She kisses me again. “Tonight is Christmas Eve.”
“I lost a lot of time. Strange. I’m glad I’m awake for it. Now I need to get out of this bed.”
Bellamy presses my shoulders back into the bed. “Slowdown, Superman. You’re not moving yet. I’m going to go tell everyone you’re awake and when thedoctorsays okay, then you can get up.” She stands. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha. More jokes.”
“But that one wasn’t so funny.” With a wink, she leaves me, and I lie here, already exhausted but never happier in my life. I close my eyes, but they don’t stay that way for longer than a few minutes. The doctor comes in, closely followed by Rowan. After the doctor examines me and gives me the green light, Rowan and a nurse help me stand.
I’m weak as hell, but it feels good to be up and mobile.
It’s Christmas Eve, and in Messalina, typically, we have a large meal and open half the presents tonight. The other half, the ones Santa brings, get opened tomorrow, and there is yet another feast. This year, more than any other, we have so much to celebrate, and I won’t do it in bed.
With that in mind, I manage myself to a recliner, and piece by piece, I begin sorting through business. I schedule a press conference for tomorrow. I need to tell the people of Messalina that I’m okay and that I’m going to be okay and that their country is in good hands. And wish them a happy Christmas. Once that’s all set up, I meet with the police.
Per Rowan, they’ve been anxious about it, needing to make a full, official report so they can close the book on it. The court of public opinion has already taken over. It’s wild all the things that are out there. When Nora died, the media storm was just that. A storm. A violent, knock-your-house-down storm.
This one is worse.
Tied into the drama of the prime minister killing a queen and attempting to kill a king and his fiancée is the fact that I now have a fiancée. An American who happens to be the nanny to my children and fifteen years my junior. Yes, as I knew there would be with that. The press has a lot to say, both here in Messalina and worldwide. Bellamy frowned about it when shesaw me scrolling through some of it on my phone, but I made it clear I care about none of it.
Other than what they have to say about Samil, let them gossip.
Bellamy and I know what we have and nothing anyone says will change that. Ever. Point blank, I told her bluntly that they can all go fuck themselves. Besides, I have plans in my mind for tonight that will make her very happy.
Two hours later, we’re sitting by the Christmas tree—one of the many Christmas trees we now have thanks to the ball—but it’s the one the children decorated. The fire is roaring in the hearth, and though I’d love to be nursing a glass of brandy right now, Bellamy reminded me that I can’t drink yet, and I should be thankful I’m alive and not dead or spitting up blood.
I’m thinking things got pretty ugly for me at the end.
“Next one is for Zayer,” Althea says, handing Zayer a large wrapped gift. His blue-gray eyes, the same color as mine, light up as he tears off the paper with both hands, tossing it this way and that, only to pause when he sees what the present is.
He examines the box, staring curiously at the picture and at me. “Papa, what is this?”
“They’re Magna-Tiles,” I tell him. “They have magnets on the sides, and you can build with them.”
“They’re math, Papa,” Phaedra tells me with a slight roll of her eyes. “See, they’re shapes. It’s geometry.”
“So?”
“So math is boring.”
“These are not boring, I assure you. These are fun.”
“Open them now?” Zayer asks, trying to break open the top of the box with his little fists.
“Not yet, little man,” Bellamy jumps in, pushing all the gifts to the side. She throws me a look and I give her a nod. “Actually, your papa and I wanted to tell you something. Tell you all something,” she proclaims, looking to Emily, Javier, Althea,Margarite, and the rest of the staff who spend Christmas Eve with us before they have the holiday off tomorrow.
“Oh?” Althea looks from her to me and back again.
“Well, yes.” Bellamy stands, reaching for my hand. She giggles lightly. “I’m nervous.”
I smile, gingerly pulling her closer to me. If I don’t move a lot, I’m good. When I do move a lot, I’m not good. “First, I, we, wanted you all to know how grateful we are for you. Not just for your service here but for you. These past three years would not have been possible without you, and I know I wasn’t always the best tempered.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Emily muses, and I quirk an amused brow.
“She’s not wrong,” Rowan agrees, polishing off the last of his drink and pouring another just to be a dick.
“Fine. But now I think we can all agree that since Bellamy came into my life and flipped it upside down, things have been better here. And with that, we wanted you all to be the first to know that in addition to getting married, we’re also expecting twins.”
