Page 22 of Breathe Me: Smith & Belle

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Belle

The baby was never coming out of me. I was going to be the first woman in history to be pregnant for years. Despite Smith’s ambitious lovemaking, I hadn’t felt so much as a contraction yet. The doctor had been no help. She simply told me what the internet did: walk, have sex, wait. So I pulled past the gates of Buckingham, parked my car in the farthest space from the living quarters and heaved myself out of the seat of my Mercedes. Smith was put out that I wouldn’t take the Range Rover, but I would be consigned to it soon enough. I wanted to enjoy the last little freedoms of life as long as I could. The sight of me huffing my way towards the palace, temporarily stunned a Beefeater in the middle of a ceremonial shift change enough that he stopped in his tracks before remembering his duty and snapping back to attention. I didn’t know whether to be offended that I’d managed to distract a trained guard or proud.

Georgia met me at the entrance of Buckingham with a smile, which I immediately found suspicious. She’d been getting along a lot better with Clara, but that friendliness hadn’t exactly carried over to our relationship. I couldn’t help feeling that somehow she disapproved of Smith marrying me, although I had no idea why. I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I considered telling her this, but settled for a simple, breathless, “Hello.”

“Should I get a wheelchair or something?”

“Hilarious,” I said in a flat tone. “I’m trying to get some exercise in, so this diva will get the hell out of me. And that’s pretty impossible since I’m not allowed to go anywhere thanks to you.”

“Me?” She snorted, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder as she led me towards Clara’s private residence. “That’s all your husband, sweetheart.”

“You’re enabling him,” I said grumpily. I’d thought Smith handled the situation at the baby shower better than expected—until the following morning when I discovered Brexton Miles was my new shadow. It could be worse. He was funny and sweet and built like a tank. But any hopes I had of scurrying around London, enjoying my last hurrah, were dashed by his presence. I felt like I had a babysitter.

“You lucked out. You got Brex. Your best friend is stuck with me,” Georgia said as she opened the door.

“It’s terrible,” Clara called from her sitting room. William was on her lap, gurgling happily. She’d put him in a pair of short pants that matched his blue eyes. A sweep of black hair stuck up on top of his head, making him look more like his father everyday. “She doesn’t even like to shop.”

“Neither do you,” I reminded Clara. She really had changed. It hit me every day that I came here, and I’d been here most days since our return from Sussex. Not only did she live in the heart of London and wave from the balcony for state events and host garden parties on the lawn, she was a wife and a mother.

“I like buying tiny baby things,” she admitted with a wink. “I can’t help it. It makes me happy.”

Happiness was something that seemed to be in perpetually short supply around here of late. Clara and Alexander adored each other—anyone could see that. But their love came with its own problems. Loving him had proven to be nearly deadly for her in more ways than one. Little William, sitting on her lap now the picture of health, had already required surgery for a heart defect in his short life. Money and power might have bought them guards and security, but it couldn’t protect them from fate. Nothing could.

Clara stood, lifting William higher on her shoulder, and nodded toward the nursery.

“That’s my cue,” Georgia said, holding up a tabloid. “I’ll be in here, learning the Royal Family’s most devastating secret.”

“Be sure to let me know what it is later,” Clara told her, and they shared a laugh. I did my best not to stare at them like they were aliens. Something twisted in my chest, and it took a moment for me to recognize what it was: jealousy.

They’d bonded. Of course, they had after everything Clara had been through and how much time they spent together. It wasn't that I wanted to be closer to Georgia. Somehow I was certain we’d always lock horns. But I missed the days of living with Clara, gossiping over too much wine, thinking the biggest decision I had to face was what flowers to carry for my wedding. That had been before Alexander and Smith and the insane world we found ourselves in now.

As soon as we entered William’s room, Elizabeth rushed over, grabbed my hand, and dragged me down to her own room. “I have a new tea set.”

She still lisped as she spoke and my heart leapt. I didn’t bother to remind her that I had given her the tea set for her birthday a month ago. It hardly seemed important. Elizabeth pretended to pour both of us cups, and I took mine, sipping daintily to her delight. A few years from now, she’d be here with my daughter, playing together. I almost couldn’t wait.

If Smith didn’t keep us locked away in Sussex, that was.

She laid a tiny warm hand on my stomach, scrunched her nose, and said, “Kick!”

“I’m not sure she’ll do it on command, darling,” I warned her.

She turned a look so purely Alexander on me that I couldn’t help but giggle, which resulted in a kick, after all.

After a few minutes, I finally managed to convince Elizabeth to return to William’s room.

“My room is more interesting,” she informed me, only missing about half the syllables as she spoke. “We should stay here.”

“I want to see your brother, too.” I suspected she might be a little jealous herself.

“Fine.” She shrugged. “But he’s boring.”

Judging from the scene that greeted me when we finally made our way back into the nursery, William had ceased being boring and finally done something interesting.

“Clever boy,” Clara cooed, camera trained at him while he stuck his toes in his mouth.

We stepped inside and his head turned, sensing the movement—and then he rolled over.