The nursery in the West Wing was being transformed into a chaotic explosion of pastel yellows and soft greens. Fabric swatches covered the floor like confetti.
“We’re thinking double cribs here,” Isabella beamed, holding up a schematic. She looked radiant, her hand resting openly on the visible swell of her stomach. “And Malcolm wants a mural of the London skyline, but I think that’s a bit much for infants, don’t you?”
Victoria stood in the doorway, smiling tightly. She wore a double-breasted blazer buttoned all the way up, despite the warmth of the room. Underneath, hidden by structure and tailoring, her own body was changing.
“It sounds lovely, Bella,” Victoria said.
“You have to help me with the registry,” Isabella continued, oblivious to the tension. “Two of everything. It’s madness. I don’t know how I’m going to manage without wine for another five months.”
Victoria felt a sharp pang of envy–not for the babies, but for the freedom. Isabella could complain about her swollen ankles. She could publicly celebrate the expansion of her family. She didn’t have to worry that her pregnancy would cause a ten-point drop in the NASDAQ.
“I’ll have my assistant send over a list of the vendors we used for Leo,” Victoria offered, checking her watch. “I have a conference call with the Asian markets in ten minutes.”
“Always working,” Isabella teased gently. “You’re the boss now. You can take a break, you know.”
*No, I can’t,* Victoria thought, adjusting her blazer to ensure it didn’t pull across her midsection. *Because if I stop, they’ll see.*