About two minutes before the meeting is to start, Vincent walks in, iPad in hand. "Good morning, Your Highness. I thought I would see if you had any questions before the arrival of the PR wonder." He gives me a sly grin, and I've never been so glad to get a whiff of blue cheese in my life.
“Thanks, Vincent. I do have one question. How do we get rid of her permanently?"
"If only. The king’s advisers seem rather fond of her methods. My best advice with regards to this meeting would be the same advice I could give you about the public nature of your life—try not to take it personally. Harder than it sounds, I know, but the sooner you master the skill of deflection, the better off you're going to be. Your children, too." He sits down across from my desk and sets up his iPad. "The truth is, whatever they say about you will bother you far less than what they say about your children, so developing a thick skin is going to be pretty much imperative."
Oh, bollocks. I never even thought about how awful it's going to be once the media get started criticizing the babies.
The look on my face must convey my thoughts because Vincent gives me a sympathetic nod, then says, "Don't worry, the media doesn't usually start on the children until they’re almost teenagers. You'll have time."
Dylan hurries into the room, tapping away on her cell phone with both thumbs as she simultaneously walks and greets us. Taking a seat next to Vincent, she finishes what she's doing before looking up and giving us each a broad smile. She then takes a deep breath and begins to speak at lightning speed.
"So, let's talk twins. This is going to be EPIC. Two babies isthe best thingto ever happen to this monarchy. Now, Tessa, you may still be in shock—perfectly understandable if you are—but think of the wonderful press this is going to get us. The world is going to absolutelydiewhen they see these two little babies in side-by-side photo ops. There will always be something to talk about—the constant comparing and contrasting will be ab fab. Which one’s the shy one? Which one’s the smart one? Which is the funny one? Which one is going to rule the nation?
“This whole thing is going to play out beautifully with regards to mummy groups, retirees, and surprisingly enough, men ages 45 to 54. Apparently, they find women who have twins to be absolutely fascinating. I'm not sure yet, but I am analyzing whether it's in a creepy way or out of admiration, but once I find out, I'll let you know." She looks up at me from her screen and then tilts her head. "Unless, of course, you'd rather not know."
"I'm not sure how knowing that will be of use to me."
"All right, I won’t tell you, then. Next topic, nannies. When you first announced that you were going nannyless, I thought you wereinsane, but if you manage to stick with that in the face of having two babies, you could very well parlay this whole thing into a semi-hero status for yourself and possibly achieving the most coveted position for all royal consorts—the People’s Princess.”
“I’m not sure I need semi-hero status, really. I’d just as soon have people not hate me so much.”
“Oh, we’re going way beyond ‘not hating’ here. We’re going to use these babies to take you straight to beloved status.”
“I don’t—”
“I know what you’re going to say. You don’t want to use your babies for publicity. I get it. I really do. But you’re just going to have to get past that guilt, okay?”
Vincent clears his throat. “Yes, well perhaps we should move off this point in favour of something more...practical.”
Dylan smiles and gives him a single nod. “Yes!Practical. Lovethat word. Speaking of words, this week’s cloud is actually showing three new positive words. That's a huge improvement over what we had even one week ago. I’m also seeing a great reduction in negative word usage related to your name, such as awful, fat, and useless—all of these are down twenty percent, as you can see on the cloud.”
She holds up her iPad for me. “See how small those words are this time?”
“Yes, brilliant.”
“That on its own is something to celebrate, but there's more. I’m seeing a noticeable shift in the public perception of your parents living in the palace. Earlier statements, as you know, were suggesting that you had somehow created that whole smoked-out-house situation to have them move in, whereas now, people are hoping they'll stay for your sake out of pity.”
I do my best to smile at the thought of being so outnumbered by babies that I’m now an object of pity.
Dylan tips back her can of Red Bull, emptying the last sips into her mouth, then keeps talking. “Now, I have some ideas on how we can keep this uptick in momentum going so we can really make some great strides over the coming weeks. I’ve collaged all my thoughts into a Prezi, and...” looking down at her iPad, she taps the screen, then looks back up at us and smiles triumphantly, "...these are my current suggestions for how to continue to win over the people. I'll give you a couple of minutes to take a look."
Standing, she walks over to the cart and pours herself a coffee. I click on the link she sent me, and immediately a presentation pops up featuring upbeat dance music and quick flashes of baby-related images. Dylan’s voice cuts in over the music as she describes in a very enthusiastic tone what she has in mind for me.
“What two things do people everywhere love? Babies and gambling. Picture this: Two babies. One charity. One huge prize. The birth of your children allowing you to raise millions for the Children's Hospital in the Epic Royal Baby Sweepstakes. People can vote on the date, time of day, birth weights, and sexes of each of the babies. The prize will be four VIP tickets to your baby shower along with a five-thousand-dollar shopping spree at Bergdorf's. Tickets are twenty-five dollars each, and participants can purchase unlimited tickets, although they must be of age to gamble, of course.”
The door to my office swings open, and I hear Gillian saying, "...meeting right now."
Then I see my mother come rushing into the room, her new purchase—a long, flowing bright green chiffon scarf—trailing behind her as she glides across the room, hips first.
"Oh, she won't mind."
I press pause on the Prezi, then watch in horror as my mother's scrapbooking club enters the room behind her, cameras at the ready.
"Hello, Twinkle! I brought the girls here for our scrapbooking day and thought I’d take them on a bit of a tour of our home away from home."
I do my best not to look completely irritated and get up to greet some of my mum's oldest and dearest friends. I'm immediately surrounded by them as they fawn all over me and comment, and...oh yes...they are all taking turns touching my belly—my favourite thing in the world.
The good part is, I don't even really have to answer their questions, because three of them are talking directly to my midsection instead of to me, while the other two pepper me with questions at such a rapid-fire pace, I can't possibly hope to answer them fast enough.
