Page 69 of Lost Prince
Disbelief courses through my veins. This can't be happening.
But it is. The fatigue, the emotional turbulence, the lingering nausea I've been fighting for days now make sense.
I'm pregnant. With Lazaro's child.
My mind races, trying to process the implications of this unexpected development. Here I am, alone in the world, carrying his child.
I know the right thing to do is to tell Lazaro about the baby. Maybe he'd want to know. Maybe he'd care. I'd be wise to insist on financial assistance even if he wasn't interested.
But as quickly as the thought forms, I dismiss it. The D'Amatos won't want anything interfering with Lazaro's marriage to Ava. It's too important for their family, for their business.
A chill runs down my spine as I remember Lana's cold, calculating gaze. How far would they go to keep me away from Lazaro? To keep this baby a secret? The thought of the D'Amatos’ power and influence terrifies me. They could make me disappear without a trace if they wanted to.
No, I can't tell Lazaro. I can't risk it. This baby and I are on our own.
I place a protective hand over my still-flat stomach, steeling my resolve. I've always been a survivor, adapting to whatever life throws at me. This is just another challenge to overcome.
"We'll be okay," I whisper to my unborn child. "I'll figure this out. I always do."
A spark of determination ignites within me. I’ve spent my life looking for my place in the world. A family to belong to. This child is a new beginning, a chance to create the family I've always longed for.
A tiny smile tugs at my lips as I consider the life growing inside me. Despite the complicated circumstances, a sense of wonder and joy begins to blossom in my chest. I'm going to be a mother. I'm bringing a new person into this world, someone who will depend on me, love me unconditionally, and give my life a whole new purpose.
The realization hits me. It's time to put down roots. No more wandering, no more temporary homes. My child deserves stability, and I'm determined to provide it. The thought ofraising a baby alone is daunting, but I've faced tougher challenges. I can do this. I will do this.
I stand up, surveying my sparse apartment with new eyes. This space isn't just for me anymore. It's the beginning of a home for my child. Okay, so it’s a bit small, but it will do for now. I’ll look for a better job and work my way up to a one- or two-bedroom apartment. Maybe someday, I’ll be able to get us a little house with a yard.
I’m glad I decided to stay in Chicago instead of running to Minnesota, as was my first instinct. Chicago has better job opportunities, especially in the culinary and hospitality fields. The healthcare system is more robust, which will be crucial for my pregnancy and beyond. Plus, I've already started building a life here, even if it didn't turn out as I'd hoped.
A day later, I blow out a breath as I balance three plates along my arm, weaving through the crowded diner. The lunch rush is in full swing, and the air buzzes with chatter and the clinking of cutlery. I’m tired, but tips have been good so far, and I know a part of that is being friendly and efficient, so I push away the fatigue.
I deliver the loaded burger and BLT to the two businessmen, flashing them a bright smile. "Can I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you,” they mumble absently.
“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” As I turn, I spot a regular settling into his usual booth by the window. He’s here nearly every day for lunch, eating alone while he works.
“Good afternoon,” I say as I step up to his table. “Are you ready to order? Do you want your regular order or do you want to try something different?” In the last few weeks I’d served him, he’d always ordered the same. Fried chicken platter and cola.
He looks up at me and smiles. He’s probably in his thirties, handsome, but troubled. Perhaps it’s by all the papers he has in front of him. “The usual.”
“Absolutely.” I glance at his papers. “Are you any closer to getting all your business sorted?”
“Not as close as I’d like.”
“I’ll go get this order in. Fried chicken cheers everyone up.” I put his order in and then get his soda. I return to him, setting the glass along with a straw on the table.
“How are you at organizing?” he asks me, picking up the straw and tearing the paper off it to put it in his glass.
“I’ve organized spices, once by alphabetical order and once by frequency of use,” I joke.
His eyes narrow as he studies me. “Do you like this job?”
I shrug but keep my smile. “You know what they say, it pays the bills.”
“But you have other aspirations?”
My aspirations have always been modest. A job I enjoy. A nice home. A family. I think of the baby growing inside me and the need for better paying employment, preferably with benefits.