The Prince's Triplet Baby Surprise

by Lara Hunter

  There they were: the Prince and the Princess, holding hands and standing in their swimsuits, gazing out at the horizon—not unlike the dream Lisa had had about her and the Prince.

  Lisa’s breath caught in her throat. She wrapped her suddenly clammy fingers around the phone and brought it toward her, sighing evenly. “I didn’t realize.”

  “Well, I suppose we can never really know what goes on behind closed doors, can we?” the mother said, shrugging slightly. “Just a weird window into someone else’s life. That’s all these tabloids give us. And God, I appreciate them. My life right now is nothing but bibs and cooking. And diapers. So many diapers.”

  “Here, here,” another mother said, raising her mug. “We need something to keep us young.”

  Lisa handed the phone back to the mother and scrambled toward the exit of the baby shower, feeling her stomach clench. She reached the exterior, where the chilly winter air calmed her stomach. She leaned heavily against the building’s wall, without her coat, feeling overheated. The barista joined her, offering her a cigarette. But she shook her head primly, pointing at her stomach.

  “Let me guess, morning sickness?” he asked, snapping the lighter in front of the cigarette.

  Lisa shook her head, her brow furrowing. “Oh, no, I’m not pregnant—” she began, her fingers folding over her stomach. “I’m just catching some air.”

  “I see,” the man said, exhaling languidly. He puffed perfect rings of smoke from his lips, and Lisa wondered how he had mastered the skill. But her stomach clenched again before she could ask.

  “Maybe I should go home,” she murmured, slipping a strand of stray hair behind her ear. “I think I’ve spoken to all these moms and moms-to-be here, anyway.”

  “It’s not like you didn’t try,” the barista agreed, giving her a slight smile. “Go on. The minute anyone asks about you—the pretty blonde who definitely isn’t pregnant—I’ll tell them you definitely didn’t go home. Deal?”

  “I’m not pregnant,” Lisa said, her eyes flashing. “Believe me.”

  “Oh, I do,” he affirmed. “I absolutely do.”

  Lisa grabbed her coat, anxious to avoid the eyes of her old friend, now mom-to-be, Nancy. She’d bought her a gift and a card. She’d said hi. That had to be enough.

  She scurried from the building and into the busy, Saturday-afternoon streets, wrapping her arms over her chest. She couldn’t get the barista’s words out of her head. She paused outside of a pharmacy, feeling anxious and silly, before entering and grasping a pregnancy test.

  “Just in case,” she reasoned with herself, purchasing the test in cash, rather than using her card. That way, she wouldn’t have to look back on her statements and remember “that day she took a pregnancy test for no reason whatsoever.”

  The teenage clerk slipped the pregnancy test into a small brown bag, and Lisa flung it into her purse before taking the final blocks at a quick march, her arms at her sides. She rushed up the steps to her building, feeling the blood pulse through her, and then staggered into her apartment, having to drink two glasses of water before calming down enough to get her breath back.

  “What is going on with my body?” she whispered to herself, pulling the test from its container and eyeing the instructions.

  Even as she bounded toward the bathroom, she reasoned all the ways she definitely wasn’t pregnant. Her periods had never been reliable, not since she’d gotten them at the tender age of 12. And she’d never been bothered by them. In fact, one year, when she’d been 21, she hadn’t gotten her period for five months—and she’d chocked it up to good luck.

  She closed her eyes as she took the test, shaking with nerves. She set it on the sink and then busied herself in the kitchen for a while, washing dishes, trying to figure out if she should eat, but too anxious to do so.

  Could she really be pregnant? The Prince was the only person she’d slept with in months. But they’d used protection. Hadn’t that been enough?

  As she waited for the courage to rise up within her, she turned her attention back to her phone, flipping through the many photographs of the Prince and the Princess on vacation. “In Love Again!” the Daily Sneak declared.

  As she read the articles, assessing the photographs and the seeming “love” between the two people, Lisa couldn’t help but feel betrayed. The electricity between her and Francesco had been palpable, an assurance of their chemistry. She sensed no such chemistry between the Prince and Princess.

  In fact, Francesco had told her, point-blank, that he didn’t love her. That he’d never loved her.

  Furious, Lisa collapsed onto her chair, shifting her hand over her abdomen, wondering at the slight bulge. It was true that her pants had been slightly tighter lately, but it was also true that her mother had sent a large box of Christmas cookies, all frosted and coated in sprinkles, and she’d eaten all but a couple of them in the previous days, feeling sorry for herself.

  Finally, she sighed and lifted from the chair, knowing that the afternoon would stretch to evening, and the pregnancy test would remain there, bearing its truth, regardless of if she went back into the bathroom or not.

  She sniffed sharply, wondering who she’d call to laugh about this with once the negative result was confirmed. But she hadn’t told a single soul about her affair with the Prince, especially since Connor harassed her at that café. And so, she would hold memory of this within her, as yet another secret. They were accumulating fast.

  She entered the bathroom, the fluorescent light bright and blinding, and turned her attention toward the small stick near the sink. It waited for her, a beacon that would decide her future.

  TEN

  Lisa hovered over pregnancy test, blinking rapidly. The pink plus sign was soft, beautiful, against the cream of the stick. She hadn’t expected such beauty. And yet, the tiny pink cross was delivering terrifying news to her. It was the assurance that everything in her life was about to change. She lifted it into the light, remembering the way the Prince’s eyes had glittered as they’d spoken, whispering secrets over the pillow. Already, she could picture the child they’d created together: dark curls descending across pink cheeks.

  But as her mind turned, she began to wilt to the ground. She felt as if she’d been punched. Oxygen couldn’t race to her brain quickly enough, and she began to see black.

  “Snap out of it,” Lisa murmured, smacking her cheeks with a cold hand. After a moment more, she flung herself to the kitchen, searching for her phone. She didn’t have to be a single mother—at least, not in the traditional sense. She and this man, this prince, had felt something together. Surely, he thought of her fondly, despite her press credentials.

  If she told him that she was having his baby—and that she was planning to keep the information from the press—he would surely want to have a claim to the child. Wouldn’t he want to meet him or her? Wouldn’t he want to give them enough funds to survive, what with the incredible wealth at his disposal?

  That was the decent thing to do, she knew. And he was nothing if not a man with morals and a family-oriented mindset. His mother and father had stayed together to raise him and his sister. Surely he would want to make sure his child was cared for?

  As a member of the paparazzi, Lisa had generated an incredible stash of emails, phone numbers, and other contacts, which allowed her to find the number of the royal family’s press office, tucked away on the Aluzzian coast. With the chilly December brewing another round of snow outside, Lisa dialed the number and waited, hearing the phone ring across oceans and seas.

  The call was answered by a woman speaking Aluzzian, which sounded like a mixture of Spanish and Italian.

  Lisa smiled with her response. “Hello. I don’t suppose you speak English?”

  “Of course I do,” the woman answered, her tone friendly and bright. “My name is Anika. How may I help you this evening?”

  Lisa sat upon her chair, wrapping herself tight in a blanket. Hearing the woman’s warm tones, she suddenly felt like ever
ything was going to be fine. “Actually, I’m a friend of the palace,” Lisa began.

  “Oh?” Anika asked, feigning interest. “Who in the palace, exactly?”

  “Well, I’m friendly with Prince Francesco,” Lisa answered, pushing the conversation forward. “He and I met while he was in New York, around the time of the break-up between him and Princess Rose.”

  “Hmm. Our records don’t show them ever ‘breaking up’, so I’m not quite sure when that would have been, Miss—”

  “Lisa,” she stammered. “Lisa Garcia. And that’s funny, as I seem to recall reading something about their break-up in—”

  “Ah, the tabloids. Trashy magazines. They never report the truth, but of course, you know that. Anyway, it’s kind of you to call, but you should know that the Prince is incredibly busy these days, on his many humanitarian travels, alongside Princess Rose, and he will be unable to take your call. I can take a message, but I highly doubt—”

  Panic throttled through Lisa. “I’m sorry, Anika. It’s terribly important that I speak with him. You see, something rather intimate happened between—”

  But Anika interrupted her. “I’m sorry, Miss Garcia. If you’d like to leave a message for the Prince, we can absolutely arrange something. But know that whatever you tell me will be shown to all members of the royal family, including Princess Rose.”

  Lisa sensed the warning in Anika’s voice. She bowed her head, realizing she was against a wall. “I see. All right, then. Any other ideas for me?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Miss Garcia,” Anika said, her voice sounding robotic now.

  “I was wondering how else I could contact the Prince. Perhaps another office?”

  “No, miss. This is the only official channel through which to contact Prince Francesco.”

  “And you’re telling me that I can’t even communicate with him this way.”

  “Perhaps if you knew him well enough to have his cellphone—”

  “Fine,” Lisa spat, angry. “That’s fine. Thank you. Have a wonderful day.” She smashed her finger on the phone to end the call, seething.

  In all her years as a paparazzo, she had never been brushed off so easily. Anika’s voice had started off friendly, ready to guide her. But the moment Lisa had started to inquire about the Prince, her tone had changed. She’d iced up, pushed back, and informed her that contacting the Prince through that, or any other channel, would be highly unlikely.

  Lisa read the clues. But she didn’t yet have enough information. She stationed herself in her living room, a large bowl of popcorn before her and the television blaring. She fell asleep on the couch, and when she awoke, she dialed the press office of the royal family once more, hoping to reach a different receptionist who might be more understanding.

  A male voice answered in a beautiful Aluzzian accent, welcoming her to the royal family’s press office. Again, Lisa requested that the man speak English, rather than Aluzzian. Again, he responded brightly, in perfect English.

  “Of course, miss. How may I be of service?”

  “Thank you,” Lisa said primly. “I wondered if I might be able to contact Her Majesty the Queen of Aluzzi.”

  “Absolutely,” the man answered. “The entire royal family is contactable through this office.”

  “The entire royal family?” Lisa repeated, her eyes glittering.

  “Absolutely. The King, Queen, Prince, and, of course, the Prince’s betrothed, Princess Rose of the Netherlands. All through this office.”

  “Oh, well, that changes everything,” Lisa said, nuzzling deeper in her couch. She yawned briefly, noting that her hunger had escalated—a reminder that she needed to eat for her baby. “I’d love to speak with Prince Francesco, if at all possible.”

  “Certainly,” the man chimed. “And if I could just take your name.”

  “Lisa Garcia,” she responded promptly.

  Immediately, the man paused, clearly gawking at his mistake. “Lisa, Lisa Garcia. I’m—I’m terribly sorry—”

  “What is it?” Lisa asked, playing dumb.

  “Well, the Prince is, um. He’s currently traveling and unable to accept phone calls. So, you see, even for us—he’s unreachable.”

  “Is that so,” Lisa said, smiling grimly. “Well, that’s really quite unfortunate. I do need to contact him. I don’t suppose I could—”

  “Leave a message? Unfortunately not,” the man stammered, perturbed. “It’s not our standard operation here.”

  “Right. So, I’ll just call back later, then?” Lisa asked.

  “Um. Of course. Maybe in—um. Yes. Thank you for your call, Miss Garcia.”

  Immediately, the man hung up. Lisa glared at her phone, her eyebrows lowering, understanding that she was being avoided.

  “Wow. He really did it,” she whispered. The Prince had actually set a block against her—probably declaring her a crazed paparazzo, someone who would damage the family name.

  She’d been blacklisted. And so she would remain, probably for the rest of her life, if she didn’t do something about it.

  She walked toward the refrigerator and retrieved several celery sticks she’d bought the previous week when she’d thought she needed to lose weight, post-Christmas cookie snacking. Now, the celery felt dry and bendy against her sandpaper tongue. She poured water down her parched throat, realizing that her body was fueling the growth of another, tiny person. It would no longer respond to nourishment in the same way. It would constantly be searching for something more fulfilling.

  Exhausted, and still starved, Lisa slept for the rest of the morning and early afternoon, allowing her Sunday to slip away. She couldn’t fold into her blankets deeply enough. She wanted to hide, to fall into another dimension, to rectify her problems by becoming invisible. But each time she opened her eyes, she awakened to the reality in which the Prince wanted her to carry his baby, alone, as a single mother.

  At nearly five in the afternoon, Lisa dialed her favorite pizza place and ordered three pizzas, unable to choose which flavor suited her. “Pepperoni, with black olives,” she requested, counting on her fingers. “And one with just vegetables. Yes. All the vegetables, Louis. I know I don’t normally order that, but here we are. And the last one is—oh. Surprise me.”

  She kept up a playful, joking rapport with the pizza guys, who’d often commiserated with her on the street as she awaited one celebrity after another. “They don’t stand a chance against you, Lisa,” the pizza boys had said. And always, she snapped their picture in response.

  Louis delivered the pizzas around thirty minutes later, sauntering up to her apartment and accepting the generous tip—something Lisa knew she couldn’t afford any more. But she smiled at him, bleary-eyed.

  “You don’t look so hot, Lisa. You sick?” Louis asked, his timid, 22-year-old eyes peering up at her. “And why’d you order three pizzas? You having people over?”

  “Why are you asking so many questions?” Lisa said, laughing. “I’ve already paid you, Lou. Get out of here.”

  Louis grinned playfully before turning down the hallway and skipping out of sight.

  Grateful to be alone again, Lisa eased heavily down onto the couch, opening the first pizza box—the pepperoni and black olive—and began to tuck in to the first slice. As she chewed, allowing the flavors to course over her tongue, she began to imagine another plan of action.

  If she was going to reach Francesco, she was going to have to be creative. And if she was going to be creative, then she would have to use every resource she had at her disposal. In this case, that meant the driver. Sergio.

  She dialed the number quickly, remembering the savage morning when he’d attempted to bribe her. God, he’d think this was rich—her acknowledgement that what she’d done that night had been a mistake, and it hadn’t even been for any story. The only person affected by that evening was Lisa. Meanwhile, the Prince was on a beach somewhere, sunning himself alongside his false love.

  Sergio answered on the third ring, his
voice hesitant, without the sneer it had held during their previous encounter. The moment he answered, Lisa sensed that something was off.

  “Hello? Sergio?” she asked, her voice meek.

  “Lisa. Hi,” he said. “It’s a surprise to hear from you. After our last meeting.”

  “Right. I am sorry about that,” Lisa said, hoping that an apology would rectify the awkwardness, “but I was wondering if you might have a way to contact Prince Francesco. It’s crucial that I speak with him as soon as possible.”

  The driver only guffawed in response, and Lisa sighed inwardly.

  “You know, I can pay you to contact him for me,” she said, falling back into old habits. After giving one too many bills to Louis, she knew she was dipping into the last of her savings. But she couldn’t care. This was her last-ditch effort, her chance at survival. “I can pay more than last time—call it four hundred. That’s a lot of money, Serg. Think about it.”