Page 79 of Coronation
It’s only when I hear a change in the sound of the shower, signaling he’s gotten in, that my smile falls.
The guilt that has lingered constantly beneath the surface since learning of my pregnancy seems to be becoming more oppressive by the day. Probably because I have officially run out of ways to justify keeping this to myself.
Ben isn’t the man I feared he was. He never used or manipulated me, and I know he feels horrible guilt for ever making me believe that he did. So much so that the man made it his mission to make me feel safe with him again, andI do.I feel safe and special, and like I’m falling for someone who is going over the edge right alongside me.
I’m happy. Or, I would be, if I weren’t literally carrying a secret with me everywhere I go. A secret that’s growing bigger every single day, eating all my food and giving me a constant, low level of nausea, which won’t go away no matter what I try.
At ten weeks along, time seems to be slipping away at an alarming speed. Soon, I’ll have to tell my parents and my agent and start changing my whole life around to make room for a small person who will need me for everything.But, before all that, I need to tell Ben he’s going to be a father.
He isn’t going to be angry with me. I know that. Shocked, maybe, but not mad. Likely, he’ll approach it with that grim, pragmatic way he does everything, talking through our options and being incredibly reasonable while I cry my eyes out, being incredibly emotional and unreasonable by contrast.
When I actually stop to dissect my feelings and examine why I haven’t told him yet, it’s thelackof options that’s scaring me the most now. While I’m not exactly an expert on Stelland’s constitution, I know it’s illegal for a sitting monarch to marry a non-citizen. Even if Ben wanted to, he couldn’t do it without abdicating, so it seems almost inevitable that our baby will be born the illegitimate son or daughter of a king.
Which means my options are to hide away from the world, reducing my son or daughter to a dirty little secret. Or, to continue on as we have, and probably make both of our lives a lot harder with the media storm that would surely come if anyone caught wind of my pregnancy.Other peoplehave children out of wedlock or unplanned pregnancies. Not kings.
What people will say about me doesn’t bother me so much, but my heart aches whenever I imagine my baby being called what their uncle Damien callously called himself:bastard.
These big decisions shouldn’t be all on me anymore, though. Ben needs to be a part of the conversation, too, and I can’t stand living with this guilt anymore. He has to know, and with the coronation only a little over a week away, it has to be soon. Really soon.
Tonight?
My stomach reacts violently to the self-posed question.
No. Not tonight.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, lost in my thoughts, when I finally hear the shower turn off andthe sounds of Ben moving around in there. Shaking myself, I fix a smile on my face, just in time for him to emerge, his hair damp, and dressed only in a pair of checkered boxer shorts.
“When will the car be here?” he asks me distractedly, stepping into a pair of dark trousers.
I check my phone. “Ten minutes. You know, men have all the luck. It will take you all of sixty seconds to dress and comb your hair, then tomorrow, some article is going to be published commenting on how nice we look.We.”
Ben chuckles. “One might argue that women have all the luck. I can’t think of a single occasion I’ve had to wear a rhinestone-encrusted suit.”
“Oh, I know a designer who would do thatso well! I can have one made for you if you feel like you’re missing out. Kings deserve to feel fabulous too, Ben.”
“Perhaps for my next birthday,” he replies dryly, fastening the button of his trousers. “So, you said the blue…” His question about shirt color gives way to a frown as the muffled sound of a phone vibrating fills the room. Muttering contemptuously under his breath, I watch him reach for the device where it’s lying abandoned on the bed and take the call.
My mouth goes dry.
“Yes?” Ben answers, an impatient bite to his voice. He listens intently to whatever the person on the call is saying, expressionless. There’s nothing at all to make me think there is anything to worry about, and yet with each second that passes, my stomach sinks a little lower.
I try to ignore it, try to convince myself this is nothing to do with me, but when Ben’s eyes flick to me for a fraction of a second, then away,I knowsomething is wrong. It feels like my entire body has been plunged into icy water, and the shock of it is so acute that it tears the air from my lungs.
Oh, god. Someone knows.
He can’t find out this way.
What have I done?
The walls spin, and my lungs are burning as I struggle to suck in insubstantial lungfuls of oxygen. It doesn’t seem to matter how deeply I breathe or how quickly; there justisn’t enough. Even as the panic and horror become inescapable, I can’t look away, watching as Ben paces the room, his frown deepening with every step. He glances at me, but almost as quickly as he looks away, I find his eyes on me once again.
As I watch, paralyzed by the certainty I’ve just ruined everything, his expression transforms from annoyed to horrified in less than a second.
His phone falls to the floor with a loud clatter.
“Zelda,” Ben hisses, falling to his knees at my feet and reaching up to take my face in his hands. “Darling, I need you to breathe slower for me.”
I can’t. Nothing makes sense. The whole world is crashing down around me, and all I can think of is my struggle to breathe and my fear that I’ve ruined everything. They play on a horrible, endless loop in my mind, one fueling the other until they’re both big enough to swallow me whole.
