EIGHT MONTHS LATER
Marina was arranging her clothes in a travelling bag, when Beatrice rushed into the room.
"What is this nonsense I hear about you taking a trip?" She screamed at the top of her voice.
With her round protruding belly, she lifted her confused face to stare at Beatrice. "I don't understand," she said.
"Papa Manuel says you insist on going on that journey. Can't you see how heavily pregnant you are?" Beatrice cried out as she moved beside her.
"That's exactly why I'm going on this trip. It's just for a few days. By the time I return, I'll be ready to pop out my child."
"Oh common, Marina. Don't use those kinds of words. You're not talking about a balloon. Besides, I thought we already had this conversation? You can't go to a land you've never been to before. Ugh, I blame that King. I wish I could see him, and—"
"You'll do nothing," she laughed, as she lowered her body to hug Beatrice.
"I really don't want you going to Baga– Baga what?"
