Page 35 of Royal Surrogate 2

Caspar has been true to his promise to court me. We go on at least one date a week—sometimes more. Often, our excursions are simple, beautiful—a walk around Wintervale’s lake, or a stroll along the river after stopping at the town’s bakery for sweet buns. Sometimes, though, he can’t resist going all out—treating me to an elaborate candlelit dinner, complete with a violist to serenade us, or hiring a full string orchestra for the manor’s ballroom so we can spend the evening waltzing in each other’s arms.

After all this time, after everything we’ve danced around for so long…it feels like a dream. Like the sort of romance I never dared hope for.

And every day, as our child grows inside me, I feel my connection to this man—and to the family we’re building together—growing, too.

It’s been three months since we decided to start over. Three months of dates, and gifts, and toe-curling kisses. Three months of my stomach getting bigger and bigger, of watching Caspar’s eyes get wider and warmer every time he looks at me.

I’m currently sitting on the balcony outside our bedroom, my feet propped up and a book resting atop my round belly. It’s a good book—one of many Caspar had brought for me from the Royal Library—but I’m having a hard time concentrating on it. My mind keeps wandering, and I keep finding myself staring out across the lake, watching the sparrows swoop and dip over the water in the afternoon sun.

I feel…at home. At peace. Like this is where I was always supposed to be.

And frankly, it terrifies me, just a little. How quickly I adapted to this now that I’ve decided this give this life, this marriage, a chance. I’m no longer the girl working her ass off for a douchebag, wondering how the hell she’s going to pay rent, let alone pay for her dad’s treatments. I have everything I could ever need.

Maybe that’s why it’s so scary. Because I know that if all this can be handed to me, just like that, it can also be taken away. In a snap I went from someone who was willing to whore out her womb for money to someone with a true husband, a family, an elaborate home, and all the resources she could ever ask for…

“Renae?”

Caspar’s voice draws me out of my reverie. He’s leaning against the door back inside, looking rakishly casual, and though there’s one of those charming smiles on his lips I can tell that he’s picked up on my weird mood.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile. “I was just reading.”

He saunters out onto the balcony, lifting his hand—where he holds a thick white envelope with a golden seal.

“We just got the official invitation to Andrew’s coronation,” he says, taking the chair opposite mine and shaking his head. “I still can’t believe that bastard is going to be king soon.”

Despite the name-calling, I know he secretly admires and respects his cousin Andrew. Over the last few months, I’ve started to get a better understanding of the relationship between the brothers of Wintervale and their royal cousins in the capital—while the rivalry between them certainly runs deep, and there’s been plenty of contention on both sides, they still see each other as family. As blood. At the end of the day, they’ll stand up for each other—with plenty of pranks, insults, and even a few fights along the way.

“Do you still think you’ll be up to it?” he asks, his sapphire eyes dropping to my belly.

My hand moves to my stomach. The little guy has been extra squirmy today, and I still can’t get over the rush I feel with his every movement. “I’m not due for three weeks after that. I think I’ll be able to manage. Besides, the doctor says it’s good for me to get out and about.”

“I know,” he says. “It’s just…”

“You’re not going to get all overprotective on me now, are you? Or is this just you looking for an excuse to get out of going to the coronation?”

His grin widens, true amusement finally rising to his eyes. “As much as I’d love to skip what will surely be the most boring affair of the century, I assure you, wife, this is entirely about your wellbeing.”

Wife. That word still gives me a strange little shiver sometimes.

And Caspar must have caught my reaction, because he leans forward, his face going serious again. “Renae, I…” He stops, then reaches out and takes my hand in both of his, the same way he did on that bench outside my dad’s facility three months ago.

He looks down at my fingers in his, and his thumb slides along my skin before he looks up at me again, his eyes dark with concern.

“Renae,” he says softly. “Are you happy here?”

“Of course I’m happy,” I assure him.

“No, I mean really happy.” His hand tightens on mine.

And I know what he means. He’s seen that little thread of fear in me, caught me staring into the distance and wondering, noticed that there’s a tiny piece of me that still won’t let go of that self-preservation instinct, that still, occasionally, whispers to me to run away so I won’t get hurt or have to face the loss of all of this.

But where would you go? I ask myself. And wouldn’t you lose all of this either way? Better to have it, hold it, while I can.

His blue eyes search mine, and I don’t know what does it, exactly—that look in his eyes, the stirring of our son inside me, the breeze coming in off the lake—but I feel something inside me break, feel that last wall inside me begin to crumble.

“Yes,” I whisper, my voice breaking. And then again, “Yes, I’m happy. I never thought…” A sob cuts me off, and suddenly, without meaning to, I’m crying.

“Renae.” Caspar rises, his voice thick with worry, and pulls me into his arms. “I know I hurt you. I know?—”

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