”
“You can sit there in the chair until after they get your labs.” She motions at the gurney and the gown she’s just placed on it. “Then you’ll need to change into the gown. You can keep your underwear and bra on, but everything else needs to come off.”
“Fine.” What’s a little more humiliation? At least the room doesn’t have a window and I won’t have to worry about some member of the paparazzi sneaking a photo of me.
“Okay. Well, it should only be a little while. The lab work runs pretty fast.”
I simply nod, and she seems to take the hint, finally leaving the room.
True to her word, things do move rather quickly once she actually leaves. The lab technicians come and take their samples, I change into the starchy gown, and before I know it, there’s a knock on the door, and a young male doctor comes in.
The man can’t be much older than me, probably just out of his medical studies. He smiles at me. “How are you today, Justine?”
“I’ve been better.”
He nods. “Well, things should turn around soon enough. The first trimester is always the hardest. Or so I’m told.”
“The first…what?” I narrow my gaze. “You can’t possibly be saying…”
His mouth drops open. “You didn’t know? I thought…” He rifles through the paperwork in the file he’s holding, and his face flushes. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought I saw the marking for pregnancy.”
“Impossible. I would have never—”
He interrupts with a chuckle. “I see you’re on the pill, too. You can probably stop taking that now.”
“I fail to see how any of this is funny. I am on the pill. There is no possible way—”
“None? Not a single possible way?” He shakes his head. “You do realize that the only sure method of birth control is abstinence, right?”
“I don’t need a condescending lecture, Doctor…” Wait. Did he just say I’m… No. No, it isn’t possible.
“If you miss even a single dose, it increases the likelihood of failure. Did you miss any doses?”
“Did I miss any doses…?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I did miss a few doses—when my bags were stuck in Berlin, right after William and I left for Montovia.
“If you had sex and missed a dose of your pill, you can’t really be shocked that—”
“I don’t believe you.” I straighten myself on the side of the bed, smoothing the gown over my legs as best as it will go. “It’s…it’s not possible.”
I can see he’s trying to hide his smile—he probably hears this same story multiple times a day. “I can prove it to you. Wait here.”
The doctor leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a large machine with a television screen attached. “Lie down, please.”
I do as I’m told, lying back on the bed.
He hands me a blanket to cover my lap before he sits down next to the bed and in front of the machine. He punches a few buttons on the screen and lifts some sort of device from a cradle before he looks over at me. “Would you mind lifting the gown? Just enough for me to get to your belly.”
I shake my head at him, but I lift my gown anyway, allowing him access to my abdomen.
He smears the cold gel onto my skin and begins pushing at my stomach with the probe. After a moment, he smiles, nodding in the direction of the screen. “There. You see it? That’s a heartbeat.”
I stare at the screen, edging myself closer to it. There—right there in front of me is a pulsing blob of light, blinking a few times per second.
I can hardly believe it. I lie back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before I close my eyes.
“And…there.” Something in his voice has changed and it sounds quite a bit more concerning.
My eyes flutter open. “And what?” I lift my head to look back at the screen. “What is it?”
He smiles at me. “Another heartbeat.”
“Another…?” My eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean, another?”
His smile widens and he points at the screen that now holds two pulsing blobs. “I mean, you’re pregnant with twins.”
My eyes widen, and I shake my head before I push his hand away from my stomach. I spring to my feet, wiping the gooey mess from my belly with the starchy gown. “This is…not possible. And…and…”
He looks down at my file before lifting his gaze to mine again. “It says here you’re a twin. That makes twin pregnancy much more likely for you—”
I interrupt with a shake of my head, but I don’t seem to be able to make words come from my mouth.
“You have options, Justine. I saw that you’ve terminated—”
“I did not terminate anything.” My jaw is beginning to quiver at the mere mention. “And this…” I motion at the screen again. “Not possible.”
“It’s fine if you don’t want to terminate. I don’t…” He lowers his voice. “I don’t blame you a bit. But there are other options—I know you probably think you’re too young to keep them—”
“It isn’t that—”
“You could also consider adoption.” He nods and pulls some pamphlets from a file in the desk drawer. “There are a lot of things to consider. You’re only about seven, maybe eight weeks along. You have some time.”
I shake my head. “See? That isn’t possible. I was with my hus…” My voice trails off. I can’t even finish the word. “I was with that man five weeks ago. Seven weeks would be impossible—”
“No, that’s exactly right. You get two free weeks the moment you conceive. Just a little something we doctors like to give you when you find out you’re pregnant.”
“You’re hilarious. You remind me of someone who thought himself equally as funny. And I can assure you, you are not.” I begin pulling on my pants—I don’t even care if the man watches. “And you are under privacy orders, are you not?”
“Privacy…orders?”
“You can’t tell anyone of this, correct? No tabloid reporters? No gossip magazines?” I glare at him. “You can’t call my father, correct?”
“Oh my God.” His face goes a bit ashen as his mouth falls open. “You’re Princess Justine, aren’t you? I didn’t even make the connection…”
“Well, good. I’m glad we cleared that up. Now can you answer my question about the privacy—?”
He interrupts with a nod as I pull my sweater over my head.
“Good. Because if I read about this in some gossip column online tonight, I’ll know where it came from. And don’t believe for a moment I won’t sue you and this clinic for every penny you have.”
“Well, it’s the school’s clinic—”
“I don’t care.” I hold out my hand as if to shake his. “Do we have an agreement?”
His eyebrows knit together. “Oh…kay.” He shakes my hand. “I’m bound to the same privacy laws as every other doctor in this country—”
“Good. Then we won’t have a problem.”
He nods. “Right. Okay. Well, take these.” He places the pamphlets in my hand. “You might find some of the information useful—”
“I don’t need any information. But thank you.” I shove the useless papers into my bag. “And remember our agreement.”
“Oh, I’ll remember.”
“Oh, I can give you a prescription for that. It’ll make you a little drowsy, but it’ll help a lot with the nausea and vomiting.”
“Excellent.” I wait for him to scribble out the prescription on his pad. “Is there anything else I need right now?”
“Rest. Lots of water. You probably should start taking a prenatal vitamin if you’re thinking of keeping them…”
Them. My God, there are two little creatures inside of me. I saw them on the screen myself. A warm feeling comes over me suddenly, and I smile at the doctor. “You know, I think I will do that.”
“And you might want to consider talking to the father.”
The warm feeling goes instantly cold, and I shake my head. “No. No, that is something I definitely will not be doing.”
William
I haven’t slept in at least thirty hours. No one in my family has.
From the moment we heard last night that Elle had gone into labor, we’ve all been gathered here in a private sitting room at the hospital, waiting for news. All of us except Leo, who’s at his fiancée’s bedside in the maternity ward. The rest of us—my parents, Andrew and Victoria, Nicholas and Sophia—have been trying to keep ourselves busy during the long night. Even my father looks restless, and my mother has spent most of the night with her hand on top of his, gently stroking the back of his palm.
It’s been a hard few weeks. I’ve been a mess since my marriage to Justine was annulled, but I’ve been trying to put my energy into other things—long hours in the gymnasium, work in the Senate, philanthropic efforts in the city. Nothing seems to distract me for long, though. It doesn’t help that our tensions with Rosvalia are still at the front of everyone’s mind—even though the annulment may have disrupted King Maximilian’s immediate plans, it’s clear he’s just biding his time, waiting for the chance to enact his plot. All my father’s efforts at diplomacy have done little, and we don’t have the intelligence resources to launch a secret investigation. Maybe I should have stayed married and just gotten a little better at spying when I returned to Rosvalia.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. No, it’s better this way. I saw in one of the tabloids that Justine did decide to return to America and attend Yale, so at least she’s following her dreams. It makes me feel a little better about the decision that had to be made.
The decision still keeps me up at night, though. And my mother has made a couple of comments that suggest she’s noticed my loss of appetite and lack of sleep. Father and Andrew might have supported the end of my marriage, but I’ve gotten the distinct impression that my mother doesn’t, though she’s never said as much to me outright.
I begin pacing the length of the room. Everyone else has tried to make themselves comfortable—Andrew has his arm around Victoria on one of the sofas, Nicholas is flipping absently through a book, and Sophia has curled herself up in an armchair—but I’m too restless to sit in one place. I’m always restless these days.
Finally, when the first grayish light of dawn is filtering in through the window, someone comes to find us.
“Congratulations,” she says after bowing. “It’s a healthy baby boy.”
And with those words, the tension in the room breaks. Sounds of happiness and joy scare the restlessness away, and both of my parents are suddenly on their feet—even my father looks pleased and relieved by this news.
“Can we see him?” Sophia asks the question on all of our minds.
“The mother is resting at the moment,” the woman responds. “But soon.” She bows again before leaving.
We don’t have to wait very long, but it’s requested that we don’t all rush back at once. My parents go first, then Andrew and Victoria, then finally Nicholas and Sophia. I volunteer to go last—but I don’t admit to everyone that it’s because after the initial rush of joy at the news, something heavy seems to have settled on my stomach, and I’m suddenly not sure I want to see the baby at all.
And I know exactly why, though it hurts to admit it. I’m upset because I find myself thinking of the children I’ll never have. Not even six weeks ago, I was falling deeply in love with my wife, imagining the little heirs we might make—but all of that is gone now, like a dream snatched away.
When it’s finally my turn to see the baby, I make my way back to the room. Elle is reclining on the bed with a small bundle in her arms, while Leo is hovering nearby as if he’s afraid to let the two out of his sight.
For a moment, I just stand at the door, watching them. Neither of them has noticed me yet—they only have eyes for the baby and each other. Though they’re both obviously as exhausted as the rest of us—probably even more so—I’ve never seen either of them look so content. So at peace. The love in the room is so thick it’s almost palpable, and the energy between them pushes back at me like a punch to the gut.
Once I thought I might have this. But I signed it all away.
Steeling myself, I take a step into the room. Leo and Elle notice me now, looking up at me with bright smiles. The little bundle in Elle’s arms stirs.
Slowly, I make my way to the side of the bed. “Congratulations, you two.”
“Thank you,” Elle says, the bright look of happy exhaustion never leaving her face. “He’s going to look just like Leo. I can already tell.”
I lean forward, looking down into the bundle in her arms. The baby is so small he almost looks like a doll, but he has a thin sweep of blond hair plastered to his tiny head. Elle’s right—even now, I can already see Leo in him. When I look up at my older brother, he’s grinning widely.
“Does he have a name yet?” I ask.
“Not yet,” Leo says. “Though Father has already put in a request for Edmund.” He makes a face. “Not exactly our first choice, even if he’ll probably be king someday.” Because of Andrew and Victoria’s inability to have children, Leo and Elle’s first child is now third in line for the throne after Leopold himself. This birth is a huge event, not just for our family but also for the entire country of Montovia. I suspect we’ll find quite the crowd gathered outside the hospital when we leave.
The baby stirs again, and his face scrunches up. He lets out a thin little wail, and Elle gently rocks him in her arms, making cooing noises to calm him. She hasn’t even been a mother for an hour and she’s already a natural.
Another pang hits me. For a moment, I have a vision of Justine lying in that bed, holding our child, rocking and gentling him. Once again I’m shaken to the core by an intense sense of loss. This sort of happiness was within my grasp, and it was torn away.
No—you let them take it away, I remind myself. You signed those annulment papers yourself.
But another voice in my head is quick to argue. You did it for Montovia. And for Justine. She got to pursue her dream and to escape her family once and for all. It’s better this way.
Then why doesn’t it feel better?
“Would you like to hold him?” Elle asks when her son is calm again.
“Of course.” I put on a grin, hoping I’m succeeding in hiding the turmoil going on inside me. This is a happy day, an event to celebrate, and I won’t bring down the mood by thinking about what could have been. What will never be.
I take the child in my arms, still marveling at how small he is. He’s settled back into sleep, but his mouth opens and closes a couple of times. Maybe he’s dreaming.
He’s a handsome little fellow, I think, staring down at him. When I glance up at Leo and Elle again, they’re both staring at him. They look as if they’ve never seen anything so beautiful in their entire lives.
I want something this beautiful. Why did I ever let anyone convince me, even for a moment, that what Justine and I had was wrong? I loved her—I still love her—and I still want this. I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting this.
And just like that, the decision is made. I don’t
let myself stop and think—I don’t want to talk myself out of it. Leaning forward, I return my nephew to Elle’s arms.
“Sorry to run,” I tell them. “But I have something important to do.”
And I’m not going to let anyone stop me.
Justine
The woman sitting across from me crinkles her nose, spreading the papers in front of her. “It’s all just a little…one note.” She nods. “Yeah. One note. That’s the phrase I was looking for.”
The man sitting next to her is nodding, as well. “I totally agree. It all just seems a little…poor me. You know?”
The other six people at the table—including the professor—mumble in agreement.
I snatch the papers from the woman across from me, saying nothing as tears sting at my eyes.
“Justine, no one is saying your work is bad…” The professor seems to think that his words are somehow helpful. “It’s just that it could use some work.”
My face is hot with embarrassment. I shove the papers into my bag without looking back up at the people sitting around the table as they move on to the next victim—student—sharing his poetry.
I should have known better than to come here. I should have guessed that James Camden only liked my poetry because I was also sucking his cock at the time.
The negative voice in my head is squawking at me. That poem is worthless. You’re worthless. Why are you even wasting space in this room? The other people here can write a decent poem in a night. But not you. No, you drone on and on about your pain and suffering. You cry yourself to sleep every night and no one gives a damn about you or your problems. Why are you even bothering? When your father finds out—and he will find out—the same thing will happen as last time. And when he finds out this time, he’ll almost certainly take away the opportunity for you to conceive again. He’ll see to that. So why even try now—?
“Justine? Justine?” The professor is waving his hands in front of him, trying to catch my attention.
“Yes, sorry.” I straighten in my chair. “I thought this particular piece was good. Definitely not one note. It lacked a bit of maturity, but other than that—”