The Prince's Triplet Baby Surprise

by Lara Hunter

  “I don’t know, Lisa,” Sergio crooned, clearly tempted. Tension hung between them, stretching thin with each passing moment. “I just really don’t think I can be a part of this game. Whatever it is.”

  Lisa bowed her head, understanding. The Sergio she’d known previously, the one who’d driven the basketballer, earnestly seeking whatever else she had dangling from her bank account, wouldn’t back away from four hundred dollars. She sensed what was going on: the Prince must have told him not to talk to her.

  “I see,” Lisa whispered. Her thoughts spinning, she felt her throat catch. Tears began to stream down her face. “Damn,” she mumbled, becoming choked up. “I just—I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She began to weep full-force, then, shuddering and cradling the phone. “Jesus. I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s going on?” Sergio asked, his voice crackling like an old radio. “Why are you crying? This isn’t like you, Lisa. So what if I can’t help you with this one? You have a million other celebrities to stalk. Stop chasing this one. I promise. It isn’t worth your while.”

  “You don’t understand,” Lisa breathed. “I’m pregnant with the Prince’s child.” It was the first time she’d said the words out loud. She closed her eyes, wincing. “And I have to tell him. He has to know.”

  Sergio was quiet for a long time. He muttered to himself, cursing in his first language.

  “I’m sorry to involve you,” Lisa murmured. “But you’re all I have. You’re the only connection.”

  “I understand,” Sergio said. “I can’t believe it has to be me. But I understand.”

  Lisa breathed heavily, seeing a clear path to what she needed to finally feel safe, to feel warm. Outside, the snow whirled menacingly.

  “Why don’t we talk about it in person, then?” she said after a long pause. “We can meet somewhere. Like the old times.”

  “Like the good times?” Sergio said, laughing, almost good-naturedly.

  “Sure. Absolutely,” Lisa said, swiping a tear from her cheek. “Central Park, by the Bethesda fountain, at noon. What do you say?”

  “I bet there will be tons of kids there,” Sergio said, teasing her. “To help you warm up for your new life. Funny. I never imagined you as the motherly kind. Always running after celebrities, looking like a scavenger.”

  “I won’t be able to run for long,” Lisa agreed. “Once I turn into a beach ball.”

  Sergio and Lisa, the unlikely duo, ended their phone call moments later, with Lisa brimming with sudden relief. She reached toward the small stack of pizza boxes and ate some more, zoning out to her favorite cheesy crime show on the small-screen television. She allowed herself some relaxation before she had to confront the Prince, and convince him she wasn’t the villain he believed her to be.

  She had her work cut out for her, certainly.

  By midnight, Lisa found herself vomiting, her stomach clenching with pain. Despite being pregnant and needing sustenance, her body wasn’t accustomed to such grease-laden debauchery. And, as she apparently was with everything else, she was paying for it.

  She crawled back into her bed and collapsed into sleep, dreaming fitful dreams about her and the Prince and a mystery person—someone she sensed she’d met before, but no one she could place. Each time she opened her eyes throughout the night, she was able to dive back into the same slumber, surrounded by loved ones, tucked away from reality. It was beautiful.

  ELEVEN

  The next day, Lisa scampered from her apartment at ten-thirty in the morning, stuffing her gloved hands into her coat pockets. She scanned her Brooklyn street, hopeful that she wouldn’t any faces that might be watching her. Since Connor had appeared at the coffee shop, she’d realized she could become a target at any moment. And she would combat that, every chance she could.

  But she recognized no one. A stooped, elderly woman crept past, her crooked nose pointing directly to the sidewalk. Down the street, a 20-something boy set up a flower shop for his mother, lending Lisa a hearty wave. She walked briskly past him, grinning sheepishly, before diving down the subway steps and rushing uptown, toward the park.

  Today was the day that everything would come together.

  She neared Central Park a while later, hopeful that the smells of the subway were leaving her coat. She hardly left her house these days, especially given that Rocco didn’t offer her many assignments, and she rarely used the train. She had grown accustomed to clean clothes, to warm and earnest people. But the people on the train were dark, menacing: their eyes assessing her, judging her. They were, to her, the eyes of the paparazzi. And one day, perhaps soon, they would want her. And their sticky hands would clamber all over her, without letting go.

  Lisa entered the park and stood near the fountain for a moment before plopping down on the edge’s cement and indulging in some people watching.

  Small children scampered past, their mothers a few feet away, gazing at them with a strange mix of fear and impenetrable love. Lisa tried to imagine that love, but the depth of it was too far away for her to reach. So, she lifted her camera and began to photograph them: the mothers, with their bird eyes, their talons ready to nab their boy or girl when they grew too close to danger.

  After taking several snaps, Lisa waited, eyeing her watch. It was after noon, now, which meant that Sergio was late. And Sergio was never late.

  Lisa began to worry, realizing that Sergio was risking his entire career in order to help her—which was probably something he never wanted to do again without great personal gain. It wasn’t like Lisa could give him enough money to retire.

  She sighed evenly and rose to her feet, resigned to the fact that she might have to keep the news to herself. She imagined phoning her mother and telling her that the life she’d worked so hard to cultivate for her daughter had burned, all with a single pregnancy.

  But the moment Lisa rose, she saw a figure in the distance, coming closer. The woman’s long coat rushed back, revealing bright red heels which rapped at the cement. Her hair flowed behind her, and her mouth came in a thin line, without a smile.

  With a jolt, Lisa realized that the woman was Princess Rose. And she was heading directly toward her.

  “He sold me out. The bastard,” Lisa murmured, trying to plan her escape. But Princess Rose was far too close, now. And, beyond anything, Lisa was curious. What on earth could this terrible woman say to her? What would bring her all the way out there?

  The moment she reached Lisa, the Princess stuck a professional hand forward. “Hello, there,” she said. “Lisa, isn’t it? I’ve seen your name on the tabloid websites.” A false, plastic smile stretched across the woman’s face. “I’m Princess Rose of the Netherlands. I’m sure you know my name, altogether too well.”

  Before Lisa could answer, Princess Rose sat beside her on the rim of the fountain, drawing her fingers over the ridge. Behind them, a small boy fell to the ground, scraping his knee. He wailed.

  “So,” Princess Rose began, her voice far too chipper. “I’m sure you’d like to know why I’m here.”

  “Absolutely,” Lisa said, her eyebrows high. “That would be a wonderful jumping off point.”

  Princess Rose laughed falsely. “They said you had a good sense of humor, and they weren’t wrong. But here’s the deal, Lisa. I know about the baby. I know you tricked my fiancé into cheating on me with you. And I’m here to offer you a chance to make it right. Right as rain, as you Americans say.”

  “Hmm,” Lisa said, folding her fingers over her knee. “I’m all ears.”

  “Well, as you know, Francesco and I weren’t necessarily happy when we dined at that restaurant. The—” She paused, blinking rapidly.

  “The Matador,” Lisa stammered, filling in the blanks.

  “Right,” Rose said briskly. “We fought frequently, and we didn’t often see eye to eye. But that’s a likely tale in any relationship, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I haven’t really had one before,” Lisa admitted, knowing that it didn’t matter if she to
ld the truth to this woman. Princess Rose already had her biggest secret.

  “Then I’ll just tell you. Relationships are difficult. Especially with someone from a different country than you. Aluzzi and the Netherlands really couldn’t be more different. He’s from the sun and the sea. And I’m from—well—grey.” She grinned falsely once more, making shivers run up and down Lisa’s spine.

  “We did take a brief break after I left New York that day,” Rose admitted. “The tabloids aren’t always incorrect, as you know. But we quickly rekindled our romance, and now we’re happier than ever. I’m sure you saw the most recent photos in Daily Sneak? Some of those, we even sent in ourselves. A clever angle from one of our PR representatives. If the paparazzi come after you, just give them what they want, on your terms. Pretty remarkable, no?”

  “Sure,” Lisa replied, aware that many, many photographers had lost money with such schemes. “So, you’re happy. What does that have to do with me?”

  “Well, well. Let’s turn it back to you, shall we?” Rose said grimly. “Listen, Lisa. The wedding is back on, but this baby will spoil everything for all of us. No one can rejoice in a royal wedding when they assume it’s a sham.”

  “So, you want me to keep the baby to myself, with no support?” Lisa asked, rolling her eyes. “You understand that I’m a freelance photographer, right? You understand that many of us weren’t born into royalty, but that almost all of us can create babies, given the chance?” Lisa felt her heart rate quicken. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.”

  “I think I have a solution for all of us,” Rose said, brimming with cheer. “I’d love it if you’d be willing to keep the pregnancy quiet, for now. Just until after the wedding, and after the baby is born.”

  “After which point you want me to announce the baby’s birth for all to hear?” Lisa said sarcastically, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Already, she felt her breasts were bulbous, her bras tight and uncomfortable. Damn pregnancy hormones, she thought.

  “No,” Princess Rose said. “We want you to hand the baby over to us, without telling anyone.”

  Lisa’s jaw dropped at her words. The next few months stretched out before her: the first time she would see her baby on the monitor; the first kick; all the fruit and vegetables and smoothies she would have to eat; all the alcohol she’d have to avoid. She imagined giving birth, just so she could give her baby to this terribly cruel woman.

  “What?” she asked, incredulous. “You want to take my baby?”

  “We’re prepared to give you a handsome fee, of course. Enough that you wouldn’t want for money for the rest of your life. You’d have enough money to go back to school, to get that degree you’ve always wanted.”

  Hearing her goals and dreams echoed in Princess Rose’s mouth frightened Lisa. She balked. “Give up my baby?” she whispered. “It doesn’t seem legal. It doesn’t seem right.”

  “I can assure you,” Rose said, laughing slightly. “If royals are involved, everything is legal. We write the book on whatever we want to do. And if you want to be, you can be free. You won’t have to worry about your baby ever again. And you can go back to posting photographs of other people’s babies on your little website, without a care in the world.”

  Lisa stared into the distance, beyond the trees, simmering with anger. It was clear to her that Francesco must have showed Princess Rose her photograph of the child with the sucker, the one she’d assumed he’d hold dear. God, she’d been so wrong about him. Her lips parted, hating the tension between her and Princess Rose, and yet knowing that the Princess wouldn’t leave without an answer.

  Lisa stood, staggering forward, feeling at the end of a race. She could see the finish line, but she was in last place. She looked at Princess Rose, her eyes manic. “Does Francesco know about this plan? Truly?” Tears bled from her eyes.

  Rose nodded primly. “Actually, it was Francesco’s idea. Isn’t he brilliant?”

  Lisa held her face in her hands, shuddering with a sudden onslaught of tears. She began to explain her emotions away, “Oh, look at me. I’m just a mess because of the baby hormones.” But then, she remembered that she didn’t care about Princess Rose. In fact, she prayed that the Princess found her sniffles and snot bubbles disgusting. She prayed to make this woman uncomfortable. The world was wretched and ugly, and Lisa deserved to be ugly in it, if she wanted.

  But as she shuddered, she found herself facing an undeniable reality: she couldn’t afford to bring this child into the world. And what was more, it would mean that she’d have to give up her dreams of being a photographer, the dream her mother had helped her build and create. She would be negating literally decades of her mother’s own hard labor.

  This, along with fear for her unborn child, chilled Lisa to the bone.

  She couldn’t support this baby. She didn’t have the means, nor the energy to do it.

  And so, Lisa found herself nodding, shifting her hand forward and shaking Princess Rose’s, feeling the creamy texture of her skin. Princess Rose grinned and smacked her palms together, seemingly proud of their teamwork. Around them, children pushed each other into the mud.

  “Well, I’m so glad we were able to handle this like adults,” Princess Rose said, her tone making Lisa squirm.

  “Me too,” Lisa nodded, turning away from the Princess and marching away, up the steps, moving too quickly to be followed. When she reached the top, she turned the corner and hovered behind a tree, trying to force herself to stop quivering. Her stomach churned, and she thought, surely, she’d vomit.

  But thankfully, she composed herself. She reached into the air and hailed a taxi, allowing her bank account to dwindle even further into the depths, knowing that a safety net would catch her when she fell.

  And the fact that this safety net was her ultimate doom washed over her as she sat in the back of the taxi cab, whizzing through traffic, and watching as another snowfall kicked up around her. Tears streamed full-force down her cheeks, and the taxi driver leaned back, handing her a soft Kleenex. She held it against her skin, remembering the softness of Princess Rose’s hands, and wishing she didn’t have to imagine Prince Francesco kissing her, or sweeping his fingers across her hair.

  And now, she’d agreed that the pair of them would raise her child. And she, Lisa Garcia, would be nothing but a ghost.

  TWELVE

  The Christmas season ticked on, after that, bringing quite a bit of work Lisa’s way, allowing her to stock her bank account, at least for a moment. She wasn’t yet showing beneath her winter coat, and she dashed around the city, snapping shameless shots of a disgraced leading man in an outlandish Christmas outfit, a young woman on his arm. She spotted a comedian messily inhaling a bagel on a Manhattan sidewalk, and chased an aspiring Broadway star through Queens on a particularly snowy Christmas Eve, as he carried a red-striped package beneath his left arm.

  During those moments, as she looked through her camera reel, Lisa felt vaguely proud of the work she did. She fought for her angles, for the precise expressions on their faces. Despite the cheesiness of the work, these celebrities were her canvases. And their lives were her paint, allowing her to write a story with just a shot from her camera.

  Rocco had grown content with Lisa once again, especially as so much time had passed since the Prince Francesco incident. “I’ve decided not to blame you entirely,” he announced to her a few days before Christmas, before explaining to her that she’d receive a modest Christmas bonus. “Just because, well. I want you to stick around, darling.”

  Having received so much bad news that year, the news brought a tinge of warmth to Lisa’s heart. She called her mother at home, diving into excited talk about her bonus, and almost forgetting that her mother had only just learned about her pregnancy, and therefore only wanted to discuss one topic.

  “How are you feeling?” her mother, Diane, asked, after a brief pause. “I remember I was so nauseous during these months. It was a nightmare.”

  “Sure,” Lisa offered,
deciding not to discuss the fact that she’d been vomiting the entire night before. “It comes and goes.”

  “I can’t tell if that’s your lying voice,” her mother said sternly. “You’d tell me if you were experiencing too much nausea, wouldn’t you?”

  “Mom, I don’t know what you’d do about it,” Lisa said. “I get sick. Then I get better. And then, one day, I’ll give up this baby, and everything will be over. Happy?”

  “Well. When you put it like that,” her mother said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “You’ve made the scan appointment for after Christmas, haven’t you?”

  Lisa had. She’d initially planned to be with her mother for Christmas, but since they were both strapped for cash, with Lisa working overtime to rake in cash during these more mobile days, they’d decided to spend Christmas apart. Diane brimmed with worry about nearly everything: from the baby to Lisa’s loneliness.