Princess (The American Princess Series) Page 3

  “Mom… Dad… I’m not getting an abortion. I’m sorry. It’s not something I can do. And if you can’t accept that- then I’m going to have to leave. I won’t kill my baby.”

  She pushed back from the table and glanced at the faces surrounding her, waiting for someone to speak. No one, not even Christian, attempted to stop her. The room was as silent as a tomb.

  She fled and flew up the stairs, slamming her heavy door closed and sliding down the length of it until she was a limp heap on the floor. She couldn’t stop her tears any longer and sobbed with abandon.

  This wasn’t the way her life was supposed to be turning out. She was supposed to be carefree and laughing- biding her time until she left for school, where she would party and study for law school in her free time. Her tears continued until they were interrupted by a soft knock on the door a few minutes later.

  “Syd?” Christian’s low voice was muffled through the thick wooden door.

  Sydney scooted to the side before mumbling, “Come in.”

  The door opened slowly and Christian stepped in, kneeling next to her. Without even looking up, she started crying again and he sank onto the floor, pulling her into his arms. She collapsed weakly against him as she cried, relieved that someone had cared enough to come after her.

  “Don’t cry, Syd, please. You don’t have to do this to yourself.” He sounded helpless and uncomfortable as stroked her back soothingly. She tried to get a hold of herself, but her emotions felt like a runaway train. Suddenly, though, a thought occurred to her and she leaned away and gazed up at him with wet lashes.

  “Christian, did they send you up here?”

  “Well… yes. But I would have come anyway.”

  He continued patting her back awkwardly, and she knew that he wouldn’t have. He was here at his mother’s bidding- to attempt damage control. To sway her toward reason. She cringed on the inside and any trust that she had in him disintegrated.

  “Christian, you might as well go back down and tell them that I’m not changing my mind. I’m sorry.” She pushed away from him and stood up, taking a deep, settling breath.

  “I’m leaving here and I’m having the baby. But don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for anything from you.” She was impressed at how steady her voice sounded, since she was quite aware that her heart was in tatters.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll send you money to help. But Sydney, I don’t want to be a dad. And I don’t want to feel guilty about that. I’m trying to let you know as clearly as I can that I don’t want this.” His face was rigid as he spoke. “I mean it. I can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you because I love you. But I don’t want this. I’m sorry.”

  “Do you? Love me, I mean? Never mind. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry, too,” she murmured. “It’s not like I asked for this, either. But it’s here now and I’ll deal with it.”

  She turned her back on him and started packing a suitcase. Her thoughts turned logical as she realized that she should take practical pieces of clothing- ones that she would be able to wear for at least a couple of months while her belly grew. Definitely no skinny pants. She grimaced as she tossed stretchy yoga pants into the suitcase.

  “You can go now, Chris.”

  She didn’t even look at him. She didn’t relish putting him through this and didn’t want to see the anguish on his face. Besides, his face reminded her of a betrayal. A very fresh betrayal.

  “Syd…” His voice was pleading as it trailed off. It was clear that he didn’t know what to say.

  “I mean it. Just go.” She forced her voice to be cold so that he would listen.

  It was one more moment before she heard the door click shut. She turned to look and Christian was gone. She was all alone. She steeled herself against the pain that instantly ripped through her. She had things to do. She’d let her heart break later.

  Before she could think even one more thought, her door flung open again and Jillian Ross walked briskly inside. Sydney decided grimly that the temperature dropped a couple of degrees immediately.

  “If you think that we will be helping you, you are vastly mistaken.” Jillian’s voice was as sharp and unforgiving as barracuda teeth. Sydney didn’t even flinch.

  “Mom, this is my decision. I don’t want anything from you.” Sydney didn’t look at her mother- she just continued packing, throwing a pair of running shoes into the bag.

  “Well, that’s good- because you won’t be getting anything. I’m closing your bank accounts and don’t even think about taking your car. I’ll report it as stolen if you try. The title isn’t in your name. If this is the path you want to take, take it. But you’ll be taking it alone and I’m warning you. It’s not going to go well for you. Do not mess with me.”

  Her mother’s steely glare was unwavering and Sydney sucked in her breath. She hadn’t expected her mother to be quite so vicious. Angry, yes. Sharp-tongued, yes. Horrendously hateful? No. But then again, she shouldn’t have been surprised. Jillian Ross had ice water running through her veins instead of blood. Sydney didn’t allow herself to focus on it, though.

  She simply said, “I’ll be gone in 15 minutes.”

  Her mother stalked from her room and Sydney was once again alone. She picked up her phone and called a cab and then started feverishly throwing clothing in her suitcase. She added a second suitcase full of toiletries and she stuffed a few sentimental items in there as well, before she took a shaky breath and looked around her.

  She was so accustomed to the luxury of her life that she didn’t even notice the 1200 count Egyptian cotton sheets, delicate brushed silk draperies, antique armoire and $10,000 bed. What she saw was the disarray surrounding her- the clothes and personal items scattered everywhere- which she felt was an obvious comparison to her life. Everything was in shattered pieces.

  She heard the faint honk of the taxi through her window and she quickly picked up her suitcases, leaving her room without a backward glance. The large foyer was empty as she descended the stairs, so thankfully she didn’t have to face anyone. She breathed a quick sigh of relief and quietly left the house without fanfare, putting her bags in the trunk of the cab and then climbing inside.

  The burly cab driver grunted, “Where to?”

  And she suddenly realized that she didn’t know. All she had in the world now was the contents of her two suitcases, the clothes on her back and the money in her wallet, which was not a problem that she’d ever had before. She wouldn’t be able to live in a hotel very long and she didn’t have any relatives. Except for one.

  The idea came to her suddenly. Her distant cousin, Stephen, had found her through a social networking site a year ago and they had been emailing back and forth ever since. He was a writer who was trying to live his dream by writing his first novel. He lived alone and she knew that he would let her stay with him. She pulled out her phone and looked up his address, giving it to the driver.

  She leaned back in the smelly cab seat and closed her eyes for the thirty minutes that it took to drive to the South side of Chicago, immersing herself in the gravity of what she had just done. She had literally just given up the life of a princess. And oddly enough, she didn’t have any regrets. Of course, it was entirely possible that she might still be in shock.

  The sound of the driver locking the car doors made her open her eyes. Pressing her forehead against the window, she immediately understood why. This was far from being a good neighborhood. She could honestly even call it the worst that she had ever been in.

  Houses were crammed together like matchsticks. It seemed like there was only an inch or two in between each one. Paint was peeling, trash was in yards. Some had boarded-up windows and some hadn’t even bothered…broken glass rose in jagged shards from weathered windowsills. More than a handful looked completely abandoned.

  As she took it all in, freshly painted bright red words jumped out at her from the face of one of the dilapidated houses. SUCK MY DICK, WHORE. Nice. Painted next to the eloquent words, also in bright
red, was a giant sized penis and set of balls. The vandal was also an artist. Definitely not Picasso, but he had gotten his point across.

  And Sydney knew it was a he. A female would never have painted the penis so large. It had been her limited experience that men always had inflation issues when it came to the perception of their own anatomy. She shook her head. This neighborhood was truly the armpit of the world. But it didn’t matter. She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She was homeless.

  “Miss, are you sure you have the right address?”

  The cabbie met her eyes in the rear-view mirror, waiting for a confirmation. If her situation hadn’t been so dire, she would have laughed at the puzzlement on his face. As it was, it was so un-funny that it was ridiculous.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she confirmed. The cabbie just shook his head as he looked out the window again. It was clear that he thought she was out of her mind.

  “I hope so,” he commented brusquely. “I’ve got another call and can’t wait for you.”

  The cab glided up to the curb in front of Stephen’s address and she appraised the situation. It didn’t look so bad. The little Cape Cod duplex was tiny, but it was neat. The light gray paint looked clean and the grass was freshly mowed. She took a cleansing breath and climbed out of the cab on shaky legs. Her reality was coming down around her ears now and it was leaving her feeling a little weak.

  She unloaded her bags, paid the driver and then watched in silence as he drove away. Hopefully, Stephen was home or she was screwed. She was clearly out of place in this neighborhood and people were beginning to stare.

  She walked quickly up the sidewalk and pushed the doorbell once. She had never actually met Stephen in person—only online. They had video-chatted, so she definitely knew what he looked like. But he certainly wasn’t expecting to find her on his doorstep today. She found herself wishing that she had called from the cab. It would have been the polite thing to do but she hadn’t been thinking clearly. And she probably still wasn’t.

  The door opened and Stephen was suddenly facing her, surprise apparent on his strikingly handsome face. He clearly recognized her at once and then his gaze flickered to the suitcases sitting on the porch next to her.

  “Sydney?” He phrased her name as a question, as he smiled at her warmly and without hesitation. “Come in.”

  And she gladly would have. If she hadn’t fainted first.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Time changed everything, Sydney mused as she lay flat on her back on twisted second-hand sheets, running her fingers lightly over her swollen, naked belly. Her slender fingers consciously outlined her fall from grace, tracing every line and growing contour of it. Staring at the dust motes spiraling in the light of the dingy window, she pondered her changed circumstances.

  Letting thoughts run rampant, her fingers found a hard lump just below her bottom rib. She pressed on it lightly and her entire belly shifted in reaction. She felt a sudden hard kick against her ribcage and winced. Her little hitch-hiker was growing stronger by the day. The movements that used to feel like butterfly wings in her belly now felt like shoes tumbling in a dryer. Big, heavy steel-toed work-boots. But she loved feeling the movement, anyway. Her baby was growing and thriving, despite so many people that had wanted it dead.

  As her hands palmed the ball that was now her stomach, she suddenly felt like an inflated shadow of her normal self. During the past four months that she had been at Stephen’s house, she had gained twenty pounds (so far), developed rampant and continuous food cravings and had ankles that swelled up like water balloons in the stifling, suck-the-air-right-out-of-your-body Midwestern heat.

  And even though she felt like a bloated, grotesque imitation of herself, the cravings were the worst part because she didn’t have enough money to satisfy them. Anymore. She definitely hadn’t gotten used to the lack of money thing yet. And since she couldn’t afford the roasted turkey and hot buttered crab legs that she craved, she consoled herself with cheap replacements like King Size Snickers bars, which did a lot to explain the twenty-pound weight gain. “Syd?”

  A low male voice resonated from the hallway a brief second before Stephen stuck his head through her doorway.

  He couldn’t really knock because the door itself was long gone, leaving only the protruding painted hinges behind. The gaping rectangular hole left quite a lot to be desired in the privacy department.

  “Yes?” she answered quickly, pulling down her shirt.

  Her movement stirred the scent of sour milk and sweat. His household was definitely that of a bachelor. She found herself wishing that she could wash the bedding in flower-scented soap, but was afraid it would make her seem ungrateful, like she thought his house wasn’t good enough for her. And that wasn’t the case.

  “Are you going to get up sometime today?” His mouth twitched at the corners, although he didn’t have any room to talk. Sometimes, when he got a burst of creativity, he would write all night long and then sleep the entire next day.

  She sighed delicately, the flush in her cheeks revealing her embarrassment.

  “I only meant to lie down for a minute. I’ve never been so tired in my entire life. The baby steals all of my energy. What time is it anyway?” The way the shadows were slanted against her cramped bedroom walls told her that it was late afternoon.

  “It’s 4:15. You’ve been asleep since noon.”

  The twitch curled into a wide smile. Stephen was the most easy-going person she had ever met. And she loved it when he smiled. It was warm and comfortable, like a favorite pair of jeans.

  “You were up by noon to know that?” She eyed him doubtfully.

  “Well, Miss Smart-Mouth, maybe not. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me!” He winked mischievously as he crossed his arms and leaned on the doorjamb.

  He was wearing a old pair of broken-in Levi’s that molded to his body and hung off of his hips in the way that only a man’s jeans can. He was shirtless, his chest surprisingly toned. She wouldn’t have thought that a writer who did no manual labor could be so naturally well-built. But he was. He really could’ve stepped right out of a Banana Republic catalogue.

  He wasn’t handsome in the same obvious “look at me” way that Christian was, but he was beautiful in an easy, earthy way. His longish dark brown hair slanted artistically across his forehead and his dark brown eyes were like melted chocolate. As she stared at him, Sydney felt the need to remind herself of a few key points:

  One: He was her cousin. So distantly related that they didn’t know exactly how, but family was family.

  Two: She was five months pregnant with someone else’s baby.

  Three: He had taken her in. She was sure that she was simply a charity case to him.

  And Four: She was 17 and he was 24. She knew he would never look at her in any way other than friendly.

  He was also an alien-creature with strange habits. He was easy-going, laid-back and creative. Three things that Sydney knew very little about.

  In her world- well, her old world, everyone was driven by schedules, meetings and Blackberries. They were on time for appointments, they went to bed recapping meetings in their heads and they got up the next morning with goals for that day in mind.

  In fact, almost everyone she knew had a Ten Year Plan. They were driven to succeed by blinding ambition so that they could maintain their lavish lifestyles. So they could be better than the next guy. They were also superficial, back-stabbing and fake. Stephen was none of these things. It was a refreshing change.

  Her stomach suddenly let loose with a loud, unladylike growl. Her hand flew to her stomach as if to muffle it, while Stephen laughed. She let the sincere sound of it roll over her like music.

  “Sydney, no offense, but you’re a bottomless pit. Do you want something to eat?”

  It was almost a rhetorical question because she was always, always hungry these days.

  “None taken. And do we have anything?”

  She only asked because food wasn’t important to him. Half
of the time he didn’t care if he ate or not. He was definitely an eat-to-live kind of guy. She would never utter one word of complaint, though. He had saved her.

  “Um, I’m not exactly sure.” He seemed to ponder the current state of their typically empty cabinets. “There must be something in there, though. If not, we can go get something.”

  She had $3.73 in her purse. She knew because she had checked before she went to bed. She would rather not have to spend it on food because she could get an extra-large blueberry slush at the 7-11 for a dollar. As hot as she was, the icy deliciousness of a 44-ounce Big Gulp sounded like Heaven. But her growling stomach reminded her that she definitely needed to eat. The baby needed food. It couldn’t thrive on ice and sugar alone.

  She shoved her feet into the flip-flops sitting next to her bed. It wasn’t hard to choose which shoes to wear anymore. These were the only ones that still fit. She even had to wear them to work. Her tennis shoes cramped her swollen, sausage toes. Thank God it was summer or she would be screwed. She had no idea what she would do when it snowed… she’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

  As she attempted to push herself off the bed, Stephen leaned forward with his hand extended. She took it and he hoisted her off the bed with an exaggerated groan. She rolled her eyes. She had only been 103 lbs to start with. So even though she had gained twenty, she still wasn’t all that heavy. She only felt like a bowling ball. She didn’t look it.

  “How are you feeling today?” Stephen asked, giving her the once-over, looking doubtful. He always said that it was hard to tell with her because she never complained.