Page 49 of Fake Fiancée, Real Baby
She was feeling warm, and stepped back from the pass for a moment, just as the chefs called out their replies.
“One minute on the duck, chef.”
“All right… and what about on…” Claire began, but her words faltered, and she had to reach out to steady herself on the pass.
“Are you all right?” one of the waitresses asked, placing her hand on Claire’s arm.
“I… oh, no… not tonight,” Claire exclaimed, as suddenly she realized what was happening.
Her waters had broken. The doctor had warned her against overdoing things. It was almost nine months to the day since she’d discovered she was pregnant, even as she’d done her best to ignore the fact, pushing on even when Adrien had urged her to rest.
“This way, Your Highness. Come and sit down,” the waitress said, and there was much fussing and ushering as Claire was led out of the kitchen.
“Paul… take over,” Claire called out, signaling to her second chef, who rushed to continue the service.
But there was nothing to be done about it. The baby was coming, and Adrien now appeared from the front of house, looking anxiously at Claire as he called for someone to summon an ambulance.
“Oh, my darling. I wish you’d done what I told you,” he exclaimed, coming to kneel at her side and taking her hand in his.
“Like that was going to happen,” she said, smiling at him as she took deep breaths.
It was starting — the pain now gripping her as she squeezed Adrien’s hand more tightly.
“Ow!” he exclaimed, but Claire ignored him, closing her eyes as the first contractions gripped her.
The ambulance crew was soon there, and Claire and Adrien were taken to the hospital of Saint Martha, a short drive from the royal palace, and the place where Adrien, too, had been born.
“You’re in good hands, Your Highness. Doctor Maes delivered your husband, too,” the nurse said, as Claire was taken into the delivery suite.
Adrien had opted to remain outside. Claire could hardly blame him — he hated the sight of blood. It was all happening so fast — as if to someone else, rather than to her. Nurses were hurrying back and forth, machines were beeping and bleeping. Doctor Maes — a tall man with a silvery beard and bright eyes — had now arrived.
“Your Highness, a happy day indeed,” he said, bowing curtly to Claire, who still wasn’t used to being treated like royalty.
“Will it be easy?” she asked.
“With plenty of gas, I’m sure it will be,” he replied.
Claire had no qualms over taking painkillers. She’d read all about natural births, using yoga and crystals instead of drugs and anesthesia, but if the baby was going to be delivered quickly, she would gladly take whatever painkillers he was willing to give her.
“Thank you, doctor,” she gasped, as another wave of contractions began.
The details of the birth were, as the doctor later commented, “textbook.” Claire delivered a baby boy in the early hours of themorning, and Flandenne awoke to discover a new heir to the throne in his father’s succession.
“You should see the flowers that have arrived — bunches and bunches. I thought we could donate them to some of the wards — brighten things up a little,” Adrien said, as he sat at Claire’s bedside the next morning.
Claire was holding the baby in her arms. She was exhausted, but too excited to sleep — too enamored with the astonishing fact of motherhood. It still didn’t seem real, and it felt as though she was about to wake up as if from a dream.
“That’s a nice idea, yes. Send some to the staff at the palace, too,” Claire replied.
Adrien smiled at her. “I still can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem real, somehow. But it is. And I’m so proud of you, my darling.”
“I keep thinking someone’s going to come and take him away — tell us there’s been a mistake,” Claire said. “But what are we going to call him?” she asked, suddenly realizing they’d hardly talked about names.
Others had talked about them, of course — speculation was rife. But Claire had been so busy with the restaurant as to hardly give the matter of the baby’s name a second thought.
“His middle name has to be Adrien. That’s the tradition. That’s why my middle name’s the same as my father’s,” Adrien said.
“We could just call him something far-out — let the tabloids have a field day. We could call him… Mercutio, or Usher,” Claire said, smiling at the look on Adrien’s face.
