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“Ramona?” I jump forward in my chair and move the target to try and zoom in closer.
My nose is almost touching with the screen when the door flies open. I squeal, scrambling to grab the mouse. Clicking as fast as possible, I shut down the final window as Rowan enters the room.
“Dr. Klein is… here.” He studies my expression a moment. “Are you okay?”
My heart is flying, and I feel sick. I can’t tell Rowan what I’m doing. He’ll be furious. I think…?
“Yes,” I manage to say. Clearing my throat, I try again. “Sorry. Freddie showed me how to look up the refugee camps. I… I guess I was surprised by what I saw there. They’re pretty run-down.”
His brow lines, and he crosses to me, pulling me into his embrace. “I’m sorry, love. There’s nothing we can do about that side of the equation, I’m afraid.”
Holding his strong arms, I breathe deeply to calm myself. My reaction is silly, after all. It’s not like I was doing anything wrong.
“You’re right.” Lifting onto my toes, I kiss his cheek. “Dr. Klein is here?”
That makes him smile. “I have her word she won’t tell anyone. Especially not my mother.”
My laugh is a little too loose. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I’ve lived with my mother longer than you have.”
He doesn’t seem to notice my shaky nerves. Or if he does, he probably thinks I’m jittery about the appointment, which I suppose I am. I’m like a prize mare being checked out to make sure I’ll breed properly.
Rowan says it’s as much about both of us, our physical compatibility, but somehow it feels more like I’m the one being inspected. After all, they’re stuck with him.
“Your mother spends all her time at Bèuluec sur Mer now,” I say, trying to cover. It’s true. The Queen relocated to the luxurious spa-village in the south of France a few months after our wedding.
“Trust me.” His large hand covers mine. “If she knew what we were up to, she’d be at the palace by nightfall.”
“That seems a bit premature.”
“We’re talking about the future king or queen of Monagasco. Let’s keep this time for us.”
My hand is in Rowan’s as we approach the room where Dr. Klein is waiting. “Come back to our room when you’re finished.”
I give him a nervous glance. “And to think, regular people just get drunk and screw.”
“We can do that, too,” he says, leaning forward to give my ear a hot kiss.
“And mess up the royal baby?” I pretend to be horrified. “Mon dieu!”
“Your French is terrible.”
I cut my eyes at him and push through the door.
* * *
Dr. Klein gives me an extensive interview. She takes blood. It hasn’t been very long since my last physical exam, so we’re able to skip that part. Still, she makes me pee in a cup, and she tells me about all the genetic testing they’ll be doing. They’ll be looking for every possible abnormality or problem in the book. It’s almost enough to kill the fun of the entire process. (Almost.) Finally, by the end, she holds my hand and grows very serious.
“It is a lot of pressure, majesté.” Her French accent thickens. “If you are feeling overwhelmed, it is only normal. Yes?”
“Will my head be cut off if my baby’s the wrong gender?” I tease.
Dr. Klein’s laugh makes me think of a flute. “Of course not!” She leans forward and arches an eyebrow. “Today we know it is the men who choose the sex of the child.”
“They do? That hardly seems fair…”
“Oui, and we have history to show us how powerful queens can be.” She pats my hand. “Just relax. Making babies is fun, yes?”
