39. Nick
Chapter thirty-nine
Nick
Six Months Later
I ’m running late. Shutting the front door behind me, I jog up the stairs of Stoneleigh Cottage, taking them two at a time.
Over the past few months, things have gone extraordinarily well for Willa and me.
Personally, I’m happier than ever. Before Willa, I had no idea that I could feel this type of all-consuming love for another person.
She’s my lover, but she’s become my best friend, my trusted confidante, and the person I turn to when I need something—a hug, a word of comfort, a laugh.
Professionally, I’m making the monarchy fit my expectations for my future.
There were some growing pains, but once I reconciled myself with the idea that this was to be my life, I vowed to make it work for me.
I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.
Alex and I have continued the two-pronged approach to our division of labor.
After the success of our movie studio initiative, Alex focuses on the political aspects, working closely with the Prime Minister and Parliament, and I now focus on the business and philanthropic side of the monarchy.
Whenever Alex finds a wife, she can take over some of the philanthropic duties, which will eventually allow me greater professional freedom to take on endeavors outside of the Crown.
Once she got her bearings, Willa jumped right in and began working alongside me.
She and I volunteer together regularly at the orphanage, though our work there isn’t part of our official duties.
That time is just for us. While Willa isn’t technically a member of the family, she’s been treated as one since my mother was forced into retirement.
I’ve maintained minimal contact with my mother, communicating with her only when absolutely necessary.
She seems happy enough to live her life in Pointebleu where she’s a large fish in a small pond.
According to Ellie, Mother moved Gerald into the estate, so it’s possible their relationship may be based on real feelings and not just another way for Mother to hurt Father.
Ellie believes Mother will eventually make her relationship with Gerald public once an appropriate mourning period has passed.
Although I'm not sure how much time is required between burying your husband and dating his close friend. Given how important public perception and approval are to Mother, I don’t expect she will ever make an honest man out of Gerald.
I'm still reeling from my father's death.
I regret that I allowed our relationship to wither after I found out about one his affairs, but at Willa's insistence, I've started therapy again.
I'm coming to understand that as the child, it wasn't my responsibility to nourish our relationship.
It's also helped to read more of Father's diary entries, some of which pertain to me.
Reading what Father thought of me has gone a long toward healing.
While I wish we had had the chance to share these thoughts in person, I'm grateful for this prolonged connection to him.
"How'd your appointment go?" I ask as soon as I enter our bedroom. As I await Willa’s answer, I begin tugging off my suit jacket, followed by my dress shirt and trousers, dropping them onto the floor in a messy pile.
"Nicholas," Willa warns, pointing to my clothes.
"Right. Sorry," I grab the clothes from the floor and quickly sort them into the correct hampers.
Willa and I like to have as much privacy as possible, which means that we don't have housekeepers tromping in and out of our cottage every day.
So, Willa has been training me to clean up after myself, something I've never done much of before. I'm still a work in progress.
Late this afternoon, Willa had her six-month follow-up appointment with the gynecologist she's been seeing since her surgery. Throughout my dinner meeting with the Regional Affairs Committee, I anxiously awaited news on what her doctor said.
Willa is sitting up in bed, reclining against the pillows with a romance novel in her hand, while Bruno sleeps at the foot of the bed in his plaid pajamas.
She puts the book down and smiles. Seeing her smile, I feel my blood pressure return to normal levels.
Willa's anxiety has been well-controlled, but these doctor visits have a way of stirring up her worries. And my own.
"Good. She reported that my blood tests and hormone levels look good. As does everything from the surgery. No new signs of growths."
"That's wonderful. I'm happy to hear that."
"It was a relief to get good news."
"I'm sorry that I couldn't go with you."
"I am too, but you had a busy day. Plus, the press would have had a field day if they caught wind of both of us attending an appointment with an OB/GYN.” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone would assume I was pregnant."
Yes, they probably would , I think grumpily.
"So, what else did the doctor say? "
I stride to the large walnut armoire and grab a pair of jeans from the shelf. As I tug them up my legs, Willa tilts her head quizzically. Ignoring my question, she asks her own, “What are you doing?”
“Changing clothes.”
“I can see that,” she retorts with a smirk. “But why are you changing? It’s bedtime.”
“It’s not,” I argue. “It’s barely after dinnertime. And besides, I want to show you something, so get out of bed, Wilhemina.”
I have a surprise for Willa that has been months in the making. I received word today that the zoning and building permits have been approved as has the funding. I wish I’d arrived home earlier so I could unveil my plans to Willa in the daylight, but I’m too excited to wait until tomorrow.
She groans a little before she tosses back the bed covers and slips into a pair of jeans and a sweater.
“So, back to your doctor’s appointment. What else did the doctor tell you?”
"She thinks it would be a good idea to get back on birth control pills to regulate my hormones…and prevent an unwanted pregnancy, of course."
"Any pregnancy of yours would never be unwanted, darling."
"I know,” she hitches up one shoulder, “but you know what I mean."
"I do," I say, resigned. “If I could, I’d keep you barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen,” I growl, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind and nipping her earlobe. “And wearing only an apron.”
“Ugh,” Willa chuckles, covering her face with her hands. “I’ll never live that down.”
“Nor should you want to. Walking into the kitchen after a business trip and finding you preparing dinner with only an apron on…” I swallow roughly, remembering how I almost tripped over my own feet when I saw Willa that evening. Cold lasagna never tasted so good.
She pivots in my arms to face me. “I promise I’ll do it again for you sometime. Maybe even when I’m pregnant.” But as she utters those words, her smile falls. Then she whispers, her eyes downcast, “I just hope I’ll be able to get pregnant.”
I squeeze her shoulders. “Please don’t stress about becoming pregnant. Don't put that pressure on yourself.”
“Easier said.”
"Darling, if it happens for us, it happens, but I'd rather not make getting pregnant our focus. There’s more than one way to grow our family, and there are so many children who need homes and families to love them."
Willa tilts her head to the side. "Like the children at the orphanage?"
Nodding, I reply, "Exactly.” Then I add, hoping for a moment of levity, “Besides, if we had biological children, I'm not sure the world would be able to handle them. With your beauty, brains, and talent, and my cocksure smile and charisma."
She rolls her eyes but quickly grows serious again. "But what about your obligation to the monarchy? What about the line of succession? What if I can’t get pregnant and we instead choose to adopt?"
"Alex will, undoubtedly, marry at some point and have children.
The likelihood of our children ever taking the throne is miniscule.
But if it ever came to that, I would hope that our society is progressive enough to recognize that our child, regardless of their genetics, will be ready for and up to the job. "
"Progressive? Are we talking about the same monarchy?"
I laugh at Willa's teasing.
"Your mother would be apoplectic."
"All part of the fun, my darling."
"So, when we decide we're ready for children, we'll try naturally for biological children, but you’re also open to adoption?"
I nod in confirmation as Willa lets it all sink in. We’ve never spoken about adoption before, but since I began volunteering at the orphanage, my desire to do so has grown.
I comb her hair from her face and place my fingers under her chin, tipping her head back to look at me.
I want her to hear sincerity in my voice and see it on my face.
"I love you, Wilhemina Claire Radford. If that means we have ten children, so be it.
But if it means we never have biological children, I'm okay with that too.
Nothing could ever make me love you any less.
And nothing could ever make me regret choosing you. "
She smiles wanly in my direction.
"I'm serious, Willa. I love you."
"I know and I love you too, Nick."
Willa is only twenty-eight. She's still young, but her window of fertility begins decreasing in the next few years. I hate that by being with me, she has to put her plans to have a baby on hold, but we simply cannot risk her getting pregnant outside of marriage. The monarchy is continuing to evolve and modernize, but it’s still much too staid and traditional to accept that scenario.
As we learned the hard way when that dastardly article was published.
But I won't ask her to refrain from getting pregnant much longer. Because as soon as we get married, I want to start trying to conceive.
Is my plan crazy? Absolutely, but I've already come to terms with being crazy about Willa.