Royal Bitch Exclusive
Royal Honeymoon Pics!
Is A Royal Baby on the Way?
Check out our future queen's rack. That she has anything at all going on up top at all may be sign of impending baby news, as Esme is definitely not the sister with meat on her bones. But there's a swelling in her abdomen we've never seen before. Granted, she is on her honeymoon. Maybe she's been indulgent and has upped her carb intake to 5 grams per day. Or maybe she got a jump start on her sole reason of being and has a tiny passenger riding along. Time will tell. Judge for yourselves, readers!
Troll E. McCavetroll
Troll E. McCavetroll thinks this would make great a word problem on public school standardized tests. Princess Esme eats nothing. When she falls pregnant, she starts eating twice as much. How much does Princess Esme eat? Be sure to show your work.
Lady In Waiting
What fucking bump?
Troll E. McCavetroll
Troll thinks Lady should save the metaphysics for her side gig at the rub and tub.
Lady In Waiting
Lady thinks Troll should stfu
Swatchdogs-N-dietcokeheads also thinks Troll should stfu. Regarding Esme's bump, her bikini bottoms aren't the most flattering. It's an optical illusion.
His Royal Gayness
This is low even for Royal Bitch. For Esme to be showing now, she'd have to have been pregnant at her wedding. The Royal Family would never allow any ambiguity as far as the heir's paternity is concerned.
Why everyone is referring to themselves in the third person?
Lady In Waiting
Scroll up. Troll still thinks I'm lying about having run into Bella Swan at Drug$mart because I wouldn't sell the pictures to Royal Bitch. We had a major blow up and stopped talking to each other except through other people, and that gets confusing if you don't use third person.
Well, RoyalWatcher1 isn't going to ruin your fun. Regarding the above post, where is everyone's outrage? This was a huge invasion of privacy. This is your future queen.
Exactly. This IS our future queen, who has been groomed to take on this role for what? Ten years? This is NOT the first time someone has gotten pictures of her topless—it's happened at least half a dozen times before. This is just the first time the pics in question made it into circulation. You want to know where my outrage is, RoyalWatcher1? That this chick is either so entitled or so dumb that she thinks can walk around naked and no one will take her picture. She needed this to get her head out of her ass.
Assman11 IS outraged that they put those stupid HRH crowns on her nipples. I couldn't see shit. The whole thing was nothing more than fucking useless clickbait.
I walk into the study and there's Edward, sitting in front of the fire.
"So you're my after-lunch appointment." I notice the legal folio on the table beside him and my stomach drops. "That was quick," I say, forcing a giggling. "Your father isn't messing around."
"Hey." He rises to his feet and leads me over to the desk, gesturing for me to take the seat behind it.
"Not very romantic, I know." He takes the chair opposite me and drags it around the desk so we're sitting beside each other. "When Carlisle and I would get in trouble and it was bad enough our father would get involved, he'd always pull us into his study. Since then, we've always called studies the 'shit-got-real room.' That's why I brought you in here. I don't ever want what happens in these rooms to affect who we are outside of it. There will be times you will hate me. I'll probably deserve it. Don't be frightened if I get pissed off and I smash the four-hundred-year-old doors we walked through to get in here. It's not you. It's the situation. This is all new to me, too. " He closes his eyes and kisses my hands. "I could never be angry at you."
I suppose the alternative is being presented with god-knows-what-documents in those moments, in the afterglow of sex while I'm still tingling. He could get me to agree to anything then, and he knows it. In that sense, having a designated monarchy-bullshit zone makes sense. But after we've screamed and cried, maybe broken a few national treasures, does he expect us to go back to our apartment as if nothing happened, play Scrabble, and have sex? He's delusional.
"You had me going until the bit about never being angry at me," I say. "Without anger we'd have no foreplay. Good call keeping this out of the bedroom though."
I look at the legal briefs in his hand. He's gripping them so tightly his knuckles are white.
"Why are you so nervous? This morning your father said these were the same documents Esme signed, and that my father and his legal team read them."
"That's true of the second set. Your father and his legal team read them, and Esme signed. The first set was written by your father and his legal team."
I knew my dad did some serious negotiating in the pre-nup, but I had no idea he insisted on changing the rules going forward. Edward hands me the papers.
The Esme Clause
Statement Regarding the Sexual Health and Fertility of
HRH Prince Edward of the Seven Kingdoms
I read through it as fast as I can.
This is as personal as it gets.
Negative on every STD I've ever heard of and a few I haven't. His sperm count is in normal range. At the bottom is his signature granting permission for his doctors to release the results of his tests to me, and judging by the dates on the results, these tests have been performed since we came to Cullen Manor.
There is a place for me to sign, acknowledging receipt of this report. That's the first document. The second is my consent to undergo similar testing within seven days. It's not all that surprising. Edward and I haven't been using condoms, and he would want to make sure we were safe. Also, I remember Esme went through gynecological testing, though she was already engaged to Carlisle at that point—not that it matters. Fair and equal and all that. Edward did his part, so I'll do mine. I sign my consent.
"Well, that's pretty much everything," Edward says, gathering up the documents. "Your father is very passionate about gender equality."
I laugh. "That's Daddy."
"He can't wrap his mind around us, you know. Esme was one thing. But you..." He smiles. "He's still hoping you'll come to your senses."
He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. "I hope you stay blissfully senseless."
If there's one thing Edward was right about, it's that Cullen Manor wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. That being said, Edward promised me we'd only be here one night, and it's a far cry from the alone time he promised. So when I packed my things to move them to Masen Cottage, imagine my surprise when I return from dinner to find them unpacked, my chemise laid out on my turned-down bed, and my birth control pill put out for me on a silver dish beside a glass of water, just as it was the night before.
I text Edward, asking him where he is. Five minutes later, there's no response. There is, however, wine in the room. I pour myself a glass and open the doors to the let the cool night air fill the room. When I finish my glass, he still hasn't replied. I pour myself another glass, and send another text message. I've been at this a while when I notice I'm tipsy. It occurs to me I won't be able to find my way to Edward's room in this condition. Then again, Cullen Manor is a very large place. I doubt I'd be able to find my way to Edward's room even if I were sober.
I do something I swore I'd never do. I ring for the maid.
A moment later, a woman about my age appears.
"How may be of assistance, miss?"
"Please call me Bella," I say.
"I'm sorry, miss. Cullen Manor is very formal. There are households in Masen Palace that are more modern, but here Her Majesty insists upon what everyone is to be called based on their title."
Yep. This is why Esme needed years of princess lessons. Growing up rich is nothing like growing up royal. At my parents' house, we have help, but we call them by their first names, and they do likewise. Even my dad. Especially my dad. Monarchies are based on the idea that people aren't created equal, and that goes against everything he stands for. Carlisle is the only person in the world my dad won't let call him by his first name. I don't know the backstory, but it's got to be a doozy.
So here I am: 99% sure no one's told me how to address my lady's maid properly and 50% drunk off my ass.
I smile sweetly. "Thank you, miss. I'm still learning my way around it all."
"Miss, you can't call me miss."
"Why not? You said yourself it was based on title."
"Jemma, miss," she says. "My name is Jemma."
"Well, Jemma, as you know, I don't have a title." I notice my birth control pill and realize this is probably the woman who's been punching my card. It's a stupid question, but I ask anyway. "I take it working for the palace you've signed a NDA?"
"Do you like it here?"
"I was thinking more in terms of the 18th Century, but I suppose Cullen Manor equally suffices."
"I like it, miss, and I'm very grateful to have this position. I'm on your service for the duration of your stay, then when you and His Royal Highness proceed to Masen Cottage, I'll go with you."
"I thought we were supposed to go there tonight."
"That was the plan, but Prince Edward wanted everything just perfect for you, and that's taking longer than expected. It should be three more nights here, miss. Then you'll be on your way."
Three more nights? I'll run out of clothes. They'll run out of tea. Even worse, we'll run out of conversation. One can only talk dogs and horses with Her Majesty for so long. That and the WiFi here is terrible.
"Jemma, could you take me to Prince Edward's room? I can't remember how to get there."
I'm glad I asked. Not only is it quite the distance from mine, there's nothing distinctive about the door. Who knows how many randoms I could've opened before finding the right one? I enter quietly, hearing him before I see him.
"That's horseshit. Ten years ago, you might have had a point, but I haven't been that person in a long time. I'm not sitting on stacks of scandals that we can release every time the family needs a diversion."
He sounds angry, so I don't interrupt. I park it on one of the sofas in the sitting room and wait for him to finish.
"Here's an idea—why can't Esme just keep her top on whilst sunbathing? In America, everybody does it. … You did not just say that...Fuck sake, Carlisle you act like it's such a huge sacrifice. We all follow the same rules... And you know what? The worst thing Bella will ever have to worry about getting from me is a baby…Oh shit, Esme. I didn't know you were on speaker. You know I can't stand it when you cry. I didn't do this, Esme. Do you want to be mad at someone? When are you going to finally let yourself be angry with Carlisle?... No, you shut up for once, bro … Esme, he's the only person in this situation who is getting everything he's ever wanted while sacrificing nothing. You know I'll do whatever I can, use my influence, call in favors, but I'm not falling on my sword for this. "
He comes in from the bedroom looking flustered.
"Hello," he says, forcing a smile. "Sorry about this. One more call, then I'm all yours." He brings his phone to his ear. "Emmett. I wouldn't ring you this late if it weren't critical. It seems some intimate photos were taken of Carlisle and Esme on their honeymoon. Find out who owns them and what it will take. Thank you." He tosses his phone onto the sofa beside me. "What are you drinking?"
"Is it that obvious?"
"I just assumed you heard all that and needed a drink. After that phone call with Carlisle, I need a drink. Or five. But it seems you started without me."
"Just wine. What the hell happened?"
"Carlisle wants me to manufacture a scandal to offer the tabloids so they won't publish topless pictures of your sister." He pours two glasses of scotch and hands one to me before sitting beside me, bringing the bottle with him.
I take a sip. "How exactly does one manufacture a scandal?"
"I invite paps to catch me doing something salacious in exchange for the pictures of your sister."
"And Carlisle got this idea because..."
He doesn't look at me. He takes a gulp of scotch and wipes his mouth with the hand holding his glass.
"The thing is, Carlisle and Esme don't learn. Harassment? Sure. They know how it feels to be harassed. Humiliation? Not on this level. I've always taken it so they didn't have to. I never really cared. I was in the army. It helped with my cover. Palace PR sent me on 'humanitarian missions' which people assumed was code for rehab. Not that I've never fucked up—"
"Your Royal Vomitous, you don't have to convince me you've fucked up."
He laughs. "You know, usually when you bring that up it really pisses me off."
"This time?" I ask, smiling.
"Context is everything." He finishes off his scotch and pours himself another. "I do feel bad for Esme. She wasn't born into this."
"No, she wasn't—but let me tell you something about my sister. She likes to compare her HRH to my MBA. "
He does a double take. "What?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.
"Oh, yes." I nod, laughing. "In fact, as she pointed out when I received my MBA, an HRH is more prestigious as there are far fewer of them. So let's pretend for a moment she's right, and she studied as hard to be a princess as I did at Wharton. She knows the rules. And she should've known damn well not to—"
Edward's phone starts buzzing between us.
"It's probably Emmett," he says, reaching for it. "Let me take this." He gets up and crosses the room. "Do you have an update?...I see...Well, I guess we won't do better than that. Thank you for everything."
"So?" I ask.
"The pictures are being published." He takes his place besides me again and reaches for the scotch. "There wasn't anything I could do about that. I did get lucky in one respect. It was Royal Bitch who bought them. I have a decent relationship with them, when I want to leak something I always use them. I went to school with their founder—huge monarchist, if you can believe it."
"I knew it!"I rise to my feet and let out a guttural sound that's part release but mostly aggravation. When finished, I fall back onto the sofa behind me. "I always thought they operated with some cooperation from Masen Palace. We'll come back to your personal media participation later. If you know him, why didn't you just call him directly?"
"That's not how it works. Anyway, he acknowledged he owed me a favor and agreed to cover her nipples. Pregnancy speculation and a view inside the royal honeymoon is what he was after. He doesn't need nipples for that."
"So they're covering her nipples?"
"Like stripper crowns? Pasties?" I don't know whether to be relieved or appalled.
"No, these will be bigger. They'll cover more of her breast."
Crowns. Pregnancy speculation. A view inside her honeymoon. More like a view inside her body. I think I'd be more comfortable with everyone seeing Esme's nipples. Then at least they'd see her as sexual, something Esme enjoys being, rather than scrutinize her for evidence of something she may or may not ever become. Is it better to be a sex object or just a womb?
"It certainly it makes it easier for everyone to focus on her uterus," I mutter.
"Well, she isn't pregnant, so the joke's on them."
"By now she might be. I know she'd like to be. Who knows?"
"She isn't pregnant," he says without emotion before downing the rest of his scotch.
Well, he did just get off the phone with her. I guess he'd know.
"I'm glad you're the spare," I say, snuggling up to him. "I don't think I could handle becoming my uterus. I'm not sold on the idea of children in general, but having the entire world watching me for signs of pregnancy would make me insane. Like what if I blew my diet one weekend and foreign dignitaries start sending gifts? I love you, but screw the stress of birthing the heir to the throne."
I expect him to laugh but he doesn't.
"My children will follow me in the line of succession."
After Carlisle and Esme's children. "I know."
"Listen to me." He nudges my chin up to look him in the eyes. "I wish I could tell you it was optional, but it isn't. If you want to be with me, you will be expected to have children. Now, it's not as bad as you make it out to be. People won't start sending baby gifts if you have a piece of cake. Generally, they wait until the baby is born. There don't have to be many of them—two will suffice—and they don't have to be boys. An heir and a spare to shore things up. And your feelings on motherhood could very well change."
He's right about that part. I'm no longer put off by the idea of having children—I'm put off by the idea of having royal children. Maybe that, like all of this, will start to seem more normal in time.
"Just once, I'd like to imagine a world in which Esme does all of the hard work."
With that, Edward does laugh. He throws his head back and has himself a good one. Even if it does come at Esme's expense, it doesn't matter. She'll never know, and he's certainly earned it.
"In that case, dream away. Just remember even here in the castle, fairytales don't come true."