My mother, the consummate drama queen, is the first to hurl herself into the silence. “Oh, darling! A baby? We’re going to have a baby?”
I’m about to insist Mother stop being ridiculous—it’s more likely Lizzy’s caught a virus or been poisoned by gravy that sat out too long—but then my sister turns with a weak smile and lifts her mittened hands at her sides. “Surprise.”
My jaw drops.
A baby? My sister is pregnant?
Jeffrey wraps protective arms around her and glares menacingly at the press corps until they lower their cameras. “I’m taking Elizabeth home. We’ll discuss this later. As a family.”
Without further ado, he scoops Lizzy back into his arms and carries her to one of the vehicles waiting to whisk us back to the castle as soon as the caroling is through. Moments later, the SUV reverses with a three-point turn and disappears through the softly falling snow.
“What a perfect Christmas miracle,” my mother says in a too-loud voice, lifting her sweatered arms to the heavens.
I should be grateful she’s wearing something other than her silk pajama uniform from the past decade, but I’ve been so irritated by her performances for the press the past few days, it takes all my willpower not to lunge at her and muffle her with my scarf.
“Hang in there,” Nick murmurs. “Soon, this will all be over, and we can go have mulled wine. If you’re good, I’ll show you the secret hiding place in my study where not even my family can find me, no matter how hard they look.”
“She’s ridiculous,” I hiss beneath my breath.
“She’s excited,” he counters. “And you will be, too, I’m sure, once the shock wears off.” He sighs. “It is shocking, though, isn’t it? Jeffrey isn’t the type to break the rules or do things out of order. I mean, they only recently got engaged.”
I ponder his words as Queen Felicity gets us back on track and bumping along through the second verse of the carol. I seriously doubt the baby was planned. More likely, it was an accident, like the one Gerg and I had three months into our marriage.
One broken condom, and suddenly, my entire future was in question.
If I became a mother, my days in the field were over. I’d be chained to a desk for the rest of my life, obligated to be careful with myself for the sake of my child.
The prospect had been…horrifying, especially at first.
I hadn’t been ready to give up my dreams, my work, my future for a baby I wasn’t sure I wanted.
I’ve never fantasized about being a parent. It just isn’t part of the vision I have for my life. I have compassion for children—it’s hard to be small and powerless in a world run by irresponsible big people—but I don’t feel at all equipped to raise one.
My sisters and I were nurtured in fits and starts by a series of poorly paid, mostly American nannies. Our parents were a mixture of controlling and benignly neglectful and did nothing to model good child-rearing.
At best, I knew I would struggle even to know how to mother my baby, at a constant loss, with no example to reference. And, at worst, I feared I would be resentful or bitter, and that the child would sense that, no matter how I tried to hide it.
Still, when I’d miscarried barely six weeks into the pregnancy, I’d been…sad.
Confused and sad.
I wasn’t ready for a baby, but a tiny part of me thought this wrench thrown into my neatly ordered life might be a cosmic push in a new direction that I wouldn’t have chosen for myself.
Maybe, if I was forced to adapt, I would prove to myself that I’m not emotionally faulty beyond repair. That I could love as fiercely as all the non-broken people in the world. With fate dealing this hand, I could have taken the chance. But I wouldn’t choose to roll the dice on the possibility I could screw up a human being the way my parents did me.
And that meant making sure there were no more accidents.
I made the appointment to get an IUD the next day and have doubled up on birth control ever since.
I’m not having children. Ever.
But I’m completely happy for my sister—assuming she’s happy, which she seemed to be, beneath the green pallor.
Still, when we get back to the castle, I don’t seek Lizzy out. I let Sabrina and my mother do that. And when Nick motions for me to follow him up the stairs to the second floor, I shake my head. “I’m tired,” I lie. “I should get some sleep while I can.”
He hesitates, then nods. “Of course. I’ll do the same.”
I turn to go, but Nick’s voice stops me. “And Zan?”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yes?”
“Happy Christmas.” He smiles. “It’s all going to work out just fine. You’ll see.”