The Crown Prince's Bride (Royal Duology 2)

He nodded. “Okay.”

They sat that way for a few moments, because leaving meant leaving whatever potential they might have had behind. Finally he got up. She did too, and he leaned forward and kissed her cheek

.

“Whatever arrangements you need to make, do it. We’ll accommodate.”

“Thank you, Raoul.”

He nodded, then turned to leave.

Marco was waiting in the car, saw Raoul approaching, and got out to open his door. Once Raoul was inside, he slumped against the seat.

“Home, please, Marco.”

“Yes, sir.”

The car pulled away from the curb. They were out of her neighborhood and on a main street when Marco spoke again. “This will be completely out of line, sir, but you’re an idiot.”

Raoul wondered if Marco expected him to disagree or be angry. Instead he met his driver’s eyes and simply said, “I know.”

* * *

Stephani’s days were jam-packed with arrangements. There was handing things over to Sofia, setting up interviews for a new assistant, getting up to speed with the project in Tanzania, travel arrangements. She felt tired all the time, and at the end of the day she often felt like crying as she ate a late dinner before falling into bed.

She credited the fatigue to both the long work days and the emotional toll it took to be in the same office with Raoul day after day. She’d said she loved him; he hadn’t said it in return. He focused on his work and the children and his father’s recovery, but barely spared her a glance or a word.

Three weeks had passed since they’d jetted off to Nice. She’d been taken right to the top of the roller coaster and then plunged to the bottom again.

There was a reason she didn’t like roller coasters.

Before she could make her trip, she needed a physical. Dr. Sanchez, the palace physician, set up an appointment for her at his office. She walked in at three in the afternoon on a Wednesday and was immediately ushered into an exam room. The nurse gave her a soft cotton gown and she lay down on the bed, a thin sheet covering her.

She woke when Dr. Sanchez entered the room.

He smiled at her. “Working too hard again?”

“Long days. It’s a lot of prep, getting ready to move for six months.”

“But exciting.” He moved to the side of the bed, and his face turned serious. “Stephani, I think you should reconsider your trip.”

His statement was surprising and she gaped at him. “What? Why?”

“Well, your records show that you’re not up-to-date with some of your vaccines.”

Relief flooded through her. “Well, that’s part of why I’m here.”

He nodded. “And some of them I could give to you safely. But not yellow fever, and the anti-malaria medication approved for you isn’t as effective in areas of Africa.”

“Why do you mean, approved for me? Why aren’t they safe?” She sat up on the bed.

He looked at her evenly. “By the look on your face, I’m going to assume that you don’t know that you’re pregnant.”

The room swirled around for a moment or two, and she saw black dots. “Put your head between your knees,” Dr. Sanchez advised. He rubbed her back for a few moments, then went to the little sink and got her a paper cup of water. “Drink this, and we’ll talk.”

She nodded and took the cup from him. The water was cool and revivifying, and she took a deep breath while the word ran on repeat in her brain. Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.

“I didn’t know,” she said weakly, then leaned back against the pillow again. “It’s only been a few weeks. I haven’t even missed my period yet. I’m due in a few days.”