Pregnant By the Prince

Chapter 9

The studio lights beamed bright and hot down on Stella as a gorgeous fa'afafine named Velda carved cheekbones into her face with a few masterful strokes of contouring.

“That is sensational.” She leaned forward, twisting her face to each side to examine it from different angles. “You’re a genius.”

Blunt-tipped fingers blended a spot at her jawline. “I know it, girl.” The make-up artist stepped back and assessed their work. “I had a good canvas to work with though.” Their compliment came out grudgingly and Stella laughed.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“So…” Velda glanced at her from under heavily lined eyes. “You and the prince, huh?”

Stella nodded, twisting the ring on her left hand that Aleki had presented her with the night before. Nerves shot through her, little arrowheads pointing out all of her insecurities about the announcement.

You can’t be what he needs! The people will resent you! He’ll leave you for a nice Avalian girl!

“What I would give to be in your place.” Velda fanned themself with one hand. “I used to have a picture of him on my wall growing up, you know. My father wasn’t all that accepting of my identity and he tore it down one day after I refused to sign up for rugby for another year.”

Empathy rocked Stella. She wasn’t the only one who knew how it felt to be uncomfortable in her role. As a fa'afafine, Avali’s third recognised gender, Velda could surely relate to how imposter syndrome could wear on a person.

“Was it difficult for you, growing up the way you did in the islands?”

Velda shrugged, the strong muscles in their biceps bunching as they leaned forward to apply Stella’s lip colour.

“It wasn’t easy. I was lucky in that my mother accepted me, and that I was the youngest in my family. There are eight of us, five boys, two girls and me. So by the time I came along my father already had his sons, the whole masculine dream. But there was disappointment. It took him a long time to come to terms with who I am, and it took me a long time to come to terms with who he was, in that he couldn’t accept me as myself.”

Anxiety darted through Stella’s blood. “Is it like that often?” The words were slightly garbled as she tried to limit the movement of her mouth. “With fathers here?”

Velda nodded, dark eyes full of resignation. “The traditional ideas still have some hold. Men want sons, they want their name to be carried forward, to be recognised as leaders in the community, the church. But it’s the women who run Avali, don’t you worry about that. If you need something done, you talk to a woman.”

They stood back, admiring their handiwork, then nodded firmly. “Unless you need this face done. Then you talk to me.”

Velda whipped the protective cape off Stella’s shoulders, and she peered around them to see in the mirror. Surprise stirred in her chest. Pale rose lips and subtle highlighting gave her a blushing virgin aesthetic that anyone who had been unfortunate enough to overhear her morning vomits at Aleki’s would be able to dispute. Despite nerves over the interview keeping her up all night, her green eyes looked huge and clear and her hair fell in soft Hollywood-style waves to her collarbones. Paired with her knee-length white eyelet dress and nude heels, the effect was perfect. She looked every inch the amiable bride-to-be who could have swept the prince of a small nation off his feet.

“Fafine aulelei.” The wonder in Aleki’s voice was gratifying. “You look stunning.”

Stella caught his eye in the mirror as he approached the makeup chair from behind. Resting a hand on her shoulder he leaned down and whispered in her ear.

“Are you ready?”

They’d gone over the questions provided by the studio last night, sprawled across her bed eating panipopo Lani had bought from home. She was evidently impressed by Stella’s progress learning about Avali’s history, politics and culture. Stella had been ecstatic upon her first experience of the soft yeasty buns baked in a sweet coconut sauce. She’d torn chunks off with her hands, dipping them in the excess syrup as she tried to craft diplomatic answers to the questions Aleki fired at her from the reef of paper.

She nodded gently, the connection of their gazes in the mirror smoothing the raw edge of apprehension that danced under her skin. She had known what he would be wearing - their outfits had been carefully selected to reflect the colours of the national flag, but she was unprepared for the sight of Aleki was dressed formally in a black lavalava and a wine-red shirt that highlighted the hint of pink in his lips. Lips that she wanted to kiss, lick, bite. The week since he’d interrupted her first dance lesson had been torture. Each afternoon Aleki came and fetched her from her lessons on history, language and culture, whirling her away to see the parts of the island known only to locals. They’d trekked a volcanic rainforest path, snorkeled coral reefs, fed the wild pigs that roamed the back roads. They’d visited The Grotto again, dining on baby octopus and taro leaves in coconut milk with Sio and his sister Oriana. And after every adventure, they’d returned back to his house so she could rest while he heated the dinners left prepared for the two of them, which they ate unfailingly on the patio as the warm island breeze brushed their skin and the South Pacific stars twinkled overhead.

She was so turned on she might die. But Aleki had remained strictly hands off since their impromptu dance. She’d turned possible reasons over and over in her head, but Velda’s words spread fresh fear through her.

Is he afraid I’ll have a girl? Her father had never made any secret of his disappointment at having a daughter rather than a son. A disappointment compounded by her parents’ inability to have more children. Hot shame flooded her diaphragm, a familiar bite from childhood that she’d spent her adult life striving to avoid.

“I’m ready.” Her words offered more assurance than she felt as she tried to push the possibility that her child might grow up feeling unwanted, burdensome by forfeit of a Y chromosome from her mind.

Her clueless fiancé smiled, and offered her his arm.

“Come little star. Let’s convince the country of our love.”

* * *