“Hello, babies,” I said to them, placing a hand on the clear plastic side of each incubator. “Welcome to the world.”

CHAPTER NINE

There you go, bug,” I cooed, taking my daughter from the nurse and nestling her against my chest. “Snuggle up for a nap.”

I had unbuttoned my shirt enough to rest her face against my skin. Nick was doing the same with her twin sister next to me, tipping his head back against the rocking chair and smiling in ecstasy.

“This is therapy,” he said. “I could do this all day.”

“Pretty soon you will, sir,” said the nurse on duty. “They’re thriving. They’ll be home before you know it.”

Once Bea knew the babies were safe, she’d sent out word of the premature delivery. Even though we wouldn’t have our girls in tow to show them, we’d agreed to speak to the assembled press and well-wishers when I was discharged. That had been two days ago. When I saw the ensuing footage of that appearance, it almost made me cry; Nick and I had looked like dazed, lovestruck fools when we walked out of the hospital’s glass double doors.

“The staff here were marvelous,” Nick had said as we stood there in front of over a hundred reporters from all over the world—all of whom were smiling directly at us, a detail I clearly remember because it had never happened to me before. “They had two terrified first-time parents on their hands, and they were strong and steady and calm, even when I tore my gown the first two times I tried to put it on by myself.”

A gentle laugh wafted through the crowd. I looked up at the building across from the hospital and realized that every window was crammed with people looking down at us, and before I could help myself, I waved up at them. Every one of them waved back.

“And the babies?” asked Penelope Ten-Names from her spot in the front. “I understand we’ll get names in a few days. Any hints?”

“Once the shock wears off, we’ll let you know,” I had said with a grin. “After we have an audience with the Queen.”

“They’re doing brilliantly, though. Small, but mighty,” Nick had said. “Like Britain herself.”

This was now day three of our new schedule of NICU visits, and the press so far was keeping a respectful distance, making it an oddly peaceful time. Focusing only on these minuscule beating hearts, without fear that we’d leave the hospital through a throng of people trying to get a shot of me lactating, made it easy to shove the outside world away for as long as we could manage it.

My phone vibrated on the table next to me. I shifted as carefully as I could, so as not to wake my daughter.

“Gaz,” I told Nick. “Now he thinks we should name one of them after Saint Wulfhilda of Barking, who got…” I squinted at my phone. “Fired from the Abbey for being too hot.”