Page 71 of The Un-Apparent Heir

It couldn’t be that bad.

“Nat, I have a heart condition—a bum valve, likely something I’ve always had—but it’s flaring up. I need to take care of it. It needs surgery and then a long recovery. Rehab. But if I get it managed, I will be around to see this one go on to university.”

Natalie felt like that was a kick to the teeth. Ed squeezed her knee lovingly. They both anticipated what this meant.

“I would like this to happen on any other timeline given that you should be resting and Paul and Sanne are about to have twins. I have no reserves for you and you’ll be in the middle of a regency.”

Natalie swallowed hard.

“When?”

“March. I’ve got some time. This is nothing immediate. I will need two surgeries. The first in March, the second several weeks later to do something else. Don’t ask what. And then it will be a few months before I recover. During the times I am incapacitated, you will be regent. Any other time, you will still manage as point. And, given that I am getting up there in age, I’d like to give you more leeway here. You will manage the household likely until the baby comes now. Fuck. The timing is just impeccable, Vanna!”

His tone was exasperated.

“Oh, Daddy, I’m sorry,” Natalie said. “We didn’t time this. We didn’t know.”

“Stop apologising for giving us a grandchild. This means more to us—and you—than any dreadful surgery,” Robbie said. “The timing is always shit with this family.”

“I can come right back to work,” Natalie said. “Take up more—and I can work right until I drop this thing?—”

“Absolutely not!” Vanna shook her head. “You must take care of your health. And this is a miracle baby, sweetheart. You will soak up every moment with him or her. I won’t have it otherwise nor will your father.”

Natalie shook her head and looked at Ed for something—she wasn’t sure what.

“Less will get done,” Vanna said. “And the world will survive.”

“If anyone will understand, it’s people. They will be over the moon, right?” Ed asked. “It’s a big deal—a royal baby. And this is, as Vanna said, a miracle.”

“Less will get done,” Robbie sounded defeated. “But your mum is right. This baby will be here, come hell, or high water, and we will greet him or her with all the excitement in the world. That will be the focus, not killing ourselves with work. Your mum, Aunt Rebecca, and Uncle Duncan can fill in. I will be fine in the end. I’m tough. And you will be fine, too. I have absolute faith in your ability to carry this torch.

Lucy packed up Iona in the wee hours to rush her to the A&E at the local hospital. Iona suffered from what Lucy expected was an ear infection. She was only quiet when latched and Lucy’s breasts were miserably tired of being connected to the baby nonstop. She pulled on her ears and spiked a fever. Despite that, she was bright-eyed. Lucy sat alone at the clinic for six hours, unable to call her husband. She hadn’t spoken to him in any real way since their blow-up. Two weeks passed without comment. Lucy felt physically ill at home now. She never dreamed Winston could make her feel so low. She sometimes wondered if she should give up.

Now holding her baby and wondering when it would end, she came apart at the seams. Entertaining a nearly five-month-old at the doctor’s office for a quarter of a day was no easy feat. She was exhausted. Finally, they had space, brought the baby back, and Lucy got the confirmation that her daughter had a double ear infection. Winston never texted. He didn’t call. Nothing. She left a note that she took the baby to the doctor, but he never checked on her.

Lucy packed the baby off to the chemist, wondering how long the wait would be for infant ear drops. After a surprisingly quick turnaround, Lucy headed next door to the cafe and waited for a latte—asking for a cup of espresso with a bit of cream. She called it a “broke-ass latte.” Back in the day, she’d been able to buy an Americano for half the price of a latte and it worked twice as hard. Her assistant had known what she meant by it. She had known exactly how much cream to put in her iced coffee in the afternoon. That was back when she was accomplished. Lucy was someone. She had people who looked up to her, found her competent, and checked in. Now, all Lucy did was bus kids around to appointments and school. Oh, and disappoints her husband daily!

The espresso machine quite literally blew a gasket. Lucy groaned. She was offered tea, but Lucy couldn’t stomach tea. No. She needed the good stuff. They said they would do something to fix it, but it might be a moment. Then, there was worse news.

“Lucy! You alright?”

Lucy looked up to see Rose standing there so composed while Lucy waited with spots of breastmilk under her coat, standing there with frizzy hair in old yoga pants. Rose was in a suit, looking like a perfect picture of womanhood. She must have had some business to attend to. Lucy was so angry she could spit.

You alright? Bitch, you know what you did!

“No, I’m not.”

“You look knackered.”

“The baby is sick. I need coffee to stay awake.”

“Where is Winston? Is he not helping you?”

Wouldn’t you like to know?

Lucy didn’t reply. She set her jaw.

“At least let me take the baby!”

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