Royal Match by Parker Swift (4)

The next day was beautiful—sunny, breezy, cloudless, and warm. But instead of being outside in the park, my whole family was hanging out in Hannah’s studio. We’d been there for an hour, and if it went much longer, I was sure Dylan would take the kids outside. In the meantime, I was standing on a platform in Hannah’s studio draped in what felt like a hundred yards of gauzy netting and silk satin, a belt of some kind pinned above my belly. And Caroline, who was playing with Eleanor, was there with one of the wedding planners to give her approval.

Hannah stood up and walked around me, slowly, eyeing every pleat. Every seam. Then she nodded decisively and placed the small box of pins on top of my belly, as though it were a literal shelf.

“Hannah!” I said in disbelief.

“What?” she asked earnestly, speaking through the pins she held in her mouth. “That belly of yours is keeping me up at night. It might as well be good for something.”

“You are horrible,” I said, smiling. It was amazing how my relationship with Hannah had changed since that first day I stepped into her offices fresh off the plane, nervous about starting my first real job. Now I was a colleague. A client. A friend. We’d come a long way.

I looked over and saw Caroline standing on a small stool while Eleanor walked around her, playing designer. My four-year-old daughter tucked scraps of one-hundred-and-fifty-dollars-per-yard silk duchesse satin into the waist of Caroline’s jeans, into her pockets, into her shoes, anywhere she could reach. Aiden was trailing Eleanor, armed with the fabric.

“You’ve never looked lovelier, Caro,” Dylan said from the chair he was sitting in opposite us, and Caroline gave him a raised eyebrow. “Seriously, I think you should scrap whatever you were going to wear, and let Eleanor have at you.”

“I’ve never felt more beautiful,” Caroline said, looking down at a beaming Eleanor. Then she looked between me and Dylan. “I can’t believe you’re going to have another one of these,” she said affectionately. Although, honestly, there were days I definitely thought we were crazy for having a third.

“It was his idea,” I said, pointing at Dylan.

“Can you blame me? I mean, look at Lydia—when she’s pregnant, she’s—”

“Stop right there, Dylan,” I interrupted, holding up my hand, but he was already laughing.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

“Whatever you were going to say, it wasn’t going to be appropriate.”

“Gorgeous,” he said matter-of-factly. “All I was going to say is that you are gorgeous.”

I raised my eyebrow skeptically, and glared down at Hannah when she stabbed me lightly with a pin.

“Well, stop moving,” she added, slightly exasperated.

“Lydia, you do look amazing pregnant. Gorgeous when not pregnant too, of course,” Caroline added. “And you two make it look easy.”

I scoffed as she stepped down from her perch to come and inspect my dress. Caroline was truly stunning. Her blond hair seemed shinier than was humanly possible, and her legs were a mile long. Even in her jeans, flats, and peasant blouse with scraps of fabric poking out every which way she looked like a princess. The rather severe-looking wedding planner joined her at my side—the woman reminded me of a stylish Miss Minchin from A Little Princess, dressed all in black, complete with a high bun.

“Hannah, this is incredible,” Caroline said, her hands on her hips, where she was tugging a piece of the very same silk that was stretched across my body. “It’s perfect,” she added, circling me. “This is probably weird to say, but I think if I didn’t have to have a gown quite so grand, I would choose something like this. Minus the belly, of course,” she said, smiling. “Although, honestly, Lydia, you do make it look good.”

I smiled at her in thanks.

“You know, this is rather fun actually,” Hannah said conspiratorially, as though no one could hear her admit to having fun. “I haven’t designed on the fly this way in years.” When you thought about it, her task was a tall order: design and execute a stylish maternity bridesmaid’s dress worthy of a royal wedding in two weeks. It was no surprise that she looked like she’d already had three lattes that morning and that she’d taken to swearing to herself under her breath.

I shifted my weight from side to side to relieve some of the pressure—standing for this long at this stage of the game wasn’t exactly fun—and I felt myself wince a bit as the baby moved.

“Damsel,” Dylan said softly—he was suddenly by my side. I could hear the frustration in his voice. “If you can’t stand for this fitting, will you really be able to stand up at the abbey for an entire service?” He began stroking my lower back through the gathered fabric. “Take a rest.”

“Dylan,” I said, looking at him sternly—I didn’t want Caroline to feel bad about this. “I’m fine. Plus, I won’t be standing for the entire service.” I said it decisively, but I realized I didn’t actually know for sure. I suddenly felt a little panicked. “There are chairs, aren’t there, Caroline?” I looked from her to Miss Minchin, praying for confirmation.

“Of course. You’ll be sitting most of the wedding,” Caroline replied. “So will I, thank god. I think my dress weighs eight stone!”

“Take a rest, Lydia.” Hannah stood and looked at Dylan, like they were in cahoots. “It’s time for another coffee anyway.” As she stepped away, her eye caught on the fabric pinned to my body, and I could literally see the light bulb go off. She bounced over to her studio desk and made notes and edits to the sketch. A sketch I still hadn’t seen, but at this point, I figured my fate was pretty much in her hands.

Dylan wandered over to take a look at Hannah’s drawing, and I maneuvered myself back to a chaise against the window, careful not to disturb any of the pins. I sat very gingerly and Caroline looked down at me, a slight wrinkle in her brow.

“Are you all right?” she asked earnestly. I adored Caroline, and I knew it wasn’t her idea to have me in the wedding, but there was a tiny part of me that wanted to raise an eyebrow at her. But of course I didn’t, because a far bigger part of me was excited for my friend.

“I’m fine,” I said, swallowing the fact that I was actually getting pretty uncomfortable. “Really.”

She nodded and then looked back towards Miss Minchin and made some gesture indicating she was ready to go. “I have to run and meet up with Zach and his parents at their hotel for final suit fittings for the gents,” she explained. I tried to stand, knowing that even though we were friends, there was always a part of me that felt I was supposed to stand and be proper. But Dylan came to my side and put a hand on my shoulder—his own reminder that Caroline was more friend than royal, and that in his eyes I came before pomp and circumstance.

“See you in a few days then,” I said, and watched Dylan walk her towards the door. They lingered there, talking, and I saw her look up at him, frowning slightly, like she was asking something. I could only see Dylan’s back, could only tell he’d replied by the way his shoulders moved when he spoke. I knew she still confided in him—they’d been engaged, of course, but according to Dylan, they’d never really been more than just friends. She reached up and gave him a hug before following Miss Minchin out of Hannah’s studio.

“What was that about?” I asked after he’d returned to me. The children were now watching something on his phone in the corner of the room.

“Even princesses feel insecure sometimes,” he said, giving a sympathetic smile. I looked up at him, even more curious. “Apparently Zach’s ex-girlfriend is coming to the wedding.”

I was about to respond when I heard the door to Hannah’s studio fly open with a dramatic flair that could only belong to one person.

“Josh!” I exclaimed as he came prancing into the room. Dylan helped pull me to standing to greet my onetime colleague and now good friend. He’d been promoted after Fiona and I had left Hannah’s employ and was now her director of social media…and he was just as exuberant as ever. He was also busier than ever preparing for the media explosion that would come once Hannah’s involvement with the royal wedding was public. He’d been lining up Instagram posts and tweets for weeks.

“Lydia, you wench,” he said, holding out my arms so he could get a look at me. “You go away for a month and you’ve gotten so fat! What on earth have you been eating?” I couldn’t help but laugh at Josh’s jokes—they may have been off-color, but I never laughed harder than when I was with him. He looked at Dylan, and they exchanged some look as Dylan came to stand by us.

“Baby,” Dylan said, reaching for the diaper bag behind me. “I’m leaving you in good hands.”

“You called Josh,” I said, surprised. “Who’s next on your list of people to watch over me?” I asked, hands on my hips. “Emily?” Dylan’s sister would be thrilled to commandeer my schedule.

“If she weren’t in San Francisco with Will until the day before the wedding, she would be next on my list,” Dylan replied with a hint of challenge in his voice. “Anyhow, the children need to get some air. I’m going to take them for gelato. Josh is under strict instructions to—”

“Call you if she goes into labor, blah, blah, blah.” He spoke with his singsongy voice and rolled his eyes at Dylan with irreverence. “I know. I won’t let that happen, bad boy,” he said, pointing his finger right at Dylan. “That baby girl knows who’s in charge around here—she’d never arrive without her godfather’s blessing, now would you?” At this point he was talking to my belly, and Dylan was rolling his eyes.

“Right,” Dylan said. They may have played at driving each other crazy, but Josh was a part of our family. “Well, behave yourselves. You know how to reach me.” Dylan kissed me again.

“Hannah,” Dylan said as he walked towards the door, “the dress is stunning. Congratulations.” She nodded at him as though she couldn’t care less what he thought, and honestly she probably didn’t. It turned out there were actually some things that were outside his jurisdiction.

Eleanor and Aiden came rushing over and wrapped their arms around Josh’s legs. He picked up each of them, swung them around, gave them a monster hug, and then put them down.

“Have a good time with Daddy, guys.” I said, and I looked up at Dylan, who was standing by the door. I mouthed the words thank you to him as he called the children to follow him.

Josh quickly took on the task of entertaining me while Hannah got her work done. After another forty minutes, I could finally begin to see how the gown would come together. The capped sleeves—“Sleeves are a must in Westminster Abbey,” Hannah had said—the sweetheart neckline, the draping of the fabric, the way she was going to craft the seams around my curves. It wasn’t there quite yet, but I could tell the gown was going to be stunning, even on an enormously pregnant woman like myself, and even still in pieces just pinned to my body as it was.

“Hannah, this is…I don’t know what to say. You’re a genius.” I examined my reflection as her assistant began unpinning the fabric and marking it as she went.

“I know,” she sighed. Good to know some things wouldn’t change.

“How is Caroline’s dress, anyway?” I asked, lifting my arms so her assistant could carefully slide the fabric over my head. I quickly covered my breasts with my arm and readily accepted the silk robe Josh was handing me. It was just the few of us in the room, plus there was nothing like childbirth and pregnancy to remove any modesty you once had about your body.

“How would I know?” she replied without looking me in the eye.

“Oh please,” I said, and Josh hollered, loving it whenever I gave Hannah a hard time. Officially no one knew who had designed Caroline’s gown, but I had it on good authority that it was, of course, Hannah.

“Oh, very well, which one?” Hannah sighed, giving in to me.

“Which one what?” I asked, confused.

“Which gown?” she replied, smiling.

“There’s more than one?” I asked, letting my jaw drop.

“Lydia, darling,” she said, looking at Josh, who clearly knew the score, “there are three.”