“I can sleep in one of the staff rooms. It’s no big deal.” She’d prefer it, really. No one ever tried to get into one of the staff rooms late at night, thinking there’d be a nubile Dutchgirl in the bed.
“I don’t like it,” Marta said with a frown, but waved Lucas ahead. “Your father, he’s got three girlfriends right now.”
“Three?” Greer wrinkled her nose and pulled up one of the stools near the main kitchen table. There were fresh vegetables all over the table, being cut into various shapes. She plucked a star-shaped wedge of cucumber off the pile and popped it in her mouth. “Let me guess. Blonde, busty, and under twenty-five?”
Marta crossed herself and nodded. “Your father definitely has a type. This time, it’s triplets. Bunni, Kiki, and Tiffi. All vegan.” She shook her head and picked up her knife, starting to chop again.
“Well, that sounds dreadful for you.” Marta loved working for Greer’s father, but her life got harder depending on the girlfriends in the house. If they didn’t eat the same things as Mr. Janssen, it meant more work for the kitchen.
Marta shrugged and began to chop another cucumber slice into a star shape. “At least they don’t eat a lot. But we’ve been cooking with a lot of tofu lately.”
“I’ll note that for the celebration party.” Tofu. Triplets. My, this was getting interesting already.
“If they’re still around by then,” Marta corrected, raising her eyebrows. “You never know with your father.” She bustled over to the oven.
Well, Marta had a point. Her father had never married and loved having an endless stream of new girlfriends. Some lasted a week, some lasted years. Rarely was there just one. Her father liked variety.
Which explained the triplets. Sort of.
“You’re just in time for lunch,” Marta said, opening the oven. “We’re having quinoa, spinach, and tofu loaf. I promise it’s better than it sounds.”
As Marta pulled the pan out of the oven, the smell of the food wafted into the air, and Greer’s stomach rebelled. She jerked to her feet and raced for the nearest bathroom, leaving behind a startled Marta and her helpers. Luckily, Greer made it safely to the toilet before she tossed her crackers.
When she was done puking her guts out, she oddly felt a lot better. So strange. Greer washed her face with a wet towel, rinsed her mouth, and returned to the kitchen.
Marta was eyeing her with a curious look. “You all right?”
She grimaced. “Stomach bug.” Her hand patted her waist. “Caught it a few days ago and can’t seem to shake it.”
Marta clucked and moved to Greer, putting an arm around her shoulders like a doting grandmother. “It’s good that you’re here. I’ll fix you right up. You go to your room and sleep and when you wake up, I’ll make you a nice warm soup and take care of you.”
Greer felt a rush of love for the old housekeeper. When she’d been a lonely child growing up, Marta had always had time for her, and made her special treats to let her know she was loved. Soup made by Marta would fix a million ailments, as would just spending some time in her warm kitchen. This was what she needed to reset all the feelings of misery and unhappiness from the last few weeks.
Going up to her room sounded good, but she hesitated. “I should probably say hello to Vader.”
“Pfft. He’s not even here. He’s on-site for a photo shoot.” She ushered Greer toward the back stairs that led to the staff rooms. “You go rest up and you call the kitchen if you need anything. Do you want some medicine?”
“I’m fine.” She kissed Marta’s cheek and gave her a smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”
The woman pinched Greer’s cheek as if she were a child. “Go rest.”
So she did. The staff rooms were small and plain, and the single bed she laid down in was laughably small compared to the palatial guest rooms upstairs. But she liked it better with the staff, always had, and she fell asleep right away despite having napped on the plane. She was home.
Several hours later, she woke up, feeling refreshed. Greer changed her clothes, pulled her hair back into her typical braid, put her glasses on, and headed downstairs for some of the soup she’d been promised. True to her word, Marta had made a batch of chicken noodle, but she insisted on serving Greer in the dining room. Greer was a Janssen, Marta explained, and she needed to be treated like one.
That was how she got to meet the triplets.
The dining room in the Dutchman castle seated twenty-four, because her father loved to entertain. The table itself was long and wooden, and the entire room was set up like a medieval dining hall, complete with massive fireplace at one end and pennants hanging from the ceiling. Crowded around one end of the table were three identical blondes noisily chewing salads. They looked over at her as she entered, but didn’t get up.
Greer sat down underneath the rose pennant, her “usual” spot when she was visiting. It also thankfully placed her at the opposite end of the table from the triplets. A moment later, soup and crackers was served to her, and Greer gave the staffer a grateful smile before picking up her spoon and tucking in.
She’d had about three bites of Marta’s delicious soup before the whispering started to get annoying.
“Is she one of the centerfolds?” asked one.
“Get real. Look at her.” This was accompanied by a snort.
Well, there went her self-esteem. Nothing like being home. She took another mouthful of soup.
“But why’s she here?”
“She’s not a centerfold,” said another. “She’s got no tits.”
“You can buy those!”
At that, she nearly choked on a noodle.
“A new girlfriend, then?”
“But he’s got us.”
“He’d say something, wouldn’t he?”
“Stijn didn’t tell me, and I thought he told me everything.” There was a pout in that voice.
“I can’t believe it! He’s cheating on us!”
After that ridiculous statement, Greer put her spoon down and calmly wiped her mouth. She should probably say something before they worked themselves into a frenzy. She looked over at them. They were all incredibly beautiful, in an overly made-up sort of way. Big, processed blonde hair flowed over tanned shoulders and all three women had high cheekbones, nose jobs, and boob jobs. They wore bikinis to dinner—naturally—and one was in pink, one in baby blue, and one in purple. They also didn’t look very bright. One girl’s big lips were quivering as if she were about to cry as she stared down Greer, her fork poised over her salad.
She felt a twinge of pity for them. Their sad, sad little world was threatened by her? Man. “Don’t worry. I’m his daughter.”
Three sets of eyes widened.
“But you’re Mexican!” Pink girl blurted. “You don’t look anything like him.”
Oh lord. Not this again. She smoothed her cloth napkin in her lap. “Actually, I’m part Indian.” She was half Dutch, too, but to white people, she was other. Ironically, she couldn’t claim desi as her heritage either, because that implied she knew the culture and, well, she didn’t. So she was just a square peg in a round hole. Story of her life. “My father dated my mother in the late eighties. I look like her.”
Blue snapped her fingers. “I remember that! She’s the one in the picture in his room. What was her name? Lacey?”
“Lakshmi,” Greer corrected, touched. Her father kept a picture of her dead mother in his room? That was oddly sweet. “Lakshmi Chadha.”
“That’s right,” Blue said triumphantly. “The porn star.”
For some reason, that irritated Greer. Sure, it was true, but Lakshmi hadn’t gotten into porn until after she’d broken up with Stijn. After losing her meal ticket and with a young, mostly unwanted child in tow, she’d spiraled and gotten into drugs . . . and porn. Greer didn’t remember much about that, since she was too young, but s
he remembered her mother’s bright smile and her achingly lovely face. “She started out as a Dutchman centerfold.”
Their expressions grew envious. “I want to be a centerfold,” Purple sighed.
“I was,” Pink said, her voice smug. She sat a little straighter.
Purple scowled at her. “Just because you’re a suck-up.”
“Come on,” Blue said. “Behave, you guys.” She smiled at Greer. “I’m Kiki and this is Bunni,” she said, pointing at Pink. “And this is Tiffi.” Purple. They beamed at her, and all of their expressions were the same. “Has your dad mentioned us?” Kiki asked.
Oh, awkward. Greer never talked to her father much, and they never discussed who he was dating. They weren’t close like most families. Cordial, yes. Close? No. He’d never wanted children, and Lakshmi’s pregnancy had caused their breakup. Her mother had gone ahead and had the baby just to piss off her ex. The only reason Greer hadn’t been shipped to foster care when her mother overdosed was that it would have reflected badly on Stijn. So he’d taken Greer in, shuttled her off to a far end of the castle where she would be out of the way, gave her a nanny and tutor, and tried to forget she existed.
Cordial was really the best word for their relationship. But she didn’t want to hurt Kiki’s feelings, especially if the girls were living at the castle and would be around while she was visiting. And she knew what it was like to pine for a bit of Stijn’s attention. “He might have once or twice,” she lied.
Kiki lit up and cast her sisters an excited look. “See?”
“So why are you here?” Purple Tiffi asked, gnawing on a baby carrot she plucked from her salad.
“Vader is being awarded Businessman of the Year by Prospectus magazine in a few months. He wants to throw a large party to celebrate it, and he wants me to coordinate it.” She spooned her soup carefully, but her insides were starting to be upset again.
“Oooh, a party!” Pink Bunni wiggled in her seat. “Stijn throws the best parties!”
“What kind of party?” Purple Tiffi asked.
“Um, a celebration party?” What a strange question.
“I mean, will there be strippers?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Or will it be a costume party? Do I need to practice jumping out of a cake?”
Greer blinked. “No? You just need to show up. It’s a formal party.”
“Ohhh.”
Greer pushed her soup aside, because now the smell was starting to be nauseating. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I think I need to excuse myself.”
“It’s the animal hormones in your soup, isn’t it? I can smell it from here,” Bunni said sympathetically. “You should go vegan.”
“No animals were harmed with celery,” Tiffi agreed, waving a stalk at Greer.
Greer shook her head and pressed a hand under her nose as she got to her feet. “I’m fine. It’s not the chicken. I just . . . certain smells make my stomach react poorly.”
Kiki tilted her head. “Smells?”
“I’m sure it’s just a stomach bug. It’s been following me for a few days.”
The blue triplet nodded slowly. “Better at night?”
Actually, yes. Greer paused. “Have you been sick, too? Is it something going around?”
“God, I hope not,” Kiki said with a giggle. “You want to borrow a pregnancy test?”
***
Greer was pregnant.
She’d taken three of Kiki’s pregnancy tests, silently willing each one to show a negative. Each time, a bright positive sign streaked across the stick moments after she used it. Well, crap.
Asher had gotten her pregnant. That one horrible interlude in the gardens at Gretchen’s party had fucked her over. She was unwed and she hated the father of the child in her belly. Well, this wasn’t a situation she’d ever imagined herself getting into, especially after her mother’s bad example.
Kiki was nothing but sympathy. “Don’t worry,” she said when Greer emerged from the bathroom, pale and unhappy. “There’s still plenty of time to take care of things. I know a great doctor. You want her number?”
A doctor? To get rid of it? “Not yet,” Greer said faintly. The moment the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Not ever. This wasn’t planned, but Greer hadn’t been a planned child, either. She’d been a mistake between two people who no longer liked each other. She couldn’t get rid of her own child for the same reasons. Her hands went to her stomach. Like it or not, she was having a baby.
And Greer was going to give this child the best, happiest life she possibly could, she thought fiercely. No nannies and tutors. No squirreling her child away to the back of the house because it was inconvenient. Greer’s baby would be loved and know it was loved at all times, even if it didn’t have a father in the picture.
But it would be a change. A big, big change. Holy crap. She got a little faint just thinking about it.
She went to her room in a daze and took another nap. When she woke up, she was mentally refreshed, and convinced that the tests were right. Of course she was pregnant. Asher hadn’t used a condom. She was getting sick at all kinds of smells, and her stomach acted up in the morning. Her breasts were tender, and her period was due in about three days, but she suspected it’d be a no-show. Greer googled pregnancy symptoms and it seemed that one could start getting sick as early as three weeks after conception.
Well, that certainly fit the timeframe for her sex with Asher. Actually, she couldn’t even call it that. She’d refer to it as an unwanted sperm donation at this point, because sex implied she might have gotten some pleasure out of it, and that certainly wasn’t the case.
For a moment, she thought about unblocking Asher’s number and texting him. Telling him he got her pregnant and reveling in his panic. She could force him to pay child support, and wouldn’t that be ironic? He was a billionaire, but he was a billionaire only because of her; back when his business had nearly collapsed, she’d secretly given him five million dollars and pretended it was from her father. Milking him for child support would have a vicious sort of justice to it.
But she discarded the idea as quickly as it came. She didn’t want her baby to be a problem. She certainly didn’t want her child to be a weapon between angry, battling parents. Been there, done that. She didn’t want to mess with Asher. Actually, she never wanted to see him again. This would be her child and hers alone. Her hands went to her flat stomach, imagining what her body would look like when the baby started to round it out.
A knock sounded at the door. “Miss Greer?” One of the butlers.
She sat up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Stijn’s returned home if you wish to talk to him.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.” She smoothed her hair and straightened her sweater and slacks. She did have to talk to her father. Not only about the party she was going to plan for him, but the baby she was going to have. As her parent, she supposed he deserved to know.
Greer slipped her flats back on and then headed down the stairs and into the main part of the castle, looking for her father. Finding a person in the Dutchman castle was sometimes like finding a needle in a haystack, but her father had a few favorite haunts. He wasn’t in the movie room, the library, or taking laps in the indoor swimming pool. She found him in his study, seated at an enormous glass desk, going over proofs of the next magazine issue.
“Hello, Vader,” she called out as she entered.
“Little Greer,” he greeted, putting aside the folder and getting to his feet. “I’m glad you made it. I have a lot of ideas for the party.” He extended his hands to her and she put her hands in his and they exchanged air kisses on their cheeks. “Come sit down, and I’ll go over my checklist.”
That was about as warm as Stijn Janssen got with her, Greer thought wryly. She was treated more like an old business associate than a daughter. There was no asking how one was doing, what sh
e was up to, how her wedding planning business was going. It was always—and always would be—about Stijn and Stijn alone.
At sixty-five, her father was still an impressive figure. Over six feet tall, his hair had finally faded from pale blond to silver, but his shoulders were as broad as ever and his face just as tanned. His cheeks were unlined, but the set of his mouth got a little thinner every year, and he was starting to get a gut. Not that Greer would ever say that to him. “You look well, Vader.”
He shot her an unreadable look. “I should. Those women are working me to the bone. So demanding, all three of them. You met them? My triplets?”
Ah yes, nothing like getting reminded that her father didn’t really think of her as a daughter. As if she wanted to hear about his sexual conquests. “I did. They seem very nice.”
“They’re stupid,” he said bluntly, sitting back down in his chair and digging through a few folders. “But they’re enthusiastic.”
Calling them stupid seemed cruel. “You do have a type,” she said lightly.
He shot her another look, and this time it was irritated. “I do not. Your mother was nothing like them.”
Yes, and you discarded her and me. But she bit those words back. “Speaking of mothers . . .”
Stijn pulled out a piece of paper and then put on his reading glasses, perching them on his broad nose. “Now let me tell you my idea for the theme. I was thinking something with ice. Something elegant, though. This is a showpiece of a party. There will be very important people there and we don’t want to look trashy. So, ice. Ice can be elegant. Maybe diamonds. I think—”
“Vader,” she interrupted. If he got started on work, she’d never be able to broach the subject of her pregnancy.
He paused and angled his head so he could stare at her over his reading glasses. “What?”
“You should know that . . .” She sucked in a breath, and then forced herself to admit the words. “I’m pregnant.”
He blinked. “Can you work? Is it going to be a problem with planning my celebration?”
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