The Royal Scandal | Prince William |

Curtain Call

June 22, 2018

Coming back to London is hard but necessary.

In her teenage years she used to think she was made for the bustle of a city, but age has taken those soft sugar spun dreams and chiseled their edges. She's constantly on alert when she's in London, whether she's doing an engagement or simply running errands. There are people whose jobs revolve around watching her, so the act always has to be up.

Now her home is a city of betrayal, and being back causes her to cling to William more. She's sick whenever he's out, and she cries when she's alone because her mind can't stop with its creative scenarios.

It doesn't help that her kids love the country so dearly that she longs for it for them. They love running through the trees, and playing sports wherever they want without William and her warning them to watch for people. They take to the air like their lungs have been made for just it, and coming back to London they sulk.

But Mia has her recital, and Jaclyn refuses to go into labor while she's not near St. Mary's again. So, coming back is necessary.

It's mostly William that packs them up while she's curled up in their guest bed whimpering. Her stomach fits like a sack of bricks on her body, and even sitting down or bent over she can feel it sagging in her flimsy body threatening to rip apart.

She can sense both Amelia and PJ lingering outside the door, never daring to enter, but she doesn't have the energy to console them. To act like she's not being drained of everything she has left.

The first day back in KP is much the same. William helps her in, and immediately she collapses in their bed. However, her kids are done waiting and minutes later they both crawl into the bed with her.

Their gentle hands and feather light kisses console her in a way the mattress and pillows can't. She holds PJ close to her chest, his head under her chin, and Mia wraps around her back. William sits on the edge of the bed, there with them, but not pushing. Mia still observes him like she's been tasked with solving a great mystery, but for the moment they're all there together.

After an hour or so her leg falls asleep and one of the babies kicks one of her ribs out of place. Her muffled whimper is enough for William to usher the kids out saying she needs to rest. After she clenches the life out of his hand while he pops the rib back in.

Now, a week later and worse for wear, she's watching her dad hang up the clouds her mom made from polyfill stuffing, rocking back and forth in the chair she's had since Mia was born. The motion soothes the aches throbbing up and down her spine and settles the twins in her stomach.

If at all possible she's sure bruises like the inside of her body just yellow and purple marks color her on the outside. The slightest jostle and her skin will shatter anymore.

“I still don't think they need all this,” her dad says. He's precariously balanced on a stool, and it takes all of her willpower not to rush over and help him.

Together they both survey the new nursery, a random room that will finally have a purpose. The walls have been painted a soft blue with stickers of clouds and white stars. The old velvet furniture and familial portraits have been removed, replaced by cribs and changing tables. Jaclyn only hopes they'll have reason to actually use the room for once. That the work won't be wasted.

“I only mean, you and bub would've shared a room if you were still home.” The way he says this, eyes fixed on the fake cloud and string it's dangling from, she can't interpret his meaning.

He could mean it in a morally superior way looking down on the excess that they have, because how do you spend your whole life cursing the rich from under their boot only to have two grandkids born into it? Or, he could be ashamed. Ashamed that there was never enough for any of them to have anything of their own despite how hard he worked.