down the pub’s narrow hallway toward her wedding reception. “It’s not food poisoning,” she hissed. “I recognize that look on your face. Because I saw it on mine about six months ago.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You’re hilarious,” I said.
Lacey raised a brow. “Weren’t you just telling me how tired you’ve been?”
“My sleep schedule is off because of the World Series!”
“And your boobs look bigger.”
“This is a fantastic bra,” I said.
To my relief, Eleanor was not doubled over in the corner revisiting everything she’d consumed that evening. Instead, Gaz was expertly guiding her in an offbeat waltz to Sir Rod’s “Forever Young.” She whispered something to him and he kissed her hand with a flourish before twirling her carefully. For a woman who’d been on at least partial bed rest for God knows how long, she seemed impossibly spry.
I, however, speed-walked back to the bathroom, and felt Lacey’s hands holding back my hair as I vomited. Again.
When I was done, hopefully for real this time, I leaned back against the wall and inhaled sharply. Big mistake. Like all pub bathrooms, this one smelled of bleach and urinal cakes.
I thought back to the last few months. I guess I had been less aggro about taking my Pill at exactly the same hour every morning. I’d gotten confused when we were on tour about adapting it to the time zones, and never got back on track. But they weren’t that sensitive, were they? Besides, I’d had my…
Wait. I counted, and then I looked at my twin sister, whose smug smile met my frozen wide eyes.
Then I grabbed the bowl one more time.
ACT THREE
Men and kings must be judged in the testing moments of their lives.
—Winston Churchill
CHAPTER ONE
Niles Kensington might have missed the wedding, but he made it back for the funeral.
Three weeks after Lacey got married, I woke up in the middle of the night, and Nick wasn’t in bed. This wasn’t, on its own, surprising; he’d always been a bad sleeper. But even through a bleary half-open eye I could tell he wasn’t in the corner reading or up in Sex Den with a crossword, and I didn’t hear a telltale clanking from the kitchenette down the hall. The alarm clock next to the bed cheerfully hit 2:48 a.m. My standard instinct was to leave Nick to his insomnia, but under the circumstances, it seemed prudent to check.
I tiptoed downstairs. I could hear the low sound of the TV emanating from Nick’s study.
“For those of you up late with us tonight, we’ll be back after the break with live updates from outside Buckingham Palace,” a woman was saying as I poked my head inside the room. “I’m Keldah Ansari and you’re watching BBC News.”
A somber version of the usual theme song started clonking as a graphic flashed onscreen: GREAT BRITAIN IN MOURNING.
“What updates could they possibly have?” I wondered, leaning against the doorjamb. “It’s the middle of the night.”
Nick, sprawled on the brown leather sofa in his sweatpants with a bowl of Hula Hoops resting on his chest, twitched at the sound of my voice.
“Sorry,” I said, flopping down next to him. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I thought you were asleep,” Nick said. He moved his knitting to make more space for me. “Everything okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Mom keeps telling me that I won’t sleep through the night for the next eighteen years, anyway.”
As soon as Nick and I had gotten home from Cambridge, I made a beeline for our upstairs linen closet. It contained a trove of items Bea didn’t want us to be seen purchasing: pregnancy tests, condoms, lube, anti-diarrheal meds, super-plus tampons (“Anything above regular is gossip fodder,” she’d said very seriously), and, for some reason, dental floss, as if the nation would be scandalized to learn that royals have to fend off gingivitis.
It’s too soon. We’re not ready. The thoughts flew through my head on repeat, like the Times Square news crawls except at warp speed. I cannot be pregnant. It’s too soon. We’re not ready.
I’d snuck into Half Bath #3, the one with the little brass tiger faucet knobs, and ripped open the pregnancy test with shaking hands. I’d never held one before. The closest I’d ever gotten was in high school, when Lacey made me buy her one at Walgreens during what would turn out to be a baseless panic. I let out an involuntary laugh as I tipped it into my palm and it landed like a feather in my hand. Such