TRIPLE PRINCES: An MFMM Menage Romance Page 16

  But Violet’s voice interrupted me again.

  “Please Tina,” the older woman in a low voice. “Don’t give up on them.”

  My head snapped back to look at her, my look piercing, glaring.

  “Don’t give me any crap about giving up,” I cut out sharply. “I’m not the one who left. Karl, Kato and Kristian are the ones who took off.”

  Violet nodded. She knew her sons were gone, dispersed to the four corners of the earth.

  “I know, you’re still here and they aren’t,” she said. “But one thing I’ve learned is patience. You’ve got to wait, to give them time to process things. I think that’s what I regret the most in life,” she said slowly, reflectively, “because I’ve never had much of an ‘inner voice’ telling me to slow down and think first, you know?” she said gently. “Instead I ran off, blocked every communication from Georg, rebuffed every attempt by him to get in touch with his sons. And I regret being so impulsive, I really do. I wished I’d been more open, maybe waited a while longer before making big decisions.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. This woman would never get it.

  “Violet, you’re crazy,” I said harshly. “Because I’m the one who’s still here, your sons are ones who’ve run off, haven’t you noticed? I’m waiting, I’m still here in St. Venetia. They’re the ghosts.”

  But Violet just tilted her head and looked at me carefully.

  “No, honey,” she said. “You’re not waiting. You’re here physically, yes, but emotionally, you’re drawing away, pulling away further with each day. You’re shutting the door slowly, inch by inch, without giving my sons time to process things, to come back to you as whole men.”

  And I just snorted then.

  “You called me a slut at the Palace,” I lashed out. “You don’t get to tell me anything!”

  The comment was childish, neither here nor there, a release of my rage, my sorrow, on an undeserving victim. But the older woman accepted the verbal beating, nodding knowingly.

  “I’ve screwed up a lot,” she said softly, “I know I called you names that I never should have, that I belittled you for loving my sons, but I’m trying to make up for that now,” she said. “I was in a bad place during the gala, you have to understand, but all I want is for my boys to be happy. Please consider it Tina, listen to my words.”

  I paused, but my anger was like a dense fog surrounding my head, impenetrable, murky, making it impossible to see straight, to look objectively at the situation. After all, I was desperately unhappy, lonely, my body and soul aching for a relationship that no longer existed, which maybe had never existed except in my heart. So I stood up, turning away resolutely, not meeting her eyes.

  “Good-bye Violet,” I said stiffly. “If you see Karl, Kato or Kristian, please tell them hello for me.”

  And I strode out of the cafe, shoulders rigid, not looking back. Because who knew where the future led? Certainly not I.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Tina

  “Mrs. Agnello, it’s wonderful to see you again,” I said to the old lady who let herself into my office. “Please take a seat.”

  I smiled warmly at the woman dressed in a floral housedress, a scarf pulled over her greying hair. I’d always liked her despite the fact that we were having some trouble getting her childcare business re-opened.

  Because St. Venetia allows people to open childcare businesses in their homes so long as the providers are licensed and the business registered with the state. Mrs. Agnello had been running one in her home, only to be shut down when two parents got into a fistfight on her doorstep, calling 911 and leading to the discovery that she was an unlicensed provider. Who knew what the fight was about? Just kid-crazy parents again, determined to help their child get ahead no matter the cost. But regardless, my client had been forced to shut her doors that very day, her income drying up, she and her disabled husband living off a small emergency loan provided by Roma Outreach.

  “Don’t be sorry, love,” she huffed as she seated herself, her plump form warm and motherly. I could see why parents trusted her with their children immediately. “Licenses, schmicenses, I’ll get what I need in good time,” she said with a smile.

  I nodded encouragingly, but my heart sank. The licensing process was relatively simple, so long as you were literate. It consisted of fifty multiple choice questions administered on-line, and the questions were pretty straightforward, concerning the basics of child health, safety, and environmental awareness.

  But Mrs. Agnello couldn’t read, had dropped out of school in third grade and could barely decipher street signs, much less a multiple-choice test. And so she’d failed the quiz three times already, with little hope of passing in the near future.

  “Have you been going to your language classes?” I asked gently. I was hoping that with adult-learner language classes, she’d improve quickly and we’d be that much closer to re-opening her childcare operation.

  “Oh yes!” she chortled. “Every day. And honey, can you help me apply for food stamps again this month? My allotment ran out, and you know Mr. Agnello and me, we depend on them.”

  I nodded. It’s part of my job at Roma Outreach to assist with access to government services. Even though our focus is microfinance, the non-profit sector is complex and varied, and we often find ourselves going above and beyond our core competencies, advising on workforce development, immigration status, any number of things that might help our clients succeed not in just business, but in life.

  “Of course,” I nodded, “no problem. Let’s just talk about the childcare licensing for a second though,” I said busily, riffling around on my desk, looking distractedly around for the proper paperwork.

  But Mrs. Agnello’s hand descended on mine, stilling the nervous activity.

  “What about you?” she asked. “What about your coming baby? Tell me about that first.”

  And I flushed because I hadn’t told anyone, purposefully wearing loose clothes, hiding the tiny bend of my stomach that pooched just a bit.

  “How do you know?” I said nervously. “What are you talking about?” I asked belatedly.

  But Mrs. Agnello’s eyes merely twinkled at me.

  “Honey, I’m gypsy, we have a way with these things. I could tell as soon as I came in, you have a new mother’s glow,” she said encouragingly. “Tell me, are you happy?”

  I considered talking around the truth, making up something PC and fake, putting a smile on my face. This was work after all, no place to reveal my emotions unnecessarily. But before I could say anything, Mrs. Agnello smiled again and said, “I have four children, all grown now but the light of my lives still. A baby is a blessing, isn’t it?”

  And before I could stop myself, the tears came pouring out and I started babbling my entire story. About Kristian, Karl and Kato, their relation to the King, how the monarchy could be unraveling at this very moment, how they had left me alone and pregnant. And I blubbered, I cried, I wailed, my sobs making my shoulders heave, my broken heart unburdening itself even as my baby’s heart beat steadily below.

  And Mrs. Agnello listened quietly, clucking at the right moments, handing me a handkerchief to stanch the flow of tears, non-judgmental and kind.

  “Now that doesn’t sound so bad, does it?” she asked after I was done, trying to mop up the mess I’d made, my tear-stained cheeks, the runny nose.

  “No-not so bad?” I said wryly through my hiccups and sniffing, the Kleenex balled in my fist now. “I don’t know how it could be worse.”

  And the older woman chuckled, her face rosy.

  “Miss Tina,” she said with a smile, “You are a young woman with a baby on the way. It’s a time of beginnings, not ends.”

  “But Mrs. Agnello, there’s no father for my child. Isn’t that crazy? It could be one of three men, and yet none of them are anywhere to be found. Two are probably in war zones and the other has disappeared in a poof, behind a shield of royal secrecy. How could things be worse?” I said in a broken voic
e.

  Mrs. Agnello paused for a moment.

  “Gypsies have been in Europe for two thousand years now,” she said slowly, ruminating, “and we still don’t understand the European way of thought. A healthy baby is a healthy baby, hands down, no questions asked.”

  I shook my head. What did that mean? But Mrs. Agnello answered before I could say anything.

  “We gypsies are not always, what do you call it?” she said, eyes to the ceiling, thinking. “Yes that’s right, monogamous. Our culture, our society, is different from yours. Often we have passing liaisons, when the lightning strikes, when your blood boils, when the haze is here, you cannot control yourself, no? And so we embrace it, we take what it offers, what comes. And a baby is often the result, after the haze clears and the heart stills once more.”

  I shook my head.

  “But even if that is Roma culture, it’s from a long time ago,” I said, slightly exasperated. “When your ancestors traveled in caravans, selling goods and peddling wares, nomads really, they lived a different lifestyle and now your people are monogamous.” I wasn’t sure where this was going. After all, Mrs. Agnello had been married to Mr. Agnello for decades, so the proof was in the pudding.

  But Mrs. Agnello shook her head, eyes twinkling.

  “You know I have four children, all grown now, right?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Pietra, Pietro, Pietre, and Pietri. You mentioned.”

  “And did I mention,” added Mrs. Agnello with a bit of spice in her voice, “that the four have different fathers?”

  My mouth gaped open. We’d had multiple conversations about her children, about how perhaps her kids could help her through this difficult financial situation, lend a hand given the dire financial straits of their parents. I’d always assumed, because of their similar names, that they were full siblings.

  “Oh no,” said Mrs. Agnello, as if reading my thoughts. “Four fathers, each one different.”

  “Is one of them at least Mr. Agnello?” I gasped, before clapping a hand over my mouth. I didn’t want to be rude and pry.

  But the older woman had a sassy answer.

  “None of them are Mr. Agnello’s,” replied the older woman, eyes dancing, “although one possibly could be, but I don’t think so.”

  And I suddenly understood so much more about the Roma lifestyle. There was a certain laissez-faire aspect to it, as if the people threw their cards into the wind and accepted how they lay, even if it was face down, backwards and scattered to the four corners of the earth. But at the same time, the Roma I’d encountered were happy, impulsive but gloriously satisfied with their lives, living them fully, with a sense of joy and delight.

  “So are you saying that I should just accept things as they are?” I asked slowly, rubbing my tummy now, feeling that small but definite bump.

  “Oh child,” said Mrs. Agnello, “I can’t tell you anything because you must feel for yourself, take where your heart leads you. But I can tell you that having three fathers is nothing, I have at least four,” she said with a wink.

  And I shook my head, the complexity overwhelming me.

  “But where are they now?” I asked belatedly, plaintively. “If none of them are Mr. Agnello, where are the four men?”

  “How do I know?” she asked, shrugging. “Perhaps Spain, France, I heard one of them traveled to Iceland two years ago. What I’m saying honey, is that things turn out differently than you think, never give up on Lady Luck. I have very little right now after all, but Mr. Agnello and I, we’re very happy.”

  And I sat back, still and contemplative. Because I could see, no feel, the steady waves of joy emitting from my client at each and every meeting, every time I encountered her, despite the setbacks, the obstacles which seemed impossible to overcome. At this moment in time, her business was as good as kaput, she’d just asked me to help her apply for food stamps, and she had no idea where the four fathers of her children were. And yet Mrs. Agnello was here, smiling at me, beaming even, a radiant glow emitting from that homely face, her scarf jaunty, her air vibrant. She was the definition of someone happy to be alive, happy with what the world had given her, the opportunities it presented, even if at the current moment, things looked down.

  So I smiled tremulously back at her, taking a deep breath.

  “I just don’t know where I’m going with all this, what’s going to happen,” I said in a small voice. “I’m so lost.”

  “Honey,” said Mrs. Agnello, “we are all lost, at all times. It’s the human condition.”

  And with that my mind cracked wide open. Because I knew what I had to do then … and it had nothing to do with the three men who had once been my centers, my heart, everything I lived for.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Kristian

  Six months after that …

  Kato, Karl and I watched as the landscape puttered by, riding in the back of a tuktuk, a kind of motorcycle with an open cab attached in back. Granted the tuktuk barely had space for three massive men, tall and heavily muscled, our hard gazes taking in every detail, the rice fields, the lush greenery, the skinny white cows that seemed so prevalent in Cambodia.

  Because we’d followed our best girl here, the brunette who’d driven us into a frantic hunt to the edges of the Earth. The three of us had landed back in St. Venetia a month ago, only to find her gone, disappeared.

  “What the fuck?” roared Kato, looking around the empty apartment. It was clear that Tina had been gone for months. Mail was piling up by the slot in the door, the plants were long-since dead, the closet looking ghostly and sad, empty but for a few limp items. “Where is she?”

  Karl looked around, confused.

  “We told her we’d be back, Halliburton was shipping us off, sure, but we’d be back,” he rumbled.

  “Halliburton?” I interrupted dryly, hearing the name of the embattled defense contractor. “What the fuck? Or should I not ask?” The company was a shadow hand behind the American military, notorious for doing dirty work that not even SEALs or Green Berets could do, or should do.

  And Kato shot me a look that would have killed a lesser man.

  “Yeah, we work, Highness,” he spat. “We didn’t grow up in the lap of luxury like you, we work for a living.”

  I could have said something scathing, lobbed pure poison in the air, but held my tongue instead. After all, Kato and Karl were my brothers now, and not just half or step or any of that bullshit. We were full siblings and seeing that I’d never had brothers before, I chose to keep the peace, hold my tongue and let it go.

  Besides, my skill as a politician, as a negotiator, told me there was value in keeping an even keel around these men. First, you never knew what they knew, it was better to watch, listen and learn. Second, the two dudes were fucking huge and enormous, with a deadly look in their eyes. The twins were lethal after all, professional soldiers, and who knew what shit would go down if you got them roiled up? I didn’t want to find out, given that Kato had a not-so-subtle bulge under his left armpit, and Karl was currently strumming his fingers against the cheap countertop as if itching to pull a weapon.

  So yeah, Kato and Karl had gotten jobs as mercenaries, given their skill set. Fuck, the way the world was now, they were probably paid up the wazoo to head out to war zones, the ability to tote a gun, hunt shifty prey, shoulder a combat load, these were attributes valued by various governments, all on the sly of course. Most likely if they were captured, they’d be disavowed, unacknowledged, corpses burned, left in the desert to die.

  So not the right guys to piss off on a good day. But I had my own bomb to drop as well.

  “That’s funny because I’ve been hired by Halliburton as well,” I said smoothly. “You know, confidential shit.”

  And the twins’ jaws dropped.

  “What the fuck?” asked Karl, disbelieving. “You’re royalty, no way they’d take you.”

  That was true, a lot of military outfits were reluctant to accept anyone of fame or notoriety bec
ause it’d draw attention to whatever squadron they were in, making it doubly or triply vulnerable. But that was only the beginning of my bomb.

  “I gave up the crown,” I said without a blink. “Call me Kristian now, no ‘Highness’ needed.”

  And the twins positively fell on the floor then.

  “You … disavowed the throne?” Karl muttered with disbelief, exchanging glances with his brother. “Is that even possible? Who’s the Crown Prince then?”

  I shrugged, disinterested.

  “Fuck if I know,” I said. “Fuck if I care.”

  And it was the truth. I realized I’d never been interested in being Prince, certainly not the ceremonial kind. And that’s what my duties had been, those of a dilettante, always dabbling but never really getting in deep, skimming the surface but never knowing what was really happening. And I was through with that shit, just over it. I wanted in on the good stuff, leveraging myself in whichever way was most effective, my contribution to the world meaningful, with real ramifications and follow-up.

  And so I’d joined an American defense contractor. It was twisted, I admit, Halliburton doesn’t exactly have a great reputation as a moral, upright corporate citizen, but at the same time, we weren’t fighting a straightforward, simple war. Shit was twisted these days, the unbelievable now a reality, the enemy a dark, shifty, shadow that could scatter into a thousand cells before coagulating once more into a coherent being, even more lethal than imagined.