The Royals of Monterra: Royal Delivery (Kindle Worlds) Page 4

  I stiffened at the thought. “I am not having a Christmas baby.”

  He grinned more broadly. “Most women feel that way. I think you will find the baby has a plan of its own.”

  Nico stifled a laugh and I leveled my most evil look at him. “I am not having a Christmas baby,” I repeated more firmly.

  He nodded obediently, but was fighting a smile all the same.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the doctor said, with the most placating of looks ever, and he seemed to be struggling with the same amusement that my husband was.

  Men.

  “Well, shall we get down to business, then?” he went on, turning to the computer in the room.

  Business. Yes, let’s discuss the business of growing a human and trying not to throw up all the time or fall asleep standing up or certain parts of me itching like crazy but being unable to scratch or rub because queens don’t do that in public and not really caring what queens do in public anymore because you are GROWING A HUMAN BEING.

  Let’s talk about that.

  But queens don’t act like that, so I smiled and let Nico take my hand, nodding in my most regal fashion. “Yes. Let’s.”

  You know the thing about being pregnant, and announcing it is that everybody and their dog has an opinion on the subject.

  Sue Ellen emailed me regularly with advice and suggestions on birthing plans. Caitlin sent me articles from parenting magazines on making pregnancy smoother. Aria very carefully offered unsolicited advice when it seemed relevant. My mother said absolutely nothing on the subject except for congratulations, which was very much appreciated. Someone with a death wish put me on a mailing list for a breast pump company.

  I was blaming Dante for that one, but he emphatically denied it.

  We followed the same format with announcing the pregnancies that we had with the engagements. Lemon arranged for one news anchor and camera crew to do a private interview, which was then broadcast to the world and the transcripts were made available for the other outlets.

  I was still not used to being interviewed, and not entirely comfortable with that sort of direct attention, but having Nico beside me helped.

  I’d let Violetta and Chiara pick out what I was going to wear, with Lemon having the final approval, and they had decided to put me in emerald green, which apparently made my eyes look greener, and the color made me appear fertile.

  Yikes.

  I mean, I supposed I was fertile, but who watches someone on TV and goes, “Oh, she looks fertile…”?

  Nico, on the other hand, looked very… virile. And I definitely knew how that translated onto the screen.

  Mouths closed, women of the world. This was my gorgeous king, and I had his baby in my uterus to prove it.

  I barely avoided wrinkling my nose up.

  Memo to me: do not think the word “uterus” when preparing for a national interview. And in the first trimester. It leads to less than savory thoughts and my current state of almost always nauseous was not appreciative of the imagery.

  The reporter, probably the most gorgeous Monterran woman I’d ever seen, whose name I couldn’t actually remember, much to my chagrin, began the interview with the official spiel for the camera, and I avoided twisting my fingers in my lap.

  Nico reached over and took my hand, and I was quick to cover them both with my free one.

  “Ti amo,” he whispered with a smile.

  I glanced over at him, smiling now myself. “Ti amo,” I replied, loving the way his eyes lit up whenever I spoke Italian. I didn’t do it often, but when I did, it never failed to get a really fun reaction from him.

  But there was no time for fun reactions, because the camera was on us now.

  Thankfully, the reporter spoke English for my benefit, and we chatted for a few minutes about how the early days of our reign were going. Nico and I had a chance to speak about our charities and the work there, the visits we had made to other countries, the dignitaries we had entertained, and what was in our immediate future.

  Our interviewer turned to me, smiling broadly with her perfectly white teeth in her gorgeously caramel-colored skin. “So, what prompted you to schedule this interview today, Your Majesty?”

  I smiled, exhaling slowly. “Well, the king and I would like to make a special announcement, and this seemed the best way to do it.”

  “And this announcement is?” she asked, smiling as if she already knew what it was. Which she probably did, since people only make special announcements about pregnancies, divorces, and resignations, and we were obviously not getting divorced, and couldn’t resign.

  Nico tightened his hold on my hand, and I looked at him, smiling softly.

  He grinned, then looked at our interviewer. “We are pregnant, Carla.”

  Carla, that’s what her name was. I couldn’t even think of her last name, mostly because she was the only Carla on TV in Monterra, so she was just Carla. Kind of like Oprah, only not as cool, and not as good.

  Carla made an appropriately professional yet still fan-girly sound and clapped her hands, saying the usual congratulatory things, mostly in Italian, but I got the gist.

  She was quick to get down to the nitty gritty, when was I due (we bypassed that one with a vague response), how was I feeling (well enough to do interviews, not enough to have my regular schedule), and had we thought of any names yet (no). She complimented me on how well I looked, which was actually kind of sweet, since at that moment I was feeling especially bloated and convinced that it showed, and she asked Nico what he was doing to help me through this “very difficult time”.

  Who knew that the description of the first trimester and that of losing a loved one would be so similar?

  Nico jokingly told Carla some of the things she wanted to know without making me sound like I was dying and whining all the time, which, in reality, I was, and Carla was just eating it up. She kept saying what a wonderful husband he was and how sweet to dote on his charming wife in such a caring way.

  Really, if she was going to flirt with my husband, surely she could do it without making me want to vomit on her fake Jimmy Choos.

  Before she could get too far into her tirade of worship, Nico held up a hand, which silenced her as effectively as an “Off with her head!” might have.

  “That is not all we have to say, Carla,” Nico said very smoothly with a bit of a smug smile.

  She gasped… actually gasped… out loud. “There is more?” she asked, gushing so much I almost snorted.

  Nico was a cool player, though, and just nodded slowly, sliding his arm around the back of the couch to circle me, and crossing his leg very nonchalantly over his knee. “There is.” He waited just a moment, smiling at her, then said, “Ours is not the only baby to join the royal family in the coming year.”

  Carla actually looked stunned, and not pretend stunned. “It’s not?” she asked, no gushing at all as she seemed to hold her breath.

  Nico and I shook our heads together, both smiling. I was so warming to this game now. It was too perfect.

  Nico looked at me and tilted his head. “Do you want to tell her?” he offered, his eyes dancing.

  I dimpled at him. “If you insist.” I turned to face Carla once more. “Prince Dante and his wife Lemon are also expecting.”

  Poor Carla looked like she was going to fall out of her seat. Then she recovered and looked at the camera with her trademark smile and rambled something in Italian, but I caught Dante and Lemon’s names, and then the light went off on the camera.

  Commercial break. Brilliant.

  Carla turned back to Nico and asked him something, again in Italian, and this time, Nico didn’t smile as warmly.

  “Yes,” Nico replied in English, his hold on me tightening, “they are waiting just outside the room. We anticipated your desire to interview them as well.”

  Sometimes my husband was just the most perfect person ever.

  Carla looked at me briefly, knowing Nico spoke in English for my benefit, and she smiled her fake repor
ter smile. “Wonderful. We will arrange them, then.” She turned and talked with her camera man and Dante and Lemon were brought in, looking perfectly put together and coordinated, as Nico and I were.

  “Ready for my close up,” Lemon muttered as they took up position beside us on the couch.

  I snorted and snuggled closer to Nico. “It’s a real barrel of monkeys out here.”

  Dante and Nico frowned in perfect unison. “Monkeys?” Dante repeated.

  “Never mind,” Lemon and I said together, then laughed at ourselves, which made our husbands frown more, which made us laugh more.

  Then Carla was back and flirting with our husbands, and we didn’t laugh again the entire interview. However, we got to take them home after the interview, so Carla could just keep that in mind.

  And this was the official interview that would launch Battle of the Babies, so it was all in the name of good publicity.

  If the camera guy happened to catch the way Nico absently rubbed my arm the entire interview or the way my hand played against his thigh, and our approval ratings bumped us over Dante and Lemon early in the game, that was okay.

  As long as this whole thing wrapped before eight p.m. and I got into my jammies and into bed before nine, I was just fine with that. Any later and Carla would find herself on a one way plane to some remote island in the South Pacific. Without her Monterran version of Mary Kay.

  That was what this American-born, English speaking, Monterran queen with wacky hormones and world-ending fatigue could do while her gorgeous husband, the king, would only smile and nod and tuck her in.

  Bam.

  Actually, it ended up not being bad at all. Carla got what she wanted, and we all got to go to the kitchen after she left for pre-bedtime snacks, and Dante made some killer good hot cocoa that didn’t make me nauseous, which was a miracle.

  We were almost through the first trimester, and according to everything I’d read, second trimester was way better.

  I hoped they were right.

  “Pork. Honest to goodness, that is what I want more than anything else.”

  I glanced at Lemon with a smile as we got ready together in my bathroom. “What kind of pork?”

  She shrugged as she applied more mascara. “Makes no difference to me, depends on my mood. Last night it was a rib eye, the day before that pork tacos, last week it was ribs and kabobs… I will go through an entire pig and not even care.”

  “And what is it today?” I asked with a laugh.

  She paused and bit her lip with a moan. “Pulled pork sandwich. Sweet merciful heavens, that sounds like…” She shook herself and exhaled. “Yeah, that’s what I’m craving.”

  “So Dante’s getting it now?”

  She grinned at me in the mirror. “Yes, ma’am, he is. He learned very quickly that Mama needs her cravings satisfied or he won’t be getting his either.” She winked and I laughed so hard that my stomach protested and I had to go to my friend the toilet.

  Lemon tutted a little and shook her head. “I thought that was better for you.”

  I wiped my mouth and grabbed a washcloth to dab at my face and neck. “Oh, it is. I only vomit randomly now.”

  “Like?”

  I shook my head. “Like two days ago. I ate dinner, then I showered, brushed my teeth, and used a Q-tip in my ear, then threw up.”

  Lemon cackled and picked up the curling iron her stylist had left for her to touch up some things. “That is the best thing I have ever heard.”

  I tossed a light smile at her. “Glad you think so.”

  “What about you? Still pancakes and French fries?”

  I sighed and sat down on my friend the toilet. “Oh yeah. Every day. Pancakes and French fries. And citrus. Anything citrus, I want.”

  “Can’t blame you for that,” Lemon said with a grin. “You wanna take a whiff of my perfume for the road?”

  “You laugh, but I’ve made Nico switch out to all citrus scented stuff. Know why?”

  “Why?”

  I winced and rubbed at my forehead. “Because I can’t stand the smell of him.”

  Lemon froze and looked over at me, her mouth hanging open a little, curling iron twisted up in her blonde locks. “Of Nico?”

  I nodded, knowing how ridiculous that sounded. And bizarre. And so, so wrong. “I can’t stand it. He’s tried four new deodorants, three new colognes, five different soaps… No matter what, he smelled awful and I wanted to vomit. I did at least a dozen times. He could kiss me good night on the cheek, and that was it. I had to flip over and cover my nose with the sheets.”

  “Good lord,” Lemon breathed, releasing the curling iron and letting the section of hair fall, far more curled than the rest of her hair. “Nico must have been beside himself. The man can’t keep his hands off of you.”

  “He was miserable,” I told her, putting my face in my hands. “I couldn’t even have his arms around me, because everything smelled like him.”

  “Oh, Kat.”

  “I wanted him so much, just to hold me, and yet I couldn’t let him touch me. Gah!” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes and winced again. Those had been some awful nights for both of us.

  “So citrus?”

  I laughed and nodded. “Yeah, citrus. He offered to bathe in marmalade for me, but I resisted the urge. Barely.”

  That made her grin. “He’d have been tasty, that’s for sure.”

  “He doesn’t need any help there.” I sat up and grinned back. “Citrus scented stuff takes the edge off, so now I don’t get nauseous from my husband unless he overdoes it, and now he brings me pancakes with marmalade and cream cheese every morning.”

  Lemon raised a brow at me. “You eat that mess of stuff with syrup on it?”

  I got up and snatched the curling iron away from her and started touching up my ends. “I might…”

  “That is disgusting.”

  “Says the woman who puts ketchup on her macaroni and cheese.”

  Lemon made a face and shrugged. “Point taken. I’m in no position to judge. I cried last night when Dante brought me a glass of water without asking. Scared him to death.”

  I burst out laughing, imagining the look on Dante’s face to find Lemon crying over something like that.

  She grinned at me and went back to adjusting her hair, brushing out the curl she’d made. “I bet Nico is pleased as punch to have you liking him again.”

  “Yes, I am,” came the spine-tingling deliciousness of my husband’s voice from the door.

  He looked as yummy as he sounded, almost ready for his day of ambassadors and politics and making nice in a navy suit with a white shirt that was open at the collar and a tie hung loose around his neck. His eyes were fixed on me, and whatever queasiness I had been feeling completely melted away in the face of his attractiveness that I never quite seemed to adjust to.

  And I got to make babies with this guy.

  Woof.

  Nico gave me a half smile as if he knew what was going on with me, then slid his eyes to Lemon. “Ciao, Lemon. How are you feeling?”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You don’t even wanna know, bro. But I think I rock this bump, don’t you?” She pulled her loose blouse tight to reveal her adorable and now-pronounced bump.

  His smile grew and turned fonder. “I would agree with that, yes.”

  I felt an envious surge of emotion swirl as I looked at her bump. She was now in the second trimester, I was still in first, but my bump was as big as hers, and I was bigger in other places, whereas she was fairly the same throughout. If she was going to be one of those tiny pregnant girls that was all baby and no fat, I was going to hate her a little more than normal.

  A touch on my back cued me back to my husband, whose knowing look reminded me that he could read my mind way too easily. I saw the scold in his eyes and folded my arms as I faced him completely.

  “What are you doing up here?” I asked him with what I hoped was a snarky lift of my brow. “Don’t you have several engagements of
state today?”

  He stepped closer, his hands behind his back. “I love when you speak policy to me,” he murmured, his voice sliding over me like melted chocolate.

  But I was not craving chocolate these days, strangely enough. “That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.

  He smiled and reached out a hand to touch my baby bump, which I’d been hiding since it appeared a few weeks ago. “I do have engagements of state,” he said at last, stroking the bump gently, “but I wasn’t about to go down there without making sure my queen had a little something to remind her that I love her.”

  Lemon whimpered, then clamped a hand over her mouth, no doubt pretending she wasn’t there.

  I smiled a little and tried not to lean into his touch. “Oh?”

  He nodded, then brought his other hand out from behind his back, holding three clementines in his hand.

  It might as well have been a second proposal.

  Now I whimpered and my eyes welled up and spilled over, tears rolling down my cheeks. “Oh, Nico!”

  He looked confused and amused and concerned all at once and reached up to cup my cheek. “What, amore?”

  There was no way I could answer him, so I did what came naturally. I took his face in my hands and kissed him desperately and deeply, hormones and emotions going four kinds of haywire.

  His hand on my face tightened and he wrapped the one holding clementines around me, hauling me up against him and kissing me the way he loved to, the way I hadn’t really let him for almost three months now, and hadn’t realized I’d actually been dying for. I’d missed this. I’d missed him. And right now he smelled like citrus and he tasted like citrus and Nico and mint, and suddenly I was craving him.

  He sensed my hormonal shifting and increasing desires and chuckled softly against my mouth.

  “Whoa there, Majesties, let’s do one baby at a time, okay?” Lemon broke in with her own laugh.

  Nico pulled away, which was probably best, because I wasn’t going to, and gave me a smoldering look that almost set me off again. “Right. Engagements of state.”

  “Uh huh,” I managed sliding my hands down his shirt and toying with the ends of his tie. I clenched them in my hands and exhaled slowly.