Epilogue
NINE MONTHS LATER: CLAIRE
“ T wo pork, one chicken, three sole, table seven. I need langoustines and asparagus for table three. And how are those desserts coming for table eight?” Claire called out.
“Nearly ready, chef,” came the reply.
“That’s not good enough — time, please, Alfred. One minute,” Claire said, glancing over to where a young chef was spinning sugar into an intricate topping for a baked Alaska.
“Yes, chef,” he called out, before rushing the plates to the pass.
Claire was in her element. Running a kitchen was like conducting a symphony.
Everything had to work in harmony, so that what the diners received appeared effortless.
It was a Friday night at Claire’s and every table was booked.
The restaurant had opened to critical acclaim and had recently been awarded its first Michelin star.
Claire was proud of everything she and Adrien had achieved, but she knew a restaurant could never rest on its laurels.
Every night had to be worthy of their accolades, and every dish had to be perfect.
“And now… three chicken, one vegan, one cod,” Claire called out, as another order came through from the dining room.
The waiters were dashing back and forth, and Claire was pleased to see stacks of empty plates, and to hear the compliments from the diners.
“Table three sent their compliments on the langoustines — the prime minister said they were the best he’d ever eaten,” one of the waiters said.
Claire smiled. The prime minister of Luxembourg was dining at the restaurant that night. Adrien often invited visiting dignitaries to dine there, using food, as well as charm, for diplomatic purposes.
“I’m glad to hear it. Let’s hope they enjoy dessert. Are we ready, Alfred?” Claire called out, as the young chef headed to the pass.
“Yes, chef,” he said, placing the baked Alaska in front of her.
A quick wipe of the plate and it was ready to go.
Service had been busy that night, and Claire had been working in the restaurant since early that morning.
She was tired, but there were still several hours to go.
Here, she was no longer the crown princess of Flandenne, but head chef and patron of her own restaurant.
“Right, where are we at now? How are the main courses coming? I’ve got one duck, two sole, and another vegan. Time on these please?” Claire called out.
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 the morning, 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.
“He’ll be king one day,” Adrien said.
“All right, what about Joseph — after Giuseppe. It was thanks to him we met,” Claire replied.
She liked the name Joseph, as did Adrien, and so they were agreed.
“Joseph Adrien. I’ll tell mother and father. They’ll be wanting to visit soon, I’m sure. So will your parents,” Adrien said.
Claire groaned. “My mom’s going to be insufferable. I can just hear her. Oh, well… can’t we just have a few moments now? Just the three of us,” she said.
Adrien pulled a chair up next to the bed and slipped his arm around her. He rested his head on her shoulder as Claire cradled Joseph in her arms.
“I’m so proud of you. You’re everything to me,” he whispered.
“Do you remember when you first realized you were different from other kids?” Claire asked. “Right now, he doesn’t know anything about who he is or what kind of world he’s been born into. It’s going to be a very different life for him.”
“I remember when I was about four or five, getting off a plane with my parents. We were in Spain, and there was a crowd of people, and everyone was giving me teddy bears. I remember wondering why and asking if they were really all for me. My mother suggested I could give them to other kids who didn’t have their own.
I still didn’t understand why everyone was giving them to me.
But that’s when I think I realized,” he replied.
“He’s going to grow up knowing it — unlike his mom. It’ll be second nature to him.”
“I don’t think his mom does too badly, though. You’re getting used to it, aren’t you?” Adrien asked, sitting up and looking at Claire, who smiled.
“As long as I can get back to the restaurant, I will,” she replied.
Adrien grinned. “I promise you will — because I know there’s no point in arguing with you. But give yourself some time to rest, won’t you?” he asked.
Claire nodded. She was excited at the prospect of being a new mom — and of spending more time with Adrien, too. They’d become the closest of friends, but duties often took them in different directions. Joseph’s arrival was an excuse for the two of them to be together — to be a family.
“I will. As long as you will, too,” she replied.
Slipping his arm around her once again, he nodded, drawing her into his embrace and kissing her on the forehead.
“Perhaps now’s the time for you to teach me those recipes — then I can cook them for you, too,” Adrien said.
Claire looked at him in surprise.
“You’re offering to cook?” she said, marveling, for she couldn’t remember the last time Adrien had as much as boiled an egg.
“Well… only until you can manage it again,” he replied.
For a moment, they gazed into one another’s eyes, and Claire thought back to all that had happened — to all that they’d shared. It wasn’t meant to have been like this. It had all been meant as a game, a ruse. But, in playing their game, they’d discovered something more — far more.
“I think I’ll be all right to cook — but just for you, me, and Joseph,” Claire said, and Adrien nodded.
“You don’t want to invite the paparazzi, too?” he asked.
Claire gave him a look, smiling, as he leaned forward to kiss her.
“Perhaps they can photograph you boiling that egg,” she replied, laughing at him.
“I love you more than I could ever tell you,” he said, and Claire smiled.
“I love you, too — but leave the cooking to me,” she said, as now their lips met again, and Claire was caught up in the joy of a perfect moment with the man she’d so unexpectedly fallen in love with, and who’d given her everything she’d ever dreamed of.
The End
I hope you’ve enjoyed Claire and Adrien’s story!