Secret Italian Prince's Baby

“Cool.”

I stared at him.

“Everything will be okay,” he reassured me, coming over to wrap me in his arms and rest his chin on the top of my head. Being squeezed and surrounded by his scent helped, but I couldn’t deny that my stomach felt like I was going to throw up, maybe from nervousness or pregnancy.

He held me like that until the timer on his phone began to go off. He turned it off and we both went to look at the stick in the bathroom.

My heart was beating like an 808 drum. I was surprised that it didn’t burst out of my chest.

“Two lines means that I don’t have a baby, right?”

“Wrong.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Congratulations.”

I felt a spike of fear. He didn’t look happy. “What does this mean?

“It means that for better or worse, you’re stuck with my for the rest of our lives.” He sank to one knee, right there in the bathroom. “Celestine, will you marry me?”

I couldn’t breathe. It felt like somebody had sucked all the oxygen out of the room, like one of the specialized rooms where they kept really old books and had to keep the oxygen from destroying the paper.

“No,” I squeaked with the little bit of air left in my lungs. “I have to sit down.”

Despite the fact that I’d just turned down his marriage proposal, Massimo was a gentleman and pulled me into his arms. He laid me on the bed while I covered my eyes with one hand.

“What are we going to do?”

“We’re going to get married,” Massimo said prosaically.

“Besides that,” I said, knowing that it was a foregone conclusion. Sure, I’d said no, but Massimo could be very persuasive.

“We’ll work things out.” He stroked the back of my hand. “Everything will work out.”

I tried to get my breathing under control. I was seriously panicking at the prospect of some kind of shotgun wedding to a handsome prince. Yes, he had a pretty face, but he'd also vanished entirely on me. I didn't know if I could really count on him. There was no guarantee that any of this would work out.

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but we’re going to be late for meeting my mother if we don’t leave now.”

I groaned. “Right.” I rolled off of the bed and washed my face. I put on my nicest dress, which wasn’t that nice since I was mostly on the road. But it was business professional and it wasn’t like she was expecting me to show up in an evening gown. I put on enough makeup to cover up the shadows under my eyes, which were confusing to me because I felt as if I’d slept as much as Sleeping Beauty.

When I got out of the bathroom, Massimo was waiting, his hands in his pockets. He was wearing a close-cut gray bespoke suit that fit him like a lover.

“Is that Italian wool?”

“Of course,” he said. “Come, cara.” He offered me his arm. I clung to him like a lifeline in a sea. I was disoriented, and he felt like that only real thing in my world.

We took an elevator down before we got into his car. I watched people walking on the sidewalks outside before, too soon, the limousine stopped in front of a restaurant. I could hear my heart thumping in my ears.

Meeting Mother

The chauffeur opened the door. Massimo helped me out of the limousine. He guided me into the restaurant. I was about to say something to the maitre d’ when Massimo gently towed me to the right. His mother was already there. When I walked towards her, the temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Massimo's mother was sitting there, her hair in a perfect coiffure. Meanwhile, my hair was f

rizzing all over the place.

"Hello, how do you do?" I said, extending my hand. "I'm so delighted to meet you."

She did not extend her hand to me. She turned to Massimo and said, "How American."

I felt my heart sink straight into my stomach. We were only seconds into our first encounter. I was already screwing up.

"She hasn't met a princess before, Mamma," Massimo chided.