Page 33 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
Claire nodded. Heaven forfend some fashion magazine would have a field day over the horror of ill-chosen outfits.
The meeting dragged on. Claire wasn’t asked to contribute again, but the plans were well advanced, and there was an atmosphere of expectation. Flandenne would be the center of things for a while, and the marriage was a chance to show the country at its best. Television rights had been sold, and an estimated five million people would watch the wedding.
“I hope that wasn’t too much for you,” Adrien said, when the two of them were finally allowed to leave.
Claire smiled and shook her head. “It wasn’t as though we had to do much, was it?”
Adrien laughed. “I know… we might get to choose what sort of cake we have — if we’re lucky.”
Claire made a face. She hated fruit cake. Her preference would be chocolate, but if it was to result in a full-page news spread as to what her choice said about her personality, or something else equally ridiculous, then she’d settle with the fruit.
“Just let them get on with it. I’m going to lie down. I feel quite tired.”
It was unusual for Claire to feel tired — especially given she’d done so little. But over the past few days, she’d noticed an increasing fatigue. Adrien looked at her with concern.
“Are you all right? I thought you looked a little pale earlier on. There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
Claire shook her head. “No, I’m just tired. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later,” she said, smiling at him before parting from his company and going up to her apartment.
But as for the reason she was tired, Claire had her suspicions, and, if they were correct, it would change everything. Her period was late. Usually, she mightn’t even have noticed, but this month was different. If she was pregnant, Claire knew she’d be on the front page of every newspaper in Europe and across the Atlantic. And if she was pregnant outside of wedlock, she’d be a dream come true for every gossip columnist wanting to make their name at her expense. Even in the twenty-first century, a princess didn’t have a baby outside of wedlock.
I don’t know for sure yet.
But how was she to know? Before all this, she’d simply have gone to the pharmacy and bought a test. But to do so now was dangerous. If she stepped outside the palace gates, she’d be photographed, and, if she asked someone to buy it for her, how could she be certain she could trust that person not to tellsomeone else? Adrien had his own doctor, of course, but to tell him would be to raise a possibility, one Claire wasn’t certain she was open to.
Am I ready to be a mom?
This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. A baby complicated things — it complicated everything. But it should’ve been the happiest moment of her life. How could Claire open a restaurant and be a chef with a baby in tow? Princesses didn’t give birth and have jobs. They should be able to, but they didn’t. Claire knew that, and it felt as though her dream was fast slipping away.
But I don’t know for certain. Not yet.
Back in her apartment, she flicked through Netflix, trying to work out what to do. She and Adrien were due to open a children’s ward at the royal hospital that afternoon, but Claire felt exhausted, and before she could even decide what to watch, she was asleep.
“Miss Bellamy? Are you awake, Miss Bellamy? His Highness is waiting.”
Claire opened her eyes, finding Esme looking down at her with a smile on her face. Yawning, she stretched out, sitting up and glancing at the clock on the television. It was after lunch, and they were due at the hospital for the opening of the ward at two.
“Oh, goodness. I’d better get ready,” Claire exclaimed, and, with Esme’s help, she rushed to prepare herself, having no time to eat or drink before she was hurrying down to the waiting car.
Adrien was already inside, and he looked at her with concern as she scrambled in next to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “You weren’t at lunch.”
“I’m fine. I was just tired, that’s all,” Claire replied, smiling at him.
The car glided out of the palace courtyard and through the gates into the square. A few people were waiting there — tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of royal comings and goings. Claire waved to them, even as a pang of nausea gripped her stomach.
I thought it was called “morning” sickness.
Mercifully, the hospital was only a short drive away. This was Claire’s first official engagement. She was looking forward to it — she loved kids — but feeling as she did at the moment, the sofa in her apartment was far more appealing.
“Is there anything I have to say or do?” she asked, as the car pulled up outside the hospital.
Adrien glanced at her and smiled. “Just smile and nod. Say some nice things. It’s just an opening — a ribbon to cut and a plaque to unveil. There’s nothing much to it.”
Claire smiled. The way he spoke made it sound normal to be opening a hospital ward and being the object of everyone’s attention. To him itwasnormal. But to Claire, it was yet another learning curve, and stepping out of the car, she was again struck by a wave of nausea, even as she forced a smile to her face.
“Your Highness, welcome,” a man in a medical coat said, greeting Adrien, who introduced him to Claire.
