Fifteen Months Later

The baby's crying wakes me up. Again.

I look at the alarm clock, my eyes cloudy from my massive accumulation of sleep debt. It's 4:30 in the morning and I have to leave for work at 6:00. I've already been up twice tonight, and at this point it's not even worth going back to sleep.

I swing my legs out of bed stiffly, my body and brain fiercely objecting. Every part of me wants to lay down and sleep for days, but I have a little boy to take care of now.

He's crying in his bassinet, so I pick him up, cradling him in my arms. I gently rock him back and forth, trying to carry a tune. I'm so exhausted I can barely remember the words to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

They say birth control pills are 99 percent effective, but I guess the one afternoon I spent in the hammock with Nikolai was that last one percent. Because when I got back to the States, I missed my first period. Then I missed my second one. For a long time, I refused to even take a pregnancy test, not wanting to face reality. But my willful ignorance didn't change the fact that he'd gotten me pregnant.

I named the baby Josh, after my oldest childhood friend.

After feeding him, I take a hot shower. My vision is funny. Everything seems small and far away. That's what happens when you're as sleep deprived as I am. I've gotten used to it, though.

Josh sucks on a pacifier as I pack my bag for the day. I sigh, looking around the room. My old loft outside of downtown L.A. was like the North Molvanian palace compared to this place. With how expensive daycare is, there was no way I could afford to keep renting it. Now we have to make do in this tiny studio in Compton. It's not so bad though, at least when I wear ear plugs and remember to change the roach traps each month.

I tuck Josh into his stroller, making sure he's buckled in tight. Despite how hard my life has gotten since I had him, I wouldn't change it for the world. He's the greatest blessing I've ever received. But I don't think I'll ever tell him the truth about his father.

As I ride the subway to drop off Josh at daycare, I think about Nikolai. What a dick. Like a fool, I thought we had something. But when the King deported me from the country, he did absolutely nothing to stop it. Nada. I haven't heard from him since, and I don't expect to, either.

I drop off Josh at daycare after giving him a kiss on his little nose. He's a cute baby, and well-behaved too—at least during the day. Sometimes I wish the daycare could take him at night, because that's when he gets cranky.

Back on the subway, I stand against a handrail, commuters surrounding me. Everyone looks so unhappy to be going to work. But the mornings on the subway are always like this. Everybody's still half-asleep, trading sleep and energy for money to pay the bills.

I pull out my smartphone and take a look at the day's news. I'm in the mood for something light, so I page to the tabloids.

Maybe I can get an update on who Nikolai has been fucking lately. Though, to his credit, I haven't seen anything about that since I left. His playboy attitude seems to have simmered.

Maybe when I left, he finally found peace. Someone who's good for him.

But nothing can prepare me for what I see on the front page of the tabloids this time.

It's a picture of us. Me and Nikolai. In the hammock, naked.

The photo is blurred, except for our faces, which are shown clearly.

I'm mortified. No. Beyond mortified. I try to will gravity to reverse itself, to shoot me straight off this planet, so I'll never have to look anyone in the face again. But it doesn't happen. The train keeps rolling, the conductor announcing stations like nothing's happened.

And let me tell you, possibly the only thing worse than being in a front-page tabloid sex scandal, is being in a front-page tabloid sex scandal when you work for one of the biggest up-and-coming news agencies.

This is going to spread at work like wildfire.

My mind races as I run through options in my mind, trying to decide my best course of action. Get off at the next platform and go straight home? Call in my resignation? Or maybe just flop over on the train tracks and call it a day?

Oh my god. The shit just never ends.

Not knowing what else to do, I decide to go into work and simply pretend like nothing has happened. Maybe that'll work.

The instant I set foot in the office, I know my strategy is definitely not going to work. Everyone looks at me as I pass by, snickering and whispering. Nothing like this has ever happened before at the company. EDGE loves breaking news and scandals involving other people, but it most certainly does not love scandals involving its own employees.

I ignore the sideways glances and whispers, and beeline straight for my cubicle. I boot my computer up and open my e-mail program.

Right at the top, the newest message is from my boss. It's just a subject line with no body text: Meet me in my office at 10.

I look at the clock. It's only seven.

The hours pass slowly—perhaps slower than I've ever felt in my life. Worst-case scenarios scream through my head. Fired. Sued. Blacklisted from the media industry forever.

When the clock says 9:58, I can't hold out anymore. Nervously, I go to my boss's office, keeping my head down as if to make myself invisible.

I knock on the door.

"Come in."

I enter the room, and he's sitting behind his desk, his expression serious.

"Please sit down, Jenna."

I sit.

"I'm sure you know why I've called this meeting."

I swallow hard and nod. I know, he knows, and he knows I know. There's no reason to go over the details again.

"You've done some amazing work during your time here, Jenna. But I'm sorry. We have no choice but to let you go."

I feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I fight them back. I'm not going to cry in front of my boss. Instead, I just gulp and nod without saying a word.

"It's not personal. We just can't have staff associated with an international scandal like this. I'm sure you understand."

I nod.

"Please return to your desk and gather your belongings. Security will escort you out."

I rise from the chair, turn around, and walk out. Literally everyone in the office watches me as I stumble to my desk, dazed. I only grab a few things. Most of my stuff—headphones, pens, snacks—I leave behind. What use will I have for it?

Two security guards show up and walk me to the door. I've never felt so humiliated in my life.

Once I'm outside the building, I hail the first cab I see. I take it back home, and when I get there, I bury my face in my pillow and I begin to shake and sob.

I sit on my tattered second-hand couch, wearing nothing but my underwear. Not sexy underwear either. Granny panties. And I've never felt fatter in my life. In one hand I hold a spoon with which I cram room-temperature spaghettios into my mouth, and in my other hand I hold a trashy B.B. Hamel romance paperback. Josh is at daycare, and for that I am thankful, even though it's positively murdering my bank account while I'm unemployed.

One week has passed since I lost my job at EDGE, and I honestly haven't the slightest clue what comes next for me. I can't remember the last time I felt this low. My mood is almost as unfortunate as the state of my bank account. I figure I'd better start putting in applications for burger flipping, because I'm going to run out of cash sooner rather than later.

As I read the back cover of the romance novel, I realize it's about a woman who meets a prince and becomes a princess.

Joke. Sometimes I feel like life is nothing but cruelty.

I chuck the book in the garbage can. Then, I take a good, hard look at the conditions that I'm living in, and I also chuck the spaghettios in the trash.

I need to get my shit together and pull myself up out of this mess. I can't keep wallowing in my depression.

My mood lifts at the prospect of taking action, which provides me the energy to attack some chores around the house. I put on some Brain.fm ambient music to soothe myself, and pull on some long kitchen gloves. I go to work cleaning up the massive pile of dishes I've accumulated.

Just when I'm getting into my groove, there's a loud knock at my door.

Christ. Probably kids trying to sell candy to fund their basketball teams. Those things are always scams.

"Coming!" I shout. I snag already-worn yoga leggings and a t-shirt from the laundry hamper and pull them on in a hurry.

I crack the door open.

It's two men wearing jet black suits.

"C-can I help you?" I stutter.

When I landed in the United States last year after my flight from Baghdad, there was a whole cabal of FBI agents waiting for me at the customs processing area, just as I expected. It took nearly two weeks to clear my name and convince them that I was a victim of circumstance, not a terrorist involved in an international conspiracy.

Now, I'm terrified that something else has come up, and the FBI is back to give me more grief.

"Miss Duval?" says one of them.

"Yes?" I say, through the door. It's secured only by a thin gold chain.

The man draws his leg back like a piston, and sends it smashing into the door. I scream as the door flies open and smashes a hole in the drywall. The chain flies to pieces, leaving a red welt on my arm.

"Oh my god," I scream, but the man claps a gloved hand over my mouth before I can say anything else. The second man steps inside the apartment. He sticks his head back out into the hallway, looking back and forth for any sign of disturbance, before gently shutting the door again. It doesn't click closed though. The door frame is in splinters.

The man with his hand around my mouth says in a low tone, "Don't scream again." I nod urgently. They caught me with my pants down—literally. I know I need to cooperate and be smart if I'm going to get out of this.

He slowly slides his hand down from my mouth, waiting to see if I try to scream or bolt. But I don't, and he looks relieved. The other man continues to stand guard by the door.

"Miss Duval. Please forgive us for the unwelcome intrusion."

I wait for him to continue, eyeing him suspiciously. I say nothing.

"His Royal Majesty, the Crown Prince Nikolai, has ordered us to bring you to him."

"Wh-what?"

"You are to be smuggled out of the country and brought to the royal palace."

His words throw my mind into tumult. Not so much for myself, whom I've pretty much given up on. Rather, I think of Josh, who's at daycare right now.

For a moment, I consider protesting and telling him I can't leave without my son. But then I clamp my mouth shut before I can do so. Involving my baby in this would be the most foolish thing I could do. I wouldn't trust Nikolai with my baby in a million years.

Fortunately, Ashley was planning to pick up Josh tonight to give me a little more alone time. She'll have to take care of him until I can get in touch with her.

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place, and my only real move is to give them what they want. To go with them.

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

The man shakes his head. "I'm afraid not."

The men give me twenty minutes to pack my essentials and then take me away in a van. They drive me to a regional airport outside of San Francisco, where I'm loaded into the cargo bay of a shipping aircraft bound for the Middle East. From there, I'm shuttled around a series of countries over a period of three days, until I finally make it back to the border crossing where the tunnel is. The same old man is there, just like he's probably been for the last four decades, and I'm wary of going down in the tunnel again. Last time, it ended up in a kidnapping.

But, I figure, this time the kidnapping has already taken place. How much worse can it get?

But this time, the tunnel crossing goes smoothly, and I'm shuttled back to the royal palace once again. The countryside looks different in the fall. I almost feel a sense of nostalgia.

At the palace, they bring me back to the very same room I had before, and it's exactly as I remember it. But even though it isn't morning, there are three or four doves in the room, chirping away.

A welcome-back gift from Nikolai, no doubt.

I'm not sure how to feel about that. If he thinks he can steal me away from my home and then smooth things over with a couple flappy birds, then he's got another thing coming.

It's the afternoon of my second day back when he comes to visit me. I'm in my room, this time reading a novel I brought from home. It's probably the only American-published book in the entire royal palace.

There's a knock at the door, and he opens it from the outside without waiting for me to answer. Typical.

"My little pet," he says, walking toward me with his arms open.

He's just as handsome as always, though I can see he's aged just a little bit. The lines on his forehead are slightly more defined, and there's almost a hint of silver at his temples.

I hate to admit it, but he looks damned refined. I'm sure I just look like a worn out old hag at this point.

But I don't smile. "Don't 'little pet' me,'" I tell him angrily.

He looks surprised. "Are you not pleased? I heard of the scandal in your media. I thought I would rescue you." He looks incredibly smug.

I feel my ears turn red. "I don't need to be rescued. And especially not by you. If it weren't for you, I'd still have my job right now."

His face is genuinely crestfallen, as if he were expecting me to be happy about being kidnapped. I almost feel bad for him, but I don't. He's just as egotistical and arrogant as ever. Maybe more so. Now, I feel like there's not a safe place in the world for me.

"I had to do what I could."

I glare at him. "You could have prevented me from being deported."

His face lights up again. "So you do want to be here."

"No," I say, "I want to be wherever I am on my own terms. I'm not one of your groupie girls you can boss around and fly around the world on your whims."

"You wish I had not brought you here, then?"

Jesus. Maybe I was completely wrong about him, and he's still a dictator at heart, and always will be. "It's about choice, Nikolai. Freedom. Something that you don't seem to understand."

He frowns. "I have thought deeply about what you said. I am willing to stand up for my own people."

At this point, I don't even believe him. He's probably just blowing smoke up my ass again.

"Yet, you couldn't even consider what was best for me right now?" I'm sick and tired of being a pawn in his games.

He pauses for a great while before answering. "Jenna, my little pet. If you truly wish to go, then I will let you. And I shall never contact you again."

Part of me wants to latch onto this opportunity to get out of here once and for all. But I can't forget the way he made me feel before, and if he's really willing to listen to me, then maybe I can make a difference now.

But my heart is back in L.A. with Josh. I'm sure that Ashley is taking care of him, but I'm getting really anxious about it. Josh needs his mother, and eventually Ashley is going to report me missing. Then… who knows. I can't be separated from him much longer.

I toy with the idea of telling Nikolai that he's a father, but I just can't. I can't trust him to do right by me or Josh. He didn't do me right when the King deported me, and he didn't do me right the way he brought me back here.

I can't afford to tell him.

"Nikolai, my prince," I say, more than a hint of sarcasm in my voice, "I need some time to think about this."

"How much time?" He sounds annoyed, not used to waiting on other people's schedules.

"Look. If I really mean something to you, then you need to respect this request."

He makes a snotty, pompous sound. "Very well," he says, rolling his eyes. "I shall be waiting."

Asshole. "There's something else."

"Do tell."

"Your father. He hates my guts. How do I know that the exact same thing isn't going to happen again?"

He pauses before answering. "I am... taking steps... to ensure that he is no longer a barrier for us."

"That doesn't exactly inspire confidence."

"Very well," he says. "How about this. As long as you are here, I give you my word as the Crown Prince of North Molvania, that you will not suffer the wrath or whims of anyone other than me."

"So what you're saying is that I'll suffer your wraths and whims?"

He just winks at me before turning around and exiting the room.

What a royal dick.