Everyone is staring at me. At least, it feels that way. I hunch further into the chair, covering my face with one of the magazines I’ve picked up from the nearby table.

I toss it aside when I realize it’s one of the celebrity tabloids, and though the photograph is small, I am on the cover. My cheeks burn at the realization, and I grab another magazine—this one about sports with an inoffensive photograph of an American football player on the front. There’s little chance there will be a mention of me in here, and at least the stupid thing will help to cover my face.

It’s been a difficult few weeks since I left Montovia. Five weeks, to be precise. Five weeks since I’ve seen or heard from William. Thirty-five days since he last touched me—since we said goodbye on that horrible day.

It was fortunate that the English department chair at Yale invited me to their poetry intersession—a small group of graduate students who will meet for a month before spring classes begin. It was a welcome reprieve from being in the company of my family for the holidays in Rosvalia. Not that I actually spent any time with them at all—I was alone most of the time, including on the actual Christmas holiday. And every single day has been a chore. I’ve barely wanted to get out of bed, and I can’t seem to find my appetite. And then when I do, I find myself vomiting.

I never could have imagined losing my husband would be this difficult. Coming to Yale should have given me a fresh beginning. I’ve been doing better with the getting-out-of-bed part of my life—I’ve even written quite a bit of poetry about my short relationship with William since we’ve parted. But my stomach has still not recovered.

The student medical clinic at Yale is unobtrusive enough. There are plenty of people here—mostly women—and though it feels like they are all watching me, part of me knows they are likely all too wrapped up in their own lives to even notice me. Still…my photograph continues to find its way onto the celebrity tabloids, and it’s certainly possible…

Oh, who even cares? I’ve been subject to the media my entire life. Now should not be any different.

But it is different, somehow. My annulment made international news. Considering our wedding barely made any news, it’s a little disconcerting. I suppose people are much more fascinated by the misery of others than by their happiness, so the coverage of the annulment and the embarrassment it has caused me makes sense.

Someone finally calls my name, and I walk with the woman into the back, glancing over my shoulder a few times—it still seems as though someone is staring at me, though I can’t say who it might be. I try to shrug off the feeling, following her through the corridors.

She takes me to a small room with a desk on one wall and a gurney covered in tissue paper on the other.

She motions for me to take a seat, and she sits at the desk. “I’m Marcia, one of the medical assistants. What can we do for you today, Justine?”

I frown at the young woman. “I thought I explained to the woman who made my appointment—”

“Oh, I’m sure you did. But they just put the barest minimum of information on the charts.” She holds up a paper. “See? It just says ‘stomach.’ That could really mean anything.”

“I see.” I glance around the room—I’m not sure what it is I’m afraid of happening here, but something different than my constant nausea churns in my stomach. “This is all confidential, correct?”

She nods, bobbing her head up and down much too cheerfully. “Of course. We have the same privacy laws as everyone else, even though it’s a campus clinic.”

I let out a long breath. “Okay. I’ve been nauseous lately, and I can’t seem to find an appetite.”

She types something into the computer. “Okay. Anything else going on? Headaches? Weight loss?”

I nod. “I suppose I’ve had a headache for the past few months.” Though I’m not sure if it could be attributed to anything but my father… “And I have lost some weight. About five kilos, I think.”

She bobs her head again. “Ten…eleven pounds?”

“I suppose.”

“Okay. Well, the doctor is going to want to do some tests. It’s just standard stuff.” She gives me a look of pity and lowers her voice. “You know, with everything you’ve been going through, a stomachache isn’t too unusual…”

I know she’s right, of course. But I’ve been through packing up and leaving my homeland for America before, and it wasn’t like this. And as far as my relationship with William, I’ve been through much worse things than that, too.

The woman—Marcia—stands and rifles through the paperwork I’ve already filled out. “One of the lab girls will be in to get the samples in a little bit.” She reads something in my chart, nodding. “And the doctor will have a look at all of this before he comes in to see you.”

“Fine.”

“You can sit there in the chair until after they get your labs.” She motions at the gurney and the gown she’s just placed on it. “Then you’ll need to change into the gown. You can keep your underwear and bra on, but everything else needs to come off.”

“Fine.” What’s a little more humiliation? At least the room doesn’t have a window and I won’t have to worry about some member of the paparazzi sneaking a photo of me.

“Okay. Well, it should only be a little while. The lab work runs pretty fast.”

I simply nod, and she seems to take the hint, finally leaving the room.

True to her word, things do move rather quickly once she actually leaves. The lab technicians come and take their samples, I change into the starchy gown, and before I know it, there’s a knock on the door, and a young male doctor comes in.

The man can’t be much older than me, probably just out of his medical studies. He smiles at me. “How are you today, Justine?”

“I’ve been better.”

He nods. “Well, things should turn around soon enough. The first trimester is always the hardest. Or so I’m told.”

“The first…what?” I narrow my gaze. “You can’t possibly be saying…”

His mouth drops open. “You didn’t know? I thought…” He rifles through the paperwork in the file he’s holding, and his face flushes. “Oh. I’m sorry. I thought I saw the marking for pregnancy.”

“Impossible. I would have never—”

He interrupts with a chuckle. “I see you’re on the pill, too. You can probably stop taking that now.”

“I fail to see how any of this is funny. I am on the pill. There is no possible way—”

“None? Not a single possible way?” He shakes his head. “You do realize that the only sure method of birth control is abstinence, right?”

“I don’t need a condescending lecture, Doctor…” Wait. Did he just say I’m… No. No, it isn’t possible.

“If you miss even a single dose, it increases the likelihood of failure. Did you miss any doses?”

“Did I miss any doses…?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. I did miss a few doses—when my bags were stuck in Berlin, right after William and I left for Montovia.

“If you had sex and missed a dose of your pill, you can’t really be shocked that—”

“I don’t believe you.” I straighten myself on the side of the bed, smoothing the gown over my legs as best as it will go. “It’s…it’s not possible.”

I can see he’s trying to hide his smile—he probably hears this same story multiple times a day. “I can prove it to you. Wait here.”

The doctor leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a large machine with a television screen attached. “Lie down, please.”

I do as I’m told, lying back on the bed.

He hands me a blanket to cover my lap before he sits down next to the bed and in front of the machine. He punches a few buttons on the screen and lifts some sort of device from a cradle before he looks over at me. “Would you mind lifting the gown? Just enough for me to get to your belly.”

I shake my head at him, but I lift my gown anyway, allowing him access to my abdomen.

He smears the cold gel onto my skin and begins pushing at my stomach with the probe. After a moment, he smiles, nodding in the direction of the screen. “There. You see it? That’s a heartbeat.”

I stare at the screen, edging myself closer to it. There—right there in front of me is a pulsing blob of light, blinking a few times per second.

I can hardly believe it. I lie back, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before I close my eyes.

“And…there.” Something in his voice has changed and it sounds quite a bit more concerning.

My eyes flutter open. “And what?” I lift my head to look back at the screen. “What is it?”

He smiles at me. “Another heartbeat.”

“Another…?” My eyebrows draw together. “What do you mean, another?”

His smile widens and he points at the screen that now holds two pulsing blobs. “I mean, you’re pregnant with twins.”

My eyes widen, and I shake my head before I push his hand away from my stomach. I spring to my feet, wiping the gooey mess from my belly with the starchy gown. “This is…not possible. And…and…”

He looks down at my file before lifting his gaze to mine again. “It says here you’re a twin. That makes twin pregnancy much more likely for you—”

I interrupt with a shake of my head, but I don’t seem to be able to make words come from my mouth.

“You have options, Justine. I saw that you’ve terminated—”

“I did not terminate anything.” My jaw is beginning to quiver at the mere mention. “And this…” I motion at the screen again. “Not possible.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to terminate. I don’t…” He lowers his voice. “I don’t blame you a bit. But there are other options—I know you probably think you’re too young to keep them—”

“It isn’t that—”

“You could also consider adoption.” He nods and pulls some pamphlets from a file in the desk drawer. “There are a lot of things to consider. You’re only about seven, maybe eight weeks along. You have some time.”

I shake my head. “See? That isn’t possible. I was with my hus…” My voice trails off. I can’t even finish the word. “I was with that man five weeks ago. Seven weeks would be impossible—”

“No, that’s exactly right. You get two free weeks the moment you conceive. Just a little something we doctors like to give you when you find out you’re pregnant.”

“You’re hilarious. You remind me of someone who thought himself equally as funny. And I can assure you, you are not.” I begin pulling on my pants—I don’t even care if the man watches. “And you are under privacy orders, are you not?”

“Privacy…orders?”

“You can’t tell anyone of this, correct? No tabloid reporters? No gossip magazines?” I glare at him. “You can’t call my father, correct?”

“Oh my God.” His face goes a bit ashen as his mouth falls open. “You’re Princess Justine, aren’t you? I didn’t even make the connection…”

“Well, good. I’m glad we cleared that up. Now can you answer my question about the privacy—?”

He interrupts with a nod as I pull my sweater over my head.

“Good. Because if I read about this in some gossip column online tonight, I’ll know where it came from. And don’t believe for a moment I won’t sue you and this clinic for every penny you have.”

“Well, it’s the school’s clinic—”

“I don’t care.” I hold out my hand as if to shake his. “Do we have an agreement?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Oh…kay.” He shakes my hand. “I’m bound to the same privacy laws as every other doctor in this country—”

“Good. Then we won’t have a problem.”

He nods. “Right. Okay. Well, take these.” He places the pamphlets in my hand. “You might find some of the information useful—”

“I don’t need any information. But thank you.” I shove the useless papers into my bag. “And remember our agreement.”

“Oh, I’ll remember.”

“Very well. Have a good day, Doctor.” I begin to stride back to the door before I turn to face him again. “And when will the vomiting stop?”

“Oh, I can give you a prescription for that. It’ll make you a little drowsy, but it’ll help a lot with the nausea and vomiting.”

“Excellent.” I wait for him to scribble out the prescription on his pad. “Is there anything else I need right now?”

“Rest. Lots of water. You probably should start taking a prenatal vitamin if you’re thinking of keeping them…”

Them. My God, there are two little creatures inside of me. I saw them on the screen myself. A warm feeling comes over me suddenly, and I smile at the doctor. “You know, I think I will do that.”

“And you might want to consider talking to the father.”

The warm feeling goes instantly cold, and I shake my head. “No. No, that is something I definitely will not be doing.”