she stared at it for five minutes before she grasped what it meant.
It had to be wrong. It had to be. But three more tests, all with the same result, made it seem less and less likely.
There’d only been one man. The baby had to be Giancarlo’s.
TEN
Juliette didn’t know what to do. She didn’t do anything at all for three days. She didn’t tell her mother—how could she? She didn’t tell any of her friends, who were all hard at work at their new jobs, or in the same unemployment basket as she was.
She hoped, for a while, that it all might just disappear if she didn’t think about it. But, day by day, she began to see more signs. When she started getting morning sickness, she knew the time had come that she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Her parents would be heartbroken. Not from any moral or ethical concerns, but more because they had told her so many times that they were excited she was going to get to build a career before she had a family. They always told her that they were glad that her emphasis had been so strongly on her studies.
She couldn’t tell them, not before she knew where Giancarlo stood on the whole matter. Not before she knew, for sure, what the father thought and whether or not he was going to be involved.
The nice thing about having a baby by a prince was that it was relatively easy to find contact information for him. Had it been some one-night stand or a friend of a friend met at a party, it might have been a bit more complicated. But a simple online search brought Juliette to the website of the Royal Family of Campania, and a page where their PR team’s number and email address were listed.
She emailed first. It was less intimidating than the idea of getting on the phone with a stranger, trying to explain, in Italian, why she needed to talk to the Prince, without giving everything away. She felt more capable of writing an email than she did of facing that.
She rewrote the email four times. She wanted, badly, just to send it off and not have to sit there, worrying about what might happen while she edited. In the end, though, she had what she thought was the perfect message. She thought it indicated, just enough, that she personally knew the Prince, without making it obvious that they’d been intimate—although she imagined that any number of girls the Prince had been with had probably written similar emails, trying to get another shot with him. At least, that was what her googling of the Prince after the fact had led her to believe.
And then she waited. For four days, there was no reply. And then, finally, a message arrived in her inbox from the royal family’s domain. Unfortunately, the sender was listed as “Contact”, not Giancarlo’s name.
It took her a full minute, looking at the email subject, before she worked up the courage to open it and read what it said.
Dear Juliette,
We thank you for your interest in meeting the Crown Prince. As a citizen of Campania, we understand that you feel very close to him. Many of us feel this way, and we are happy to count you among his fans.
Unfortunately, Prince Giancarlo does not have any public appearances planned for the near future. If you would like to be notified about any future public appearances where you can show your support for the Royal Family, feel free to sign up for our newsletter by clicking here.
Had they even read her letter? Juliette felt nauseous, as she had so often lately. But this time it wasn’t the baby laying her low.
They’d treated her like she was a fan! The opportunity to sign up for a newsletter, to “show support” at his next public appearance? It all felt so wrong. She was carrying the man’s child, and all she had to show for it was a form letter.
They hadn’t read her email. It wasn’t possible. They must have been behind on things, which was why they hadn’t gotten back to her for so long. That would explain
It had to be wrong. It had to be. But three more tests, all with the same result, made it seem less and less likely.
There’d only been one man. The baby had to be Giancarlo’s.
TEN
Juliette didn’t know what to do. She didn’t do anything at all for three days. She didn’t tell her mother—how could she? She didn’t tell any of her friends, who were all hard at work at their new jobs, or in the same unemployment basket as she was.
She hoped, for a while, that it all might just disappear if she didn’t think about it. But, day by day, she began to see more signs. When she started getting morning sickness, she knew the time had come that she couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Her parents would be heartbroken. Not from any moral or ethical concerns, but more because they had told her so many times that they were excited she was going to get to build a career before she had a family. They always told her that they were glad that her emphasis had been so strongly on her studies.
She couldn’t tell them, not before she knew where Giancarlo stood on the whole matter. Not before she knew, for sure, what the father thought and whether or not he was going to be involved.
The nice thing about having a baby by a prince was that it was relatively easy to find contact information for him. Had it been some one-night stand or a friend of a friend met at a party, it might have been a bit more complicated. But a simple online search brought Juliette to the website of the Royal Family of Campania, and a page where their PR team’s number and email address were listed.
She emailed first. It was less intimidating than the idea of getting on the phone with a stranger, trying to explain, in Italian, why she needed to talk to the Prince, without giving everything away. She felt more capable of writing an email than she did of facing that.
She rewrote the email four times. She wanted, badly, just to send it off and not have to sit there, worrying about what might happen while she edited. In the end, though, she had what she thought was the perfect message. She thought it indicated, just enough, that she personally knew the Prince, without making it obvious that they’d been intimate—although she imagined that any number of girls the Prince had been with had probably written similar emails, trying to get another shot with him. At least, that was what her googling of the Prince after the fact had led her to believe.
And then she waited. For four days, there was no reply. And then, finally, a message arrived in her inbox from the royal family’s domain. Unfortunately, the sender was listed as “Contact”, not Giancarlo’s name.
It took her a full minute, looking at the email subject, before she worked up the courage to open it and read what it said.
Dear Juliette,
We thank you for your interest in meeting the Crown Prince. As a citizen of Campania, we understand that you feel very close to him. Many of us feel this way, and we are happy to count you among his fans.
Unfortunately, Prince Giancarlo does not have any public appearances planned for the near future. If you would like to be notified about any future public appearances where you can show your support for the Royal Family, feel free to sign up for our newsletter by clicking here.
Had they even read her letter? Juliette felt nauseous, as she had so often lately. But this time it wasn’t the baby laying her low.
They’d treated her like she was a fan! The opportunity to sign up for a newsletter, to “show support” at his next public appearance? It all felt so wrong. She was carrying the man’s child, and all she had to show for it was a form letter.
They hadn’t read her email. It wasn’t possible. They must have been behind on things, which was why they hadn’t gotten back to her for so long. That would explain
Similar Books
