Page 8 of Royal Surrogate 2

And once I recognize that, the more obvious it becomes to me—the way my spirits lift whenever he enters the room, the way my heart beats a little faster when he touches me, the way I warm from the inside whenever he smiles in my direction. This is more than the desire I battle lying next to him in bed every night. This has the danger of developing into something completely untenable, especially since I need to walk away after the baby arrives.

I have to be stronger. I can’t let feelings enter this arrangement or they will destroy me.

A couple weeks after the incident by the river, Caspar and I find ourselves sitting down for afternoon tea with his mother, and that’s when things start getting really real.

“I know it’s still early, but we need to start planning the press tour,” she says between nibbles of a raspberry scone.

“Press tour?” I ask, nervous. No one ever mentioned anything like that to me.

“Yes, of course. It’s expected,” she says. “We need to notify the national and international presses about my impending grandchild. As Caspar is the heir to Wintervale, the whole world will be watching with rapt attention, eager for news.”

The whole world sounds like an exaggeration—many people back home haven’t even heard of Montovia—but I also know the world goes crazy over a royal baby. Still, I’m not exactly sure what’s expected of me. “What exactly does a press tour entail?”

“A bunch of nonsense, honestly,” Caspar cuts in. “But necessary nonsense. A formal pregnancy announcement, obviously, and carefully planned interviews throughout the pregnancy. Anything less would lead people to believe we’re hiding something, or that we’re ashamed of the pregnancy for some reason.”

“And we don’t want any of those rumors, of course,” his mother adds. “In addition to the interviews I also think we should also do a gender reveal for the media, since those are so in vogue these days. And then, of course, the official baby shower. That will come much later, but I already have some ideas. Since you didn’t do a grand royal wedding, I think it’s important that the shower is a big affair.”

“How big?” I ask, already terrified.

“I want this to be the event of the century,” she declares. “This is the birth of the heir of Wintervale we’re talking about. I want every important royal and dignitary in Europe to attend.”

Beside me, Caspar makes a face. “That’s a little excessive, don’t you think? Obviously, we want something lavish, but?—”

“You robbed me of my chance to plan you a wedding. You will not rob me of this as well,” she snaps, in a tone that suggests she will broker no arguments. “I will take care of all the plans—the two of you just need to show up and behave yourselves.” Her eyes, normally friendly, are sharp as they shift from me to Caspar and back again. “Your quick marriage has already raised some speculation, and I won’t have our family name dragged through the mud. We haven’t even announced the pregnancy, and there are already rumors that you were forced to wed fast because of certain out-of-wedlock indiscretions. As you said yourself, Caspar, anything less than a big show will make people believe we’re ashamed of this pregnancy for some reason, and I won’t allow that.”

“There’s a big difference between being open about the pregnancy and putting on the ‘show of the century’,” Caspar points out, but I can tell he’s not going to put up much of a fight, and not just to please his mother—I haven’t known Caspar for very long, but it’s clear that his public image is important to him. He cares about how people perceive him—and, by extension, me.

He looks in my direction, and I fight the little flutter I feel when his blue eyes lock on mine. It’s not even selfishness or narcissism driving him, I realize. He sees this as a way of protecting me.

And as much as I hate the idea of parading around—especially pregnant—at a bunch of elaborate royal events, I hate the idea of being the object of malicious rumors even more.

“Okay,” I say, turning back to his mother. “We’ll do it.” I fight the urge to give a sigh of defeat. “What’s up first?”

CHAPTER 8

Caspar

Time seems to slip through my fingers now that I find myself wanting to savor every moment of it. The press tour doesn’t begin until Renae’s belly begins to swell, and I must admit that she handles our first interview much better than I expected.

“May I join you?” I ask, not waiting for her answer as I sit beside her on the grass. We’ve taken to retreating to this spot by the lake every afternoon. It’s become something of a habit over the past several weeks—a way to forget about the demands of royal life, if only for a few minutes.

Renae says nothing as I recline, folding my hands behind my head.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I ask.

“No. But doesn’t Princess Victoria still work forCelebrity Spark? They probably told that reporter to go easy on us.”

I shrug, not that she can see me as she sits staring out at the lake beside me. “It’s always easier to start with a puff piece. We don’t have to do anything harder if you don’t want to.”

She’s silent for a moment before she turns to face me. She stares down at me before lying beside me, stretching out next to me. “I feel like I’m lying. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

I cock my head, not understanding what she means until I remember that to her, itisan act.

I should tell her, I think. Now would be the perfect time.

“You know,” I say, reaching out to touch her slightly swollen stomach. “If you wanted to?—”

“Don’t.” She catches my hand before I can reach her. “I mean…” She sighs, placing my hand on her belly. “You can touch my stomach. I just don’t want you to, you know…”

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