The Royal Delivery (The Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy Series Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  EPILOGUE

  THE AFTER-EPILOGUE

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PRAISE FOR MELANIE SUMMERS

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  DEDICATION

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ONE | Vomitgate

  TWO | 50 Ways to Hide a Rehab Stint

  THREE | Meat-smokers, Invisible Princesses, and Dish Towel Therapy

  FOUR | My Obstetrician’s Better than Your Obstetrician

  FIVE | Thin, Smug Pregnant Doctors

  SIX | Fetuses with Low More Compasses

  SEVEN | How Many Nannies Does it Take to Screw Up a Marriage?

  EIGHT | Slutty Nurses, Husbands on Their Best Behaviour, and Tricky Babies

  NINE | Pretty, Young Nannies and Krispy Kreme Contraband

  TEN | Bad Dreams and Dad Bods

  ELEVEN | Stylish Men’s Swim Trunks & High Stakes Parenting

  TWELVE | Guess Who’s Coming to Live with Us?

  THIRTEEN | I’m Just Tessa From the Block

  FOURTEEN | Absentee Kings, Helpful Father-In-Laws, and Big-Mouthed Wives

  FIFTEEN | The Importance of Knowing Your Audience

  SIXTEEN | Blaming the Bodyguard

  SEVENTEEN | Ultrasound Equipment Made by Wellbits

  EIGHTEEN | Sunday Morning’s All Right for Fighting, Too...

  NINETEEN | The Cowntess of Camembert

  TWENTY | Some Havarti With That Whine?

  TWENTY-ONE | Black Wool Socks Paired with Paper Gowns

  TWENTY-TWO | Ill-advised Topics of Conversation

  TWENTY-THREE | Unexpected Gifts of Being Utterly Normal

  TWENTY-FOUR | Emasculating Novelty Wear, and Secret Fish Funerals

  TWENTY-FIVE | Custom-Made Maternity Shoes & Good Enough Mums

  TWENTY-SIX | Scent Detectives, Meat Cows, and Anti-climatic Climaxes

  TWENTY-SEVEN | Curry Take Out and Catty Conversation

  TWENTY-EIGHT | Birthing Plans Brought to you by Netflix

  TWENTY-NINE | Third Trimester Princess Tessa

  THIRTY | Mr. Whiskers, Destroyer of the Present, Past, and Future

  THIRTY-ONE | Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone

  THIRTY-TWO | Old Relics and Off-key Whistling

  THIRTY-THREE | Sweaty Gym Shorts and Unexpected Heroes

  THIRTY-FOUR | Extremely Logical Priorities, Ice Storms, and Birthing Hips

  THIRTY-FIVE | Adoption—The Much Less Terrifying Option

  THIRTY-SIX | The Evil Twin

  THIRTY-SEVEN | I Never Said Anything About No Mannies

  A NOTE FROM MELANIE

  The Royal Wedding

  ~ a crown jewels romance ~

  By Melanie Summers

  Copyright © 2018 Gretz Corp.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Gretz Corp.

  First edition

  EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-988891-15-6

  Print ISBN: 978-1-988891-16-3

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PRAISE FOR MELANIE SUMMERS

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  DEDICATION

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ONE | Vomitgate

  TWO | 50 Ways to Hide a Rehab Stint

  THREE | Meat-smokers, Invisible Princesses, and Dish Towel Therapy

  FOUR | My Obstetrician’s Better than Your Obstetrician

  FIVE | Thin, Smug Pregnant Doctors

  SIX | Fetuses with Low More Compasses

  SEVEN | How Many Nannies Does it Take to Screw Up a Marriage?

  EIGHT | Slutty Nurses, Husbands on Their Best Behaviour, and Tricky Babies

  NINE | Pretty, Young Nannies and Krispy Kreme Contraband

  TEN | Bad Dreams and Dad Bods

  ELEVEN | Stylish Men’s Swim Trunks & High Stakes Parenting

  TWELVE | Guess Who’s Coming to Live with Us?

  THIRTEEN | I’m Just Tessa From the Block

  FOURTEEN | Absentee Kings, Helpful Father-In-Laws, and Big-Mouthed Wives

  FIFTEEN | The Importance of Knowing Your Audience

  SIXTEEN | Blaming the Bodyguard

  SEVENTEEN | Ultrasound Equipment Made by Wellbits

  EIGHTEEN | Sunday Morning’s All Right for Fighting, Too...

  NINETEEN | The Cowntess of Camembert

  TWENTY | Some Havarti With That Whine?

  TWENTY-ONE | Black Wool Socks Paired with Paper Gowns

  TWENTY-TWO | Ill-advised Topics of Conversation

  TWENTY-THREE | Unexpected Gifts of Being Utterly Normal

  TWENTY-FOUR | Emasculating Novelty Wear, and Secret Fish Funerals

  TWENTY-FIVE | Custom-Made Maternity Shoes & Good Enough Mums

  TWENTY-SIX | Scent Detectives, Meat Cows, and Anti-climatic Climaxes

  TWENTY-SEVEN | Curry Take Out and Catty Conversation

  TWENTY-EIGHT | Birthing Plans Brought to you by Netflix

  TWENTY-NINE | Third Trimester Princess Tessa

  THIRTY | Mr. Whiskers, Destroyer of the Present, Past, and Future

  THIRTY-ONE | Don’t Know What You’ve Got ‘Til It’s Gone

  THIRTY-TWO | Old Relics and Off-key Whistling

  THIRTY-THREE | Sweaty Gym Shorts and Unexpected Heroes

  THIRTY-FOUR | Extremely Logical Priorities, Ice Storms, and Birthing Hips

  THIRTY-FIVE | Adoption—The Much Less Terrifying Option

  THIRTY-SIX | The Evil Twin

  THIRTY-SEVEN | I Never Said Anything About No Mannies

  EPILOGUE

  THE AFTER-EPILOGUE

  A NOTE FROM MELANIE

  PRAISE FOR MELANIE SUMMERS

  “A fun, often humorous, escapist tale that will have readers blushing, laughing and rooting for its characters.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

  A gorgeously funny, romantic and seductive modern fairy tale...

  I have never laughed out loud so much in my life. I don’t think that I’ve ever said that about a book before, and yet that doesn’t even seem accurate as to just how incredibly funny, witty, romantic, swoony...and other wonderfully charming and deliriously dreamy The Royal Treatment was. I was so gutted when this book finished, I still haven’t even processed my sadness at having to temporarily say goodbye to my latest favourite Royal couple. ~ MammieBabbie Book Club

  I have to HIGHLY HIGHLY HIGHLY RECOMMEND The Royal Treatment to EVERYONE!

  ~ Jennifer, The Power of Three Readers

  I was totally gripped to this story. For the first time ever the Kindle came into the bath with me. This book is unputdownable. I absolutely loved it. ~ Philomena (Two Friends, Read Along with Us)

  Very rarely does a book make me literally hold my breath or has me feeling that actual ache in my heart for a character, but I did both.” ~ Three Chicks Review for Netgalley

  ALSO AVAILABLE

  The Royal Treatment, a Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 1

  The Royal Wedding, a Crown Jewels Romantic Comedy, Book 2

  STEAMY OFFERINGS by MJ Summers

  The Full Hearts Series

  Break in Two

  Don’t
Let Go – Prequel to Breaking Love - E-book only

  Breaking Love

  Letting Go - Prequel to Breaking Clear & The Break-up

  Breaking Clear

  Breaking Hearts

  The Break-up

  Reckless in Rio (A Love at the Games Novella)

  DEDICATION

  For first-time mums and dads everywhere,

  Relax. You’re not going to fuck this up any worse than

  any of the other parents out there.

  I promise.

  Melanie

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  Disclaimer: If you haven't read The Royal Treatment and The Royal Wedding, you've missed the first two courses of the meal that is The Crown Jewels Series. Reading this now would be like eating dessert before having the appetizers and the main...which now that I think about it, sounds like an ab fab idea, so maybe I need to come up with a better analogy. Only I don't have time because this book comes out in exactly one week and I still have to finish editing it, get my final proofreaders to go over it, and format it.

  So, for our purposes, lets pretend you're at a Michelin-starred restaurant with your bossy foodie friend who's telling you to sip the lobster bisque and let the fresh butter biscuit melt on your tongue (The Royal Treatment) before you savor the plate of butternut squash with truffle oil and king prawns (The Royal Wedding), then you'll be ready to experience the flavours of the molten lava cake with vanilla ice cream drizzled with warm raspberry sauce (this book).

  Starting here would mean you really won't understand the ‘whys' and the ‘hows' and the ‘who are theys' of the series, and that does not sound like a lot of fun. And if this series is meant to be anything, it's fun.

  Our happy couple, Tessa and Arthur, are not exactly going to approach parenthood the way you or I would—except for the freaking out (most of us do that, don’t we?). They'll definitely do that bit in a most spectacular way. So buckle up, my friends, because it's going to be a bumpy ride.

  Oh, and before I get on with my book launch to-do list, please let me express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who has stuck with Arthur and Tessa and their wonderfully crazy families. Thank you to all those who love them as much as I do. You make all the ‘four in the morning I can't go back to sleep without getting this scene onto the page' writing sessions worth it.

  I must confess that I've been dragging my feet at finishing this story because I'm going to miss these characters when I don't get to spend my days with them anymore. Someday, if I ever find myself on the north shore of Belgium, I'll be a little bit gutted to see that Avonia isn't there, even though I do know it doesn't exist in the real world. Sort of.

  But maybe that's the magic of writing and reading. New worlds can exist within our minds, and we can disappear there whenever we like. So, without further ado, please turn the page and escape to Valcourt. (Unless you haven't read books 1 and 2, then turn around, go back and read those first).

  All the very best in life to you and yours,

  Melanie

  ONE

  Vomitgate

  Tessa - 6 Weeks

  I am going to vomit.

  I think. Maybe not. But if I do, it will prove rather inconvenient since my father-in-law, King Winston, is hosting a state dinner to celebrate four hundred years of peace between Avonia and our surrounding nations of Belgium, The Netherlands, and the UK. Vomiting isn’t exactly considered acceptable behaviour at these things, but I’m afraid there’s a very good chance it’s going to happen anyway. Unfortunately, I’m not only seated at the center of a table for one hundred twenty-two, I’m also dressed in a Dior gown that frankly is very restrictive and therefore will definitely not allow me to move quickly enough to get out of the dining hall.

  I’m also seated next to the King of Belgium—an avid hunter, as luck would have it—who is currently regaling me with a most detailed account of how to properly clean a duck the Belgian way and with every word, I feel slightly more nauseous.

  “...dig around in the chest cavity until you find the entrails. You do not want to leave it...”

  Entrails? Oh, no. Please stop talking about entrails.

  “...keep the heart and liver in a plastic bag...”

  Burp. Maybe if I try that slow breathing technique, I’ll feel better. Yes, I’ll pretend to listen while I concentrate on breathing in calm, cleansing air, two, three – nope. Shit. There is absolutely no way I’ll be able to get up and scurry out of the room before—

  Oh, there it is. I have vomited in my nearly empty soup bowl.

  Four times.

  Fuckity fuck.

  I daintily dab at the corners of my mouth, then push my chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty,” I say to the king, who is now wiping recycled black truffle soup off his lapels. “My, that certainly splashed a lot more than I thought it would. My apologies.”

  The entire room went silent sometime between my second and third heave, and now I can feel one hundred twenty-one sets of eyes on me as I hurry out of the room, burping and gagging. I wave a hand at the string quartet, who have stopped playing and are also staring at me, mouths agape.

  “That was a lovely tune. Please continue.”

  I give them a little nod and attempt a grin, but I’m sure with the green tint to my face, it’s coming off as creepy rather than warm. A hand on my elbow takes me by surprise. I look up to see Arthur, who truly is a prince of a husband.

  “Nice aim. You almost got it all in the bowl this time.”

  He gives me a small wink as he wraps one arm behind my back. We make it out into the hallway with our bodyguards, Ollie and Xavier, flanking us. As soon as the doors are closed behind us, I stop and hold out my wrists. Xavier peels off the diamond tennis bracelet and replaces it with a Sea-band, checking to make sure it’s applied directly to the proper pressure point before he does my other wrist. Xavier swears by Sea-bands based on his days in the Navy, but I’m not convinced.

  “There you go, Your Highness,” he says. “In a few minutes, you’ll be right as rain.”

  “Thank you, Xavier.” I take off my tiara and necklace, then hand them to him. “Can you please return these to the vault?”

  “Certainly. Let’s just get you to your room first.”

  Arthur gives him a nod. “I’ve got her. You take care of the jewels.” His tone is a little sharp, which I’ve noticed is happening more since we found out about the baby.

  Xavier, who doesn’t seem fazed, smiles and nods before turning toward the vault room. Ollie, who it turns out has a very weak stomach for a man of his size and profession, follows us at a safe distance. Yesterday, he dry heaved repeatedly when I got sick in the limo.

  Feeling a wave of dizziness, I close my eyes for a second. “Why did I think I could manage this dinner? I’m such an idiot.”

  “Nonsense. You’re an optimist. I love that about you.” Arthur gives me a peck on the forehead. “Besides, it would have been a huge scandal had you not shown up. The press would have had us on the verge of divorce before the desserts were brought out.”

  “I suppose, but I’m sure they’ll find a way to turn my most recent undignified incident into something sinister, so either way, I’m really no closer to becoming a proper princess, am I?”

  “Nonsense, you’re every bit the perfect princess.”

  “Ha! I just yakked on the King of Belgium. I’m neither perfect nor proper.”

  “Proper’s dull as all hell. Now, can you make it to our apartment, or do we need to make a stop at the ladies’ room?”

  “I think I can make it.” I lean my head on his shoulder while we slowly walk toward the private residence wing of our home, Valcourt Palace.

  He lets go of me for as long as it takes him to pluck a Ming dynasty vase out of a niche in the wall. “Just in case.”

  “Oh no, Arthur, I could never vomit into a priceless vase.”

  He shrugs. “You’re my princess. Nothing’s too good for your vomit. Besides, it can be mu
ch more easily washed than my tux.” He’s referring to three days ago, when I ruined his navel uniform just as we were on our way to the academy for the graduation ceremony.

  I cringe at the memory of it, and my stomach churns a little more. “You should go back to the dinner. I’ll be fine.”

  “And yet, I’m still going to walk you to our room, help you get undressed, and get you into bed,” he says. “But not in the fun way.”

  “The fun way was what ended with me vomiting on the King of Belgium.”

  Arthur stifles a laugh. “I know I shouldn’t find it funny, but my God, the look on his face was absolute perfection. I assume he was going on about how to properly clean a duck.”

  “He kept talking about the entrails.” I say, then burp at the memory.

  We cross the Grande Hall, then make our way to the lift. When the doors slide open, I hesitate slightly, realizing the stairs might be a safer option.

  “Don’t even think about the stairs. There’s no way you should walk up three flights in your condition. Besides, we’ve got the vase with us.” He ushers me onto the lift, then hits the button.

  Ollie stays in the hall, looking horrified, and says, “Right, then. I’ll just meet you up there.”

  When the doors open twelve seconds later, Ollie is waiting. Arthur holds the vase—which is no longer in mint condition—at arm’s length. Ollie jumps out of the way and makes a small gagging sound.

  I wobble a little as I look up at Arthur. “Sorry.”

  Arthur looks a little green himself but nods bravely. “No need to apologize. I’m the one who got you into this mess in the first place.”

  “Yes, that’s right. You should really be apologizing to me.”

  We make our way to our apartment, and within five minutes Arthur has me tucked safely in bed in my Sponge Bob pajamas, which I know are not exactly befitting a future queen, I but still can’t seem to bring myself to give them up.

  Arthur tucks a cleaning bucket beside me on the bed. Since the ‘morning-noon-and-night sickness’ hit, I’ve developed a strange attachment to ‘Buckety,’ bringing him everywhere with me (except, of course, tonight’s celebration). I stroke the bucket gratefully while Dexter, our pot-bellied pig, stands next to Arthur, staring at me with sad eyes. Pigs are smart, and this one seems to realize I’m really not feeling well. He’s been following me wherever I go, which is a real shift, as he used to be Arthur’s pig through and through. It’s very sweet, except he does smell, like, well, a pig, which isn’t always helpful in me keeping the contents of my stomach in my stomach.