Page 48 of Royal Love
“Constantly,” I confirm, enjoying her surprise.
We say our goodbyes with promises to return next week, and I’m surprised to find I’m looking forward to it. As we walk back to the car where Parker waits, Amelia bumps her shoulder against my arm.
“Admit it,” she says smugly. “You had fun.”
“It was educational,” I concede, trying to maintain some dignity.
“You exchanged phone numbers with Tattoo Guy.”
“Miguel,” I correct her. “And it’s good to have connections outside the palace.”
She laughs, the sound bright in the evening air. “I knew you’d like it if you gave it a chance.”
As Parker opens the car door for us, Amelia suddenly stops. “Wait,” she says, her eyes widening with sudden longing. “Ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” I repeat, glancing at my watch. It’s nearly nine, and most shops will be closed.
“I need chocolate ice cream,” she says with the seriousness of a state declaration. “With caramel sauce. And maybe pecans.”
I look at Parker, who’s already on his phone. After a brief conversation, he turns to us. “There’s a shop three blocks from here. The owner is willing to reopen for Your Majesties.”
“You’re a miracle worker, Parker,” Amelia tells him with sincere gratitude.
“Just doing my job, ma’am.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re seated in an empty ice cream parlor, the owner hovering nervously as Amelia devours a massive sundae with evident bliss. I pick at my own much smaller vanilla cone, more entertained by her enjoyment than interested in the dessert.
“This,” she announces between bites, “is exactly what I needed after all that breathing and stretching.”
“The royal heir demands ice cream?” I tease.
“The royal heir’s mother demands ice cream,” she corrects me. “The baby just benefits from my happiness.”
I reach across the table to wipe a spot of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “Your happiness is my primary concern, you know.”
Her expression softens. “I know. That’s why I love you.” She glances around the small shop, at Parker standing discreetly by the door, at the owner pretending not to stare from behind the counter. “And this—normal moments stolen in the midst of our very abnormal life—this is what makes me happy.”
“Then we’ll have more of them,” I promise. “Ice cream runs, Lamaze classes, whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous gleam in her eye. “That’s a dangerous offer to make to a hormonal woman with royal authority.”
I lean forward, dropping my voice so only she can hear. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be,” she whispers back, but her smile tells me everything I need to know.
In this moment, king and queen are secondary titles. We’re just Tristan and Amelia, sharing ice cream on a weeknight, preparing for our baby, stealing normal in the midst of extraordinary. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER 27
AMELIA
Something isn’t right.
I’ve been feeling off for the past couple of days—more tired than usual, a persistent backache that won’t ease no matter how I sit, occasional twinges that I’ve been dismissing as Braxton Hicks contractions. But this morning, the discomfort has taken on a different quality.
“Your Majesty?” The Minister of Education pauses in the middle of her presentation, looking at me with concern. “Are you all right?”
I realize I’ve been rubbing my lower back and grimacing. “I’m fine,” I assure her, straightening in my chair. “Please continue.”
