Arthur

I wake to the sound of sniffling and light streaming in through the window. It hurts my eyes even before I open them. I should not have drank that much, no matter how badly my wife insulted everyone I know. The sniffling forces me to open my eyes in spite of the fact that my brain is screaming at me to keep my lids down. Rubbing my face with one hand, I look around until I spot the source of the noise—Tessa, who’s sitting on the armchair by the window with her phone in hand. Shit, is she crying?

"What's wrong, Tess?"

"I knew you were upset, but I didn't realize it was this bad."

"What do you mean? I'm not upset. Hungover, maybe..."

I sit up, finding I need a moment for my pounding head to adjust to an upright position, only I don’t have a moment because I have to go from passed out to on top of my game in under two seconds.

"How can you say you're not upset with me? You've canceled all but one of our prenatal appointments,” she says, holding out her phone so I can see her calendar.

Oh fuck. I've completely forgotten about the whole ‘break it to her gently’ thing.

"I haven’t canceled them. I just won't be able to be there, but I promise it’s got nothing to do with you."

“It seems like an awfully big coincidence.”

I massage my temples and close my eyes for a moment. “Do you really think I’d do something like that out of spite?”

“Well, no. I suppose not. It’s just...I don’t know what to think. I know I’ve screwed up very badly, and...well...how could you not be insulted and angry?”

“Do I love that you said any of that in a public setting? Not really. But I’m not angry. Not at you, anyway. My father, yes. But you, I have nothing but sympathy for.”

“What’s your father got to do with it?”

“Yesterday—late in the afternoon—I found out he’s decided to extend his gallivanting for another few months, which means all of his responsibilities have fallen onto my lap again. So, yet another link in the chain of paternal disappointments for me, which now means I’m unable to be there for you and the baby.” I sigh and give her a look I hope shows how badly I feel. “I asked Vincent to hold off on changing the schedule until this morning to give me time to talk to you about it."

"But then I went and screwed everything up, and we didn't really talk at all," Tessa says, her shoulders slumping.

"It's not your fault. If anything, it's that big muscle-head we've hired to watch you."

"It's not Xavier's fault. I'm the one who opened my big mouth."

"Well, it’s his job to make sure no one is violating your privacy, and yesterday, he failed miserably in that regard."

"I really wish you wouldn't take it out on him. He honestly does go above and beyond to take care of me."

I get up and start for the washroom, mumbling, "He most certainly does."

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I just need some Advil.”

“You’re not actually feeling threatened by Xavier.”

“Obviously not,” I say, turning back to her. “But you have to admit, he doesn’t know where the line is. His job is to protect you, not nag you about your health and buy you maternity magazines and...and...play with your nieces and nephews and talk gardening with your parents. He’s even got himself an invite to the table for Sunday suppers, for God’s sake.”

Tessa’s eyebrows lower in confusion. “My mum’s the one who insisted on that, and as you know from personal experience, my parents are awfully hard to say no to. And if you’ll recall, you and I have been more than willing to let him help babysit the kids so we can duck out and fool around from time to time.”

An image of us fooling around distracts me from my irritation for a brief second. Oh dear, I am sex-starved, aren’t I? I shake my head a little, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

“Yes, I’ll agree he’s very helpful, but he’s not being paid to be helpful. He’s paid—and very well at that—to know his place.”

“To know his place?” she says in a snooty tone.

“Yes, actually. As much as you make fun of the need for any type of hierarchy, it’s there for a reason. If the security team starts getting too attached, they compromise their ability to be effective in a crisis. Haven’t you seen The Bodyguard, with Whitney Houston and what’s-his-name?”

“Kevin Costner,” she says, standing and pulling on her robe. “Did you see it? Because in the end he saves her life from the hit man her awful sister hired. And in that movie, he was in love with her. Xavier’s not in love with me. He’s like a really naggy older sister, if anything.”

“You’re making my point for me. He’s completely unaware of his job.”

Tessa rolls her eyes and crosses her hands over her belly. “I’ve never doubted my safety with him, and I don’t think you should either. So, he didn’t notice that one of those women was recording the conversation yesterday? It’s an honest mistake. It probably looked like she was reading on her phone or looking at her Instagram feed from his angle. So if you’re going to lay blame, lay it where it belongs, at my feet!”

Looking down at her swollen feet, I realize there is absolutely no way I’m laying anything at them, let alone blame. “No need because I’m not angry.”

“You most certainly are. You’re angry at your father. You’re angry at Xavier.”

“Yes, but they both deserve it.”

“Then so do I.” She walks out of the room, presumably to get some breakfast, leaving me to dress.

By the time I walk into the kitchen, she’s sitting at the island, eating toast and staring at her phone. "I can't believe how much you're going to be away."

"I know. It's honestly the last thing I want, but I can't really see any way around it at this point. Maybe your mum or Arabella could go with you to some of your appointments?"

"Oh Christ, no. Not my mum. She'll drive me loopy if she comes with me."

"Arabella, then?"

Shrugging one shoulder, Tessa says, "Maybe. But I don't know how comfortable she’d be with that. It is a lot of rather personal medical stuff."

"Oh right,” I say, remembering about the menstrual cycle stuff. “Nikki, then? She certainly doesn’t have any boundaries."

Tessa gives me a dirty look, then says, "I'll figure it out. You don't need to fix this."

"I'd like to if I could. It's really the least I can do since I'll be abandoning you."

Tears fill her eyes, and I realize I've said exactly the wrong thing. I walk over to her, placing my hands on her cheeks. "That came out wrong. I'm not really abandoning you."

"I know, it's just that I’m going to really miss you. And I’ve been feeling really overwhelmed with everything we need to do to prepare for the baby."

"Like what?" I ask, walking over to the coffee maker, checking that everything’s set up and pushing the ‘brew’ button.

"There’s a mile-long list. We need to paint and redecorate the nursery, choose the best car seat, and figure out which push-chairs we want—we’ll need one for travelling and one for jogging, of course, because I really do want to get my body back as soon as possible. And push-chairs aren’t exactly easy to choose. Do you even know all the factors you need to consider to find the right one?”

Turning to her, I say, “No, but based on the expression on your face right now, I’m assuming there are a lot more than one would think.”

“It is honestly one of the most complicated purchases we’re ever going to make.” She shakes her head, then continues with her list. “Also, I need a birth plan, which it turns out is a highly political decision that will offend any number of special interest groups, no matter what I go with. We’re going to have to baby-proof the entire palace—which is not going to be quick or easy, I can tell you. Do you know how many outlets there are in this place? Thousands. Literally thousands. It’s insane. Not to mention, we haven't even started discussing baby names yet, and that's not exactly something you can do in an hour. It takes weeks of brainstorming and careful thought just to come up with one name, and everyone in your family seems to need four or five, so that’s going to take ages! Plus, we’ll be naming a future monarch, and I have no idea how we do that. We probably need an approved list from Parliament or something..."

"Well, no. We don’t, actually, but I can see why you’re panicking a little. But all of these are things we can decide together, even if I’m away. We could divide the list or talk on Skype and sort things out a few at a time...” I smile reassuringly.

Tessa bites her bottom lip, then seems to relax a little. “All right. I guess we’ll figure out a way to get it all done.”

“Of course we will. We’re reasonably intelligent people,” I say with a nod. “How about this? We take on some of it every Sunday, and we find a weekend—very soon—to go up to Didsbury, just the two of us, so we can make plans, shop online for baby stuff, and get everything straightened away without interruption."

Tessa gives me a small smile, so I know I'm heading in the right direction. Nodding, she says, “That sounds lovely."

“Good. It’s settled, then. We'll go away for a weekend of very productive baby preparations. Just you and me.” And by that, I mean we’re leaving Xavier here. “It’ll be terrific.”

By the time I leave for my office, there’s a spring in my step, in spite of my lingering headache. For the first time in a long time, I’ve managed to figure out a way to make my wife happy. Now if I can just keep her that way...