Page 12 of Royal Surrogate 1

I’m not sure what it is I’ve said, but there’s a sentiment in her voice I don’t recognize. A mental health evaluation is part of the surrogacy process, and perhaps I should have her evaluated sooner rather than later.

Tears fill her eyes. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

I reach for her hand, covering it with mine. That same warm rush of something fills me immediately, and though I don’t know the woman at all, I find I want to know what’s hurting her so.

“You can’t earn a million dollars as a librarian, right?” she asks, though it doesn’t appear she’s speaking to anyone. “I guess I could buy a lottery ticket, but this is a sure thing.”

“If it isn’t what you want?—”

“Of course it isn’t what I want!” She pulls her hand away, rising suddenly. “What I want is for my dad’s neck to not be broken. And while we’re at it, I’d like to have my mom back, too.”

She looks over at the door then back at her chair. After a long moment, she drops back into her chair again. “I’m sorry,” she says in almost a whisper. “I’m not usually like this. All emotional and everything. I just sort of feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place.”

I cock my head. I never did understand American colloquialisms very well, and she seems to read my expression.

She lets out a little laugh. “It means I don’t have much choice in the matter. There are two equally bad choices to make. Sell my uterus to some stranger or let my dad die a terrible death.” She shrugs. “I guess when I say it out loud, there’s only one choice to make.”

CHAPTER 8

Renae

It’s a shame…all this fancy food, and I can’t seem to taste it.

The tears linger in my eyes, even long after my heart rate has returned to normal, and fortunately, they don’t leak down my cheeks.

Before our next course, Caspar hands me the official surrogacy contract to read over. I place it next to my plate, almost afraid to read it, but my gaze keeps skimming over the legal jargon on the top page.

I’m going to sign it. I’ve already made up my mind, and I’m not the kind of girl who’s wishy-washy about decisions, even big ones. I’m the kind of girl who sets her mind to something and doesn’t let anything get in her way. I’ve decided I’m going to do whatever it takes to get my father that treatment, and that’s that.

“I expect there will be some sort of down payment,” I say when we’re waiting for dessert.

“Of course. The contract specifies two hundred thousand, with another two hundred thousand to come after successful insemination. Plus another two once we’re married, then the largest payment upon the arrival of my son. You’ll get your final payment when we divorce.”

I nod. That sounds fair, I guess. But one thing is bothering me.

“You know I can’t guarantee you a son, right?” I say. “That part’s on the man. Or did you skip that part of biology class?”

He frowns, then schools his face blank again. “I know it’s not guaranteed. But I will guarantee a half-million-dollar bonus for you if it’s a boy.”

Still doesn’t make any difference, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. For the first time, I allow myself to pick up the contract and flip through it. I’ve spent enough time helping the pre-law students in the library to know what I should be looking for, and despite the untraditional nature of this relationship, I have to admit that it’s a fair contract. Everything seems to be in order.

Even if it weren’t, you don’t have the freedom to be picky right now. He’s offering me far more than a standard surrogacy contract would get me…and yes, I have to agree to a sham marriage for a little while, but there are certainly worse things than having to pretend to be the wife of a Montovian royal who’s eleventh—or is it twelfth? —in line for the throne. Not only will this help my dad, but it also might be something of an adventure.

A section on the second-to-last page gives me pause, though.

“What does this part mean?” I ask, passing the page over to him.

His blue eyes dance over the words before rising to meet mine again. “It’s essentially a prenuptial agreement. In short, you have no claim to any of my assets upon our divorce, aside from the final payment as part of this contract. It also reaffirms the confidentiality terms, reiterating that you can tell no one, in public or in private, about the terms of this arrangement upon the dissolution of our relationship.”

“No, I mean the section below that.”

“Ah, the morality clause. Yes, that is a bit unusual, but necessary, you understand.” His gaze meets mine again. “As my wife and the mother of my child, you’ll be expected to conform to certain standards of behavior. Most of these should be obvious—no politically charged rants on social media, no misbehavior in front of the press, et cetera, or your compensation will be affected.”

“And the part about no ‘outside affairs’?”

“That should hardly be a surprise,” he says. “If you’re going to be playing the part of my wife, I can’t very well have you running about town, bedding whomever you like. And while carrying my child, no less.”

“So I’m basically banned from having sex for the next…two years or so?”

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