The Prince's Triplet Baby Surprise - A Multiple Baby Royal Romance Read online

  But no. It wasn’t.

  As she sat, nestling into him, she heard her phone, blaring from her coat pocket. She shifted nervously, panicking.

  “You can let that go,” Francesco said, kissing her ear. “Remember. I mandate it.”

  She gave him a false smile, knowing that reality was barreling toward her, like a train. She couldn’t stop it. “I’m sorry. It might be important,” she murmured.

  She shifted from beneath the warmth of the comforter, shivering slightly, feeling his eyes upon her. She plunged her fingers into her coat pocket, drawing out several scraps of paper and receipts, along with her phone. The caller ID revealed it was Rocco, and her heart seemed to sink into the acid of her stomach.

  She couldn’t answer a phone call from Rocco. Not there, in the Prince’s bedroom. Her eyes darted from her phone to the naked man before her, his muscled biceps visible over the comforter and his curls diving over his ears and forehead, making him look like a Roman god.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the ground.

  Lisa turned her eyes downward, then. Still gripping the phone, she felt her legs bend slightly, an admittance that everything had just gone terribly wrong.

  After a final ring of her unanswered phone, she shoved the phone back in her pocket and reached for the papers that had fallen, unable to catch them before Francesco wrapped his fingers around them.

  “I can explain,” Lisa whispered, wrapping her arms around her body, suddenly self-conscious. “I really can.”

  Francesco held an old press pass, from when Lisa had been on assignment at the New York premiere of a movie. She’d been tasked with catching the lead actress looking her worst, to promote the story that she was aging poorly. She’d chased after the poor woman, her flash blasting. And then, she’d collected her five hundred dollars, knowing that she’d just trashed another woman’s body for her own personal gain. She’d hated herself that day. But, she’d hated herself nearly every day after that, as well. She just hadn’t thrown out the press pass.

  The press pass in question carried the Daily Sneak logo on it, along with her photo, in which her smile was more like a jeer, and her eyes were sharp, hungry. And Francesco held it in his outstretched palm, glaring at the photograph of the woman he’d just spent the night with, his eyes dark and angry.

  “What the hell is this?” he asked her. “A press pass for one of the shadiest supermarket tabloids of them all? What the hell is your photograph doing on it?”

  Lisa balked, feeling exposed and suddenly terrified—so unlike the bribing, cajoling woman in the photo. “Um…”

  “You said you could explain. So start explaining,” he said, his eyes flashing. “Because I have a whole lot of words to describe what I think this is. And I’d love it if you could prove me wrong, right now.”

  Lisa closed her eyes, allowing a million lies to come to the surface. She imagined telling him that she’d been a waitress for the event, and that they’d given her a press pass, instead of a worker pass, because it had been easier. She imagined telling him that there had been a mistake—that she’d been there to photograph for Vanity Fair, but that the pass had been printed for the Daily Sneak, instead.

  But the lies swirled, and none of them stuck. And she was left stuttering, unsure, with Francesco’s dark eyes upon her, demanding the truth.

  As the silence stretched between then, Francesco marched toward her, shaking the pass. “Why do you have this?” he cried, his eyes wide with indignation. “I’m going wild here, baby. Why are you really here? Come out with it. Just tell me the truth.”

  The word—baby—rang through Lisa’s ears. Tears sprang to her eyes. Guilt rushed through her. She felt herself fall to her knees. “I’m not really a waitress,” she mumbled, speaking to the spotless floorboards. “I’m a paparazzo.”

  “And you were sent here to photograph me?” Francesco asked her, incredulous. “I can’t believe I’ve let one of your kind into my house. You’re a monster.”

  Lisa held up her hand, wanting to explain. Her breath was uneven, and her tongue lacked articulation. But she fought for it. “I was tasked with getting pictures of you and Princess Rose together. That much is true.”

  Francesco sat down on the bed, sighing heavily, but Lisa continued her confession, feeling the words tumble from her mouth.

  “I was told that I would receive more money and recognition if I took a photograph of the two of you arguing.”

  Again, the Prince didn’t move. He’d dropped the press pass, and it crumpled to the ground, like the trash it should have become weeks ago.

  “I didn’t hesitate to take it,” she breathed. “I’ve been taking jobs like this for years now, just trying to save up money to go back to school, like I told you. That’s all I wanted out of this. A bit of extra cash. That’s all.” She recognized that the truth was ugly; that it stank of selfishness.

  “Was the entire restaurant in on it?” he asked quietly. “You were working there, Lisa. You were an employee. How could they not know who you really were?”

  “I snuck onto the staff just for the night,” Lisa murmured, her cheeks reddening.

  “Dammit,” the Prince breathed, stabbing his fist upon his knee. “You’re just like the rest of them. A snake, slithering through people’s lives, without a care for the pain you inflict on the way. And it’s not like tabloid success is something to be proud of, you know. You could make money doing almost anything else—like working at Matador, for example—”

  “It’s not that simple,” Lisa explained. “I need the experience. I have to do this, don’t you see?” She blinked rapidly, feeling lost.

  “So. You got your photographs. Congratulations,” Francesco said, rising once more. He yanked a pair of boxers over his legs, covering himself. Lisa’s eyes fluttered back toward him, admiring the strength of his abdomen. The sunlight cast deep shadows that emphasized his six-pack. He was a figment of her imagination; he was unreal.

  “But last night,” she continued, wanting to chase him, to force him to retreat from his anger. “I found myself trapped in the lie, even as I began to develop genuine feelings for you—” She stopped, and Francesco whirled around, his dark eyes connecting with hers. “Even as we talked, and I learned who you really were.”

  “You mean, you became the first paparazzo to learn that we, on the other side of the camera, are human? Great,” Francesco said coldly. “That’s just great.”

  “I genuinely enjoyed my time with you last night,” Lisa whispered. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. But when you asked me to eat with you, I knew I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Because you could learn so much about me, my family, and my relationship with Princess Rose,” Francesco said, his tone accusatory. “You knew what you were doing the entire time.”

  Lisa shook her head sadly, closing her eyes. Tiny crows’ feet formed on either side, a reminder of her age. She’d spent the majority of her twenties ruining people’s lives. She’d become something she’d never dreamed of being.

  “It may have started that way,” she said. “But all that floated away when I realized that you—you were someone truly special. And I wanted to come home with you. I wanted to be physically close, even without speaking or listening. And, God, Francesco. I told you things. I told you things about myself that I’ve never told anyone.”

  She pressed her palm against her forehead, sensing she was running in circles. “Doesn’t that mean anything?” she breathed, tapping her tongue against the top of her mouth, feeling outside of reality. A bird flew past the penthouse window, a reminder that the world outside continued to spin.

  “Get out,” the Prince said, then. “I want you out of my life forever. Do you understand?”

  His words rang through her ears, and she nodded hesitantly, beginning to grab her things. She dressed wearily, tugging her tights over her legs, hooking her bra behind her back without flourish. She sensed Francesco’s eyes upon her, but she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t ackn
owledge his hatred of her.

  She’d seen the way he’d looked at her that morning—a mere fifteen minutes before—and she’d fallen for it. She’d felt she’d been dozing on a hill, beneath the sun, the grass tickling her face. But now, she was bruised, kicked from the home of the most handsome, fairy-tale prince in the world. And perhaps it really was because she was rotten, wretched, and undeserving of love.

  Lisa flipped the zipper up on her dress, and then donned her coat, turning back toward the man she’d shared a perfect evening with. “I suppose this is goodbye,” she whispered.

  Francesco held up his finger, his nostrils flared. “One moment,” he said, lifting himself from his chair. “You said you told me things that you haven’t told anyone,” he said. He couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, and his gaze settled somewhere near her toes. “Does that mean—” He paused. “Did you tell me the truth last night, at any point?”

  Lisa nodded, her heart jutting up against her ribcage. “Everything I told you was the truth, except what I do for a living. Everything about my mother. And my life in Detroit. And my friends. And my hopes and dreams.” She bit her lip, trembling.

  Moments passed. The Prince sighed heavily, acknowledging the weight of their shared silence. Lisa prayed that he would change his mind. That he’d ask her to join him back in bed. He’d ask her to delete the photographs, to unstrap herself from her commitment to Rocco and Daily Sneak.

  But he didn’t.

  “You can let yourself out,” he barked, his voice gruff, tired with disappointment. He turned toward the window and gazed at the horizon, which seemed heavenly in the distance, its edge gleaming with light.

  Lisa turned toward the door and marched sullenly to the elevator, tapping over the floorboards and then the marble, trying to memorize every nook and cranny of the apartment, the brilliant details, and the intricate tapestries, the like of which she’d never glimpsed before.

  She ducked into the elevator and bounded to the first floor, sending a sad, small wave to the doorman before exiting the building.

  Outside, on the street corner, Lisa nearly ran nearly headlong into Sergio, Francesco’s driver. Again, a cigarette sat between his lips, and he blocked her path, his breath coming raggedly.

  “My girl, my girl,” he said, his eyes glinting mischievously. “Don’t imagine I won’t tell the Prince just exactly what you’re up to.” He stretched his palm outward, clearly demanding funds.

  But Lisa shifted her weight and crossed her arms over her chest, anger sizzling through her. “Get out of my way, Sergio. I’ve given you enough.”

  “Not enough. I didn’t know just how deep you’d go. You’re a dirty little paparazzo, aren’t you?” he sneered.

  Lisa felt tears glimmer in her eyes, but she stood firm. “He already knows what I do, you ass. Get out of my way now, or I’ll call the police.” She lifted her phone and dangled it from two fingers, watching the man’s fat face fall, defeated.

  “It was better working for the last guy,” he said softly, gazing down the street. “Fewer demands, and fewer people like you.”

  She shuffled past him and bounded toward the subway, kicking up into a run. Tears streamed down her face, easing between her lips and dripping from her chin. Suddenly, she felt she couldn’t inhale enough oxygen, and fell into a full-force panic attack, leaning heavily against a telephone pole.

  With each inhale, the world seemed to spin faster. She eyed her feet on the ground, and sensed that she was tilting away from them. They certainly wouldn’t hold her up. She wasn’t going to be okay.

  An elderly man stopped beside her and wrapped a cracked hand around her shoulder, holding her upright. His cataract-coated, cloudy eyes peered up at her, from his five-foot-nothing stance. And his words filled her with a brief burst of hope.

  “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  Chapter 8

  Lisa skipped out on the subway, choosing instead to wander through the city streets. After brimming with such hope and happiness the previous evening, the world now appeared in shades of grey, with sudden clouds forming at the horizon and spits of rain coming down on her shoulders.

  She felt like a cartoon character, her head slumped downward, her hair hanging heavy with rainwater. Her shoes scuffed on the sidewalk, and men and women elbowed her, declaring: “You better watch where you’re going.”

  But she couldn’t. Her eyes were glazed with tears.

  Somewhere south of the Prince’s apartment, Lisa’s phone began to blare from her pocket once more—the familiar jingle that generally alerted her to good news. The paper needed her. But now, the noise only served as a reminder of the messy, backstabbing life she’d built for herself.

  She eyed the caller ID, sighing audibly. She leaned against a brick wall on the corner, near Wall Street, plastering a false smile upon her face. “Rocco,” she said. “Great to hear from you. How’ve you been?”

  “Don’t give me that,” Rocco said, scoffing. “I’ve been calling you all morning. Did you drop off the face of the planet for a little while and only now decide to join us?”

  Lisa felt her smile falter. She eyed a homeless man on the corner, scuffling forward with bags attached to him, his expression grim. “I’m sorry, Rocco. I was tied up with work,” she said, flailing. “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” her editor said. “We don’t tolerate that kind of behavior in this business. Our readers want what they want, when they want it. And that means you can just disappear on me whenever you get the urge. The Prince and Princess were at the restaurant yesterday evening, as you reported, correct?”

  “Yes,” Lisa breathed. “They were there. They bought out the entire restaurant.”

  “Wonderful. And I’m assuming you captured some shots for us?”

  Lisa didn’t respond. She felt her heart skipping in her chest, the oxygen depleting in her head. The rain had picked up and a huge puddle began to form in the road. Cars splashed by without care, sending sprays of dirty brown liquid in Lisa’s direction.

  “Garcia? You got the shots? Did they fight? Did you get any gossip, any juice, whatsoever?” Rocco ranted at her, his voice blistering her ears. “Hello? Am I speaking to a brick wall?”

  But Lisa couldn’t speak. She remembered the beautiful way the Prince had knelt down to her, kissing her cheek, her neck, her shoulder blades. He’d told her that something within her seemed to cry out to him, to tell him that everything was going to be all right. “Do you believe in soulmates?” he’d whispered, his wide eyes animalistic, making her crave him.

  “I didn’t get any information,” Lisa finally spoke, interrupting Rocco’s rant. “I didn’t get a single photo, and I didn’t overhear anything of interest.” The lies poured from her mouth.

  “So, you’re saying you failed,” Rocco said, his words heavy with disbelief. “You’ve failed us all.”

  “I suppose so,” she whispered. As she spoke, a weight was lifted from her shoulders. The realization that she didn’t have to ruin the man she’d come to know over the previous twelve hours thrilled her. She wasn’t the garbage person he’d thought her to be. Not any longer.

  “You have to be kidding me,” Rocco said. “You’re telling me you infiltrated the restaurant, served the Prince and Princess, and then came out with nothing? Are you stupid or something?”

  “Not stupid. Just not a good fit for this job,” Lisa said, lifting her chin to feel the rain on her cheeks. “I guess that means I won’t be working for you any longer, doesn’t it?”

  Rocco took a moment, breathing heavily, before he spoke again. “Look, Garcia. I don’t want to be rash. You’ve done good work for us in the past… Let me think about your situation and get back to you. But in the meantime, know you won’t receive a dollar of payment. You’ve wasted both my time, and your own. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” Lisa said, stabbing her finger on the “End call”
button and standing in silence, her ears and eyes focused on the city around her. She had half a mind to toss her phone in the gutter, to watch it fall down the drain. Disconnecting herself from her tabloid reality, and cleansing herself once more. Perhaps that’s what it would take.

  Lisa began a slow walk back to her apartment building, feeling reaffirmed in herself and her integrity. She stopped at a coffee shop, delivering a large smile to the barista, and then sipping her cappuccino slowly by the window, brimming with the realization that she needed to chart a course for a better life. The steam swept up over her cheeks, lifting her spirits.

  As she sipped, she thought of Francesco. She could almost sense him pacing around his apartment, riddled with anger. She lifted her camera from her bag and glanced through the photographs she’d taken of the Prince and Princess, pausing to gaze at the Prince, at the darkness in his eyes, at the way his smile grew adorably crooked when he spoke.

  She considered deleting all of them, thinking that she owed it to this man to leave him alone. She knew about his past, just as he knew about hers. And she didn’t want to taint his memories of her further, nor make his relationship with the press even worse.

  But something made her keep them. Almost like she wanted to cling onto these memories of him, knowing she couldn’t get him back.

  With the rain pattering against the windowpane of the café, she reasoned that she could call the Prince and tell him she would delete the photos, if he asked her to. “I know you think I’m working against you,” she’d say. “But I’m on your side. I think I could even love you, if given the chance. Please don’t force me out. This is worth our effort. I just know it.”

  But as she sat, spinning this fake conversation through her mind, she realized that she didn’t have the Prince’s phone number. The only form of contact she had with him was through the driver, Sergio, who’d just confronted her on the street corner. Her stomach churned with displeasure.