“Why don’t I tell you what fourteen-year-old girls are really looking for in a boyfriend? There might be something I can teach you after all.”
I spend the next two hours on the best date I can remember having. On my drive home I’m once again overwhelmed by my desire to be a mom. I decide to call the IVF doc and set up another appointment—stat.
I don’t know if the next treatment will take or not, but I do know one thing: I’m tired of waiting for other people to make my dreams come true. If I’ve learned anything from my perpetually single status, it’s that when you try to control the outcome of a relationship, you will fail one hundred percent of the time.
From this moment forward, I’m going to let go and allow my future to unfold as it will. Surely if it worked for Enya, it can work for me.
Chapter Two
Queen Charlotte
“It’s time for those sons of ours to settle down already,” Charlotte tells her husband Alfred over breakfast.
“You have to trust that it will happen when it’s supposed to. Look at us. If I’d domesticated when my mother ordered me to, I would have married Chantelle Auclair. Instead, I waited and met you.”
“Don’t change the subject,” Charlotte tells him before taking a bite of her omelet.
“All I’m saying, darling, is that just because we desire for something to happen doesn’t mean it will be the best thing for our children. We must let them live their own lives and trust that things will turn out the way they’re meant to.”
“There has to be something I can do,” Charlotte says, ignoring her husband’s well-intentioned advice.
“You’re not listening to me at all, are you?”
Looking up from her plate, the queen’s eyes meet Alfred’s across the expanse of the dining table. “I heard you.”
“But you’re not going to let things go, are you?” he wants to know.
“Alfred, I’m a mother. Mothers do more than love their children. They guide them and help solve their problems.”
“Whether they like it or not, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
Alistair
“It seems there’s more than one lady after you tonight, Al. You up for a bit of fun?” Grady, my friend and captain of the royal yacht we’re on, asks me.
“I’ve been ordered to stay away from gossip, Grady,” I tell him while raising my champagne glass in a mock salute toward the beautiful evening sky. “Of course, there’s no way I can do that when it follows me like a row of ducklings traipsing after their mother…”
“Hallie Fox has been eyeing you like you’re an all-you-can-eat buffet. She’s something else, isn’t she?” He leans against the railing with a conspiratorial grin on his face.
“She’s fine. But I assure you, I’m not interested in having a hoard of American reporters following my love life. Dating an actress from the States would double the size of the target the press has already painted on my back. It’s bad enough they’ve been circling around my brother ever since they caught wind that he’s dating one of their own.”
“I seem to recall you mentioning your future sister-in-law has a rather remarkable sister. Will she be joining the festivities this week?”
I don’t know the answer to his question, so I simply say, “As you know, I’m on a dating break.”
“You’ve been on a break for the last couple of years. Are you really going to let She-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless continue to mess with your head?”
“First of all,” I tell him, “you’re the only one who believes me when I say I’m not involved with anyone—the press is relentless, and my family seems determined to believe them over me. Secondly, I’m tired of meeting women who are enamored by my title. I just want to find a nice girl and have a nice life. Is that too much to ask?”
“In your case, yes.” Taking off his cap, he runs his fingers through his dark hair while saying, “You are who you are.”
“How deep,” I reply with a sardonic drawl.
“Why do you keep throwing parties if you aren’t interested in socializing?” he asks.
“I suppose I enjoy living up to my reputation. What would my mother have to complain about if not for her incessant disappointment in me?” I really wish my family would believe I’m not the playboy I’ve been portrayed to be. They knew me before Ellery, so they should know better.
“Your mother would love to know you’re nothing like you pretend to be. If I had to guess, I’d say you like annoying her.”
“Everyone needs a hobby. But the truth is, I do enjoy being social. I have several friends aboard who couldn’t give a fig that I’m the second in line to the throne. I like spending time with them.”
“Come on then,”—Grady pushes himself off the railing— “let’s go mingle.”
I follow my friend to the other side of the boat where Hallie Fox immediately slithers to my side and worms her way under my arm. She looks up at me like a hungry snake looks at a fat mouse. “Is there someplace we can go to be private?” Pressing her body against mine, she adds, “But first, let’s get a picture together.”
Ah, there it is, proof she’s trying to link us together. I stretch out my other arm and grab the first person within reach. The black pants and white shirt aren’t de rigueur for one of my evening cruises, which leads me to believe she’s a waitress. She looks shocked to be manhandled in such a fashion, so I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Can I borrow you for a quick photo?”
Being photographed with two women is always safer than one. It makes it harder for anyone to sell a tale of love to the press. Of course, it also makes me look like a total player, but if that’s the price I have to pay, sobeit.
The waitress nods her head once as her face glazes over with what? Adoration? Admiration? Infatuation? Flashes of light immediately fill the air, confirming that Hallie had several people at the ready to photograph us together. As Grady’s crew is supposed to confiscate all phones and cameras before boarding, I can only assume these devices were smuggled on. I wonder which newspapers will be printing them tomorrow.
The actress pulls me in the direction of the roped off area we rarely let guests go beyond. “Let’s play spin the bottle, Alistair.” I’ve never heard of that game, but if her tone is anything to go on, it must be akin to strip poker, which I have played.
“As appealing as that sounds,” I respond while trying to put some distance between us, “I have an interview with a French newspaper below deck.” Of course, I’m lying, but she doesn’t know that.
“Oh, I can come too! I bet they’d love to have a chance to interview us together.”
I send a wild-eyed look of panic at Grady, who makes it his duty to always stay close by. He hurries to my side and offers Hallie a half bow. “Miss Fox, I’d be delighted to give you a private tour of the bridge. I’ll even let you steer the boat for a while if you’d like.”
I make my escape to the salon while she considers his offer. Kicking off my shoes, I settle onto the sofa and pick up a remote for the sound system. My mother’s all-time favorite easy listening music surrounds me, and for the first time ever, I don’t immediately turn it off. Instead, I listen while Enya waxes poetic about eternal love and marble halls.
The song is so eerily enticing, I can’t help but wonder if such love really exists.
Chapter Three
Sheila
Sheila: Hey, Sugar, I need you to run by my house and make sure the gardener is watering my roses.
LuLuBug: Uh, no.
Sheila: I can’t let my Lady Di’s wither on the vine!
LuLuBug: Why don’t you call Miguel? Why do I need to go?
Sheila: Because the last time your father and I were both away, he started slacking on our maintenance and I came home to wilted bushes. I’ve been working too hard on my roses to have them bite the big one now.
LuLuBug: Why don’t you get a new gardener?
Sheila: Easier said than done. I’m on three waiting lists, and unless one of their ex
isting customers croaks, I’m not moving up the list any time soon.
LuLuBug: Why don’t you have a neighbor check?
Sheila: The last time I did that, Stephanie Edwards invited her friends to come with her. They spent half an hour peeking through our windows. I have it on video.
LuLuBug: Sorry, Mom. I’m not driving forty minutes to your house to make sure your gardener is doing his job.
Sheila: I gave you life …
LuLuBug: And I thank you for it. As a tribute to your generous gift, I don’t plan on wasting my time with busy work. I do love you though.
Sheila: Well, poop, be that way. But just so you know, I’ll get my revenge when you have kids and find out what ungrateful snots they can be.
Lutéce
As soon as I caffeinate, I go onto the internet and click the link to the Westside Fertility Clinic website. While pleasant enough, my date with young Benedict has convinced me that no normal men will ever be interested in me. The upside is, Bennie is going to look me up in four years when our “forbidden love” is legal. I don’t know whether to be amused or excited. But for now, it’s time to move on.
I’ve added Ben to the top of my list of ridiculous dating encounters. He’s right up there with such stellar specimens as the guy who cut my steak for me before offering to pre-chew it and spit it into my mouth baby-bird style, and the one who gave me a two-hour lecture on do-it-yourself grouting. This list is proof that a real live father for my kids is more trouble than he’s worth.
My top choice for the next attempt at IVF comes from a stuntman named Chad. He claims to have a degree in biology and no known allergies. I know most of these profiles are probably made up, but what if this one is true? What if Chad’s swimmers are both daring and smart and they don’t have trouble gobbling up shellfish and peanut butter—not together— like they’re mother’s milk? I’m not sure this is an opportunity I can pass up.
All I need is a credit card and some gumption. Luckily, I’ve got both in spades.
In my bleaker moments, I imagine myself starring in a sitcom based on my dating adventures. It’s called Lu’s Sad Life, and the theme song is inexplicably sung to the tune of “Elmo’s World.”
Do, do, do, do
Do, do, do, do
Lu’s sad life
Lu goes on dates,
They never work,
Thaaaaaaaaat’s Lu’s sad life!
Clearly, I’m not the musical genius in my family. That title goes to my brother, Romaine, who’s the lead singer of the rock band Turnip Garden; my aunt Tooty, who’s won as many Country Music Awards as Dolly Parton; and my mom, Sheila, who writes all of Tooty’s songs. While I play classical piano decently well, I have no real creative forces at work inside me.
When my phone pings, I pick it up to see if the person messaging is worth pulling myself away from Chad’s profile. It’s not. It’s my sister, Claire, which causes me to put the phone back on the coffee table and ask myself, “Is five foot six too short for my future offspring’s baby daddy?”
I’m a bit of a height snob. Not that Chad and I will ever have to appear in public together, but still, I want my kids to have the vertical advantage. The ability to see over crowds is a huge boon and has kept more than one panic attack at bay for me.
Ping.
Pest: Lu, are you there?
The last time I tried in vitro I used Stanford sperm—as in, the guy claimed to have an engineering degree from there. Chad graduated from UCLA, which makes him smart but hopefully not pretentious. I don’t need any Stanford sperm looking down their nose at my Pomona College eggs. I’ve secretly decided that’s the reason my first in vitro attempt didn’t take.
Ping.
Pest: Lu, I really need to talk to you. Please answer me.
After college, I became a music therapist for kids with behavioral and learning problems. Music forces them to focus on something that gives them a tangible reward for their effort. While working hard at school gets them good grades, it often takes weeks or months before their reward is seen in the form of a good report card. Music offers the almost immediate gratification of hearing the results of their efforts. It also helps them focus.
Ping.
Pest: Lu, I’m not kidding. This is BIG news. So big I can’t bring myself to tell Mom yet.
If I had to guess, my little sister has either gotten engaged or pregnant, or both. Those are the only things I imagine she’d be reticent to share with Hurricane Sheila. Even though our mother is enormously busy in her own life, she’s chomping at the bit to add the title of grandmother to her résumé. I don’t know if she does this with Claire, but she asks me weekly about my parenthood plans before reminding me that my baby might be born with two heads if I use a sperm donor. Her opinion is seriously affecting how much time I spend with her.
Me: What do you want, Claire? I’m in the middle of picking out my baby daddy. I decided to try a new guy.
Pest: You’re there! I’m going to call you now.
Yay. Not.
I let the phone ring six times before I answer. “What?”
“Oh, thank God! I thought maybe your battery went dead or something.” My sister’s tone is borderline hysterical.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes … no … I don’t know.”
“Have you been in an accident?” I ask, hoping I haven’t just entered a game of twenty questions. When we were kids, Claire never let the game end at twenty. It often went to forty or more. Yawn. I don’t have time for this. Chad’s frozen fellas are waiting for me.
“Geoffrey proposed!” [Insert eardrum-puncturing scream here.] Geoffrey is my sister’s boyfriend who also happens to be third in line to the throne of some European country named Malquar. I can’t find a normal man between thirty and fifty who knows what dental floss is, and my sister moves to Oregon and snags herself a real live prince. I’m tempted to hang up on her.
“Lu, are you still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Did you say yes?”
“Of course, I said yes. Geoffrey is perfect for me.”
“Well then, congratulations, I guess.” I sound like I’ve been sucking on sour grapes—which I totally have—but I can’t help it. A wave of self-pity washes over me like a tsunami. “Why haven’t you told Mom?” I ask after taking a deep breath to help ensure my voice doesn’t crack.
“Because she’ll be off and running making wedding plans. I want to catch my breath for a hot second before I have to field twenty phone calls a day.”
Claire doesn’t have to worry about Mom asking her to water her plants. Claire is going to be a princess, while I’m relegated to gardener status. I didn’t think I could get more depressed than I already was. I was wrong.
“When is the palace going to make the official announcement?” I don’t know how things work in Malquar, but both rom-coms and the Brits would have you believe all news gets filtered through official royal channels.
“We’re going to tell everyone later in the week in Malquar. I want you all to be there for it.”
“You want me to drop everything in my life and fly across the world to hear you announce what you just told me on the phone.” Really, Claire? Does the whole world revolve around you?
“I want you to be with me to celebrate my exciting news. You’re my sister and I love you. Also, I’m hoping you’ll be my maid of honor.” She does sound hopeful too, if not a bit scared that I’ll say no.
I can’t blame her. I’ve made no bones about what a disappointing social life I’ve had. How many people have had their last three boyfriends in a row cheat on them, the most recent with another man? I’m cursed.
“While I would love to help you celebrate the news of your engagement, my schedule is pretty full right now.”
“I thought you were on a six-month sabbatical.” She sounds hurt.
“I am, but I’m using that time to get pregnant.” My doctor recommends I stay as calm and placid as possible, so my body will get on board with my des
ire to procreate. Do you hear that body, relax already!
“Lu, please,” Claire begs. “Tara can’t come because the lodge needs her in the kitchen while Geoffrey is away.” My sister’s intended is a chef as well as a prince. Hurry, call Hallmark, I smell a movie deal. “Please, please, please, please, please.”
After letting her plea hang in the air for several beats, I unleash my sarcasm and relent, “Only if you say please.” Who knows? Maybe I can use the time to check out some European sperm banks. I wonder if my kids would have dual citizenship.
“You’re the best, thank you! Can you fly up tomorrow? That way you can take the private plane with Geoffrey and me. Mom and Dad are in Tennessee with Tooty, so I’ll tell them the news tomorrow after I book them on a commercial flight.”
“What? We’re not going to stop and pick them up?” I don’t think about the repercussions of such a question until the words are out of my mouth.
“It never occurred to me that we could do that. But now that you mention it, I’ll ask Geoffrey.”
Oh, crap. All I need is an eight-hour flight listening to my mom and aunt yammer on about how thrilled they are for Claire, all the while sending me covert glances of concern over my single status. Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? “If I’ve got to be there tomorrow, I’d better get going,” I tell her.
“I love you, Lu. I can’t wait to see you.”
“Thanks Pest, I love you too.” And I really do. I just have no idea how I’m going to suffer through a royal engagement party with my whole family present. While I won’t be the center of their attention, I won’t be far off. Claire’s good news will cause them to pity me, and that’s never been my favorite thing.
I need to call Liza and cancel brunch. After that, maybe I should call my doctor. I wonder if she’ll prescribe me some kind of tranquilizer over the phone.
You're So Vain: A Royal Haters to Lovers Romance (Seven Brides for Seven Mothers Book 4) Page 2