THE PHONE IN the clinic rang for the hundredth time in the last hour, and Dr. Bandi sighed. They had to keep the phone on in case a patient needed them, but the calls were only the press. The front desk assistant had been instructed to give no updates on the royal baby.
“I swear they are calling more now than they did for Eleni’s delivery,” Calla muttered as Kostas wiped her brow.
“Well, they love you, sweetheart,” Kostas whispered in her ear. “Love” was too strong of a word, but Kostas’s declaration of love outside her door had changed the tone of most of the reporting. They might never be granted the grace that Ioannis and Eleni had, but no one doubted that Kostas and Calla loved each other.
Another contraction started and Calla squeezed Kostas’s hand, aware she was probably being too forceful but...
“Push, Princess.”
“Alexa, if you call me that one more time, I will—” Calla groaned as she bore down. The contraction subsided as she laid her head back against Kostas, releasing her death grip on his fingers—which he flexed without complaining.
He’d climbed into bed with her when she’d started pushing. It was sweet and comforting, but she was so ready to be done. To hold her child and rest.
“Sorry, Pr—” Alexa caught herself as Calla shot her a glare.
Dr. Bandi looked up. “You’re almost there. A few more pushes.”
“A few more pushes.” Calla moaned. “You keep saying that!” She took a deep breath as the next contraction started.
“You’ve got this, honey.” Kostas kissed her cheek as she squeezed his hands and pushed. His fingers must be screaming, but he hadn’t complained at all.
The pressure released and Calla sighed as the doctor looked up.
“They’ve got a full head of hair! One more push, Calla.”
Bearing down, she followed the instructions and let out a sob as the doctor placed her squealing daughter against her chest.
“She’s nearly perfect.” Kostas whispered as he kissed the top of Calla’s head.
“Nearly perfect?” Calla opened her mouth and made a face at her husband before kissing the top of her daughter’s head. “Nearly perfect” had become their running joke in the last few months. Calla might not like the term “perfect” but “nearly perfect” she’d accepted. And Kostas used it as often as possible.
“Would you prefer perfect? Seems like a lot to lay on a newborn still covered in vernix, but...”
“Nearly perfect, she is.” Calla closed her eyes as she soaked in the first few minutes of their daughter’s life. They were a family of three now.
Her nearly perfect little family.