The thought alone made my stomach churn. The heartburn didn’t help either. Bryce and I had been busy in four years, our third baby only a few months from making her grand entrance. We’d decided on Julianna. Just close enough to his grand-m?re’s name and mine, but still her own.
“You feeling okay? I can tell them to wait. We’re lucky the doctor approved this trip, and we don’t want to push it.” My loving husband’s hand cupped my chin and trained my eyes on his.
“I’m fine. You’re always such a worrywart when I’m pregnant.”
He shrugged, placing a kiss on my lips. “Can’t help it. I’ve got a vested interest in protecting what’s mine.”
I arched an eyebrow. “I s’pose you do.”
I grinned, feeling heat radiating down through to my toes that my life had turned out this way.
It’d been a whirlwind from the beginning, Bryce and me marrying just three months after he’d first slipped that ring on my finger. I hadn’t let him steal me away to the courthouse the next day. I’d wanted to plan some kind of celebration for our families, and we had. An intimate gathering right on the banks of the river, overlooking the prime minister’s cottage and our home. It was magic, every single part of it.
And now here we were, our third bundle ready to be born during Prime Minister Gallagher's administration.
Headlines had called us the Canadian Royals from the beginning, comparisons to William and Kate flying.
I’d laughed off every gossiping one of them, but Bryce had only pulled me closer, murmured against my ear that he loved me, and then very often kissed me until all the oxygen was stolen from my lungs.
I loved him so much I didn’t even care he could be a little overbearing, especially when he was worried.
“My mom texted while you were in the meeting,” I said. “The baby’s asleep, but she, Dad, and Pierre are watching. Or, she's trying to make Pierre watch anyway. You know he never understands why you’re on TV and he can't touch you.”
Bryce’s smile heated my bloodstream, and I was thankful we had at least this one small moment between us before the press’s flashbulbs went off. I couldn't wait to get back to the plane that would shuttle us home to Canada and our kids. Even one night away was too many, but my mom had insisted Bryce and I try to enjoy this one last trip alone before sweet Julianna came.
Bryce had agreed eagerly. I’d been a little harder to persuade.
I’d made it my mission to use my position as the prime minister’s wife to shine a light on inner-city poverty, namely in schools and households with families. I’d founded a program, hosted charity dinners and auctions, and even done a few interviews with news stations. I pinched myself often, but Bryce always commented how I came alive under the light of the flashbulbs, that the camera—and the people—loved me.
It’d taken me a while to adjust, but I soon realized I loved them too.
Sometimes, I even wondered if this was my calling, talking about the causes and passions I championed, namely the people of our country.
“I can’t wait to get under this dress.”
“You’re still a bit of a cad, Bryce Gallagher.”
His face, with that beautiful, cocky grin that melted my insides every time, turned, just as the new president of the United States entered through the double doors. She patted Bryce on the back, sending him a wide grin before turning to me, eyes simmering with genuine warmth. “I hope to get up to your neck of the woods soon.”
“We’d love to have you at our home, Mrs. President, as long as you don’t mind the pitter-patter of little feet.” I smiled deeply, pulling my husband a little closer to my side.
“Sounds lovely, my dear.” The president placed a hand at my shoulder, steering us toward the wide doors that would open to the front lawn and a hundred or more journalists.
“It’s been great chatting with you, Prime Minister.” The doors opened then, and flashbulbs shot off in every direction. I sailed through the flashes, pretending to enjoy this moment, when all I wanted was a hot bath and my husband’s arms curled around me in bed.
Bryce shook the hand of the president, one hand still hovering at my back before we all turned to wave to the crowd. Cameras clicked like crazy before security led us to a car waiting to take us to the airport. Bryce helped me in, careful to hold my hand as he did, cameras catching his every move, before he turned, giving the journalists a half wave. That warm, charming grin that the world loved so much split his face.
He was their golden boy too.
Wherever he went, Bryce Gallagher charmed the masses.
He’d charmed the pants right off of me from day one.