The holiday season ticked on, after that, bringing quite a bit of work Lisa’s way, allowing her to stock her bank account, at least for a moment.

She wasn’t yet showing beneath her winter coat, and she dashed around the city, snapping shameless shots of a disgraced leading man in an outlandish Christmas outfit, a young woman on his arm. She spotted a well-known comedian messily inhaling a bagel on a Manhattan sidewalk, and chased an aspiring Broadway star through Queens on a particularly snowy Christmas Eve, as he carried a red-striped package beneath his arm.

During those moments, as she looked through her camera reel, Lisa felt vaguely proud of the work she did. She fought for her angles, for the precise expressions on their faces. Despite the cheesiness of the work, these celebrities were her canvases. And their lives were her paint, allowing her to write a story with just a shot from her camera.

Rocco had grown content with Lisa once again, especially as so much time had passed since the Prince Francesco incident. “I’ve decided not to blame you entirely,” he announced to her a few days before Christmas, before explaining to her that she’d receive a modest Christmas bonus. “Just because, well. I want you to stick around, darling.”

Having received so much bad news that year, the news brought a tinge of warmth to Lisa’s heart. She called her mother at home, diving into excited talk about her bonus, and almost forgetting that her mother had only just learned about her pregnancy, and therefore only wanted to discuss one topic.

“How are you feeling?” her mother, Diane, asked, after a brief pause. “I remember I was so nauseous during these months. It was a nightmare.”

“Sure,” Lisa offered, deciding not to discuss the fact that she’d been vomiting the entire night before. “It comes and goes.”

“I can’t tell if that’s your lying voice,” her mother said sternly. “You’d tell me if you were experiencing too much nausea, wouldn’t you?”

“Mom, I don’t know what you’d do about it,” Lisa said. “I get sick. Then I get better. And then, one day, I’ll give up this baby, and everything will be over. Happy?”

“Well. When you put it like that,” her mother said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “You’ve made the scan appointment for after Christmas, haven’t you?”

Lisa had. She’d initially planned to be with her mother for Christmas, but since they were both strapped for cash, with Lisa working overtime to rake in cash during these more mobile days, they’d decided to spend Christmas apart. Diane brimmed with worry about nearly everything: from the baby to Lisa’s loneliness.

“I didn’t know how much loneliness affected me,” she whispered into the receiver. “If you need anyone, please go find one of your friends. They’re all in the city, aren’t they?”

“Most of them have babies,” Lisa said. “They’re boring now.”

“Well, so are you, then,” Diane reminded her, her voice motherly, yet stern.

“Right,” Lisa grumbled.

“I’ve gotta get in bed, honey, I’m working early tomorrow morning,” Diane said after a pause, letting out a tired sigh.

“Hope your Christmas isn’t too bad, Mom. I miss you, and I love you. See you soon.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetie. Take care of yourself, and the baby.”

Lisa hung up the phone, then, and scoured the internet for any news of Prince Francesco and Princess Rose, who’d been mysteriously quiet in the weeks since she’d met up with the Princess. She often wondered how the conversation had gone between the two of them upon Princess Rose’s return. Surely, Francesco had been bothered by it—having known Lisa, having told her so many secrets of himself. Right?

Ultimately, Lisa knew she had to make peace with the fact that, perhaps, she didn’t know the Prince at all. He was just another man, looking to use her, to assure her she was beautiful for just another night. It just so happened that Lisa had believed this one, this time. It was just her luck that he also happened to be a prince.

The Christmas season swept on, and then, suddenly, it was New Year’s Eve. Lisa scampered through Times Square, taking glamorous shots of the performers, staging interviews with some of the biggest acts, and watching as the ball dropped, having no one there beside her to kiss her. As it dropped, she closed her eyes, imagining Francesco’s lips upon hers. Her eyelashes fluttered, but her brain understood the fickle nature of memory.

On January 8th, Lisa entered the prenatal clinic, her belly beginning an early protrusion over her jeans. She gave a friendly smile to a woman in the corner who was reading a pregnancy magazine. Her grin was wide, earnest, big-toothed. Her accent was Texan.

“Boy, big momma. You look like you’re in your fifth month!” the woman cried, assessing Lisa’s stance.

Lisa shook her head, laughing slightly. She felt a bead of sweat drip down her forehead as she took a seat. “Actually, I’m only three months along. Crazy, huh?”

“Oh,” the woman said, frowning. “You look bigger than I did. What have you been eating?” She turned her attention back to the magazine, clearly frightened both for Lisa and for herself. Who was “right” and who was “wrong” seemed to be a perpetual game in the pregnancy world. Already, Lisa had begun to feel distaste for it. And she’d only just begun to show.

After a short wait, the tech called Lisa’s name, and she entered the exam room, her walk a slight waddle.

The nurse assessed her, eyeing her chart. “And you said you’re only—”

“Three months. Yep,” she affirmed.

She eyed the clock, noting that a comedian was meant to appear at a frozen yogurt shop in less than two hours’ time. She had to be there. She had to get the shot.

“Let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Can’t have this baby slow me down even more than it already has.”

“He or she,” the nurse corrected her, eyeing her sharply. Lisa gave her a hearty eye roll.

The nurse slathered chilly goop upon her stomach, and Lisa waited, staring up at the ceiling. Several moments later, the nurse placed the scanner upon her bulbous belly, and then pointed toward the screen, a smile stretching over her cheeks.

Lisa felt touched that this woman could feel any sort of emotion for her unborn child. For her, surely, it was mere routine. It was inconsequential. It was just something she did during her work shift. That was all.

But God, there it was. A collection of stringy cells. And Lisa was already in love.

The nurse leaned closer, her eyebrows lowering. “Wait. What is—” She gestured, eyeing the image on the screen. “Has any doctor stated if you are having more than one baby?” she asked.

“I mean, I should be asking you, right?” Lisa said, laughing nervously. “You’re the one with the medical degree.”

“You do seem bigger than you should be,” the nurse continued, speaking of her body like a girl in gym class, assessing her form. “Lisa,” she continued, swiping the radar over her belly, “you’re going to be a mother to three babies. You’re expecting triplets.”

Lisa flung her head back, caught off-guard and unable to run from the table. She was tied down, covered with goop. The words rang through her ears. “Three babies?” she whispered, incredulous. “That’s impossible.”

“Look, Lisa. There are three forms on the screen, as I live and breathe,” the nurse said excitedly, pointing out their spines and little, beating hearts. “Triplets. You don’t see that every day.”

Lisa pressed her lips together with sudden excitement. Despite the panic jolting through her, the sheer fact that she was carrying three babies—three balls of cells who would grow up into very real, very lovable people—was incredible. She wanted to dance down the hallways. She wanted to declare her love for her children to the world. She swept her fingers over her lips, quivering with emotion. Tears began to drizzle down her cheeks.

“I know,” the nurse affirmed. “I know it’s overwhelming. But you’re going to be fine. It’s going to be perfectly fine.”

The nurse left Lisa a few moments later, allowing her to dress alone, yanking her jeans as far up as possible before they stopped under her round belly. Lisa eyed her breasts in the small mirror in the corner of the room, noticing the darkness in her nipples and the weight of them, surely preparing for three babies to nurse from them throughout the first months of their lives.

But would they even be with her during those months?

She walked from the clinic, her head spinning. She hadn’t eaten in several hours, and the thought of marching all the way to a frozen yogurt stand, just to catch a single photograph of some washed-up comic scraping the bottom of his bowl just didn’t appeal to her.

Spotting a nearby coffee shop, she darted toward it, ordering a turkey sandwich and a bowl of corn chowder. As the teenage barista slowly began to pour her soup, his movements tentative, she reached over the counter and grasped a cookie, sensing herself going into shock.

“Hey! You can’t do that!” the boy declared.

But already, Lisa had bitten into the cookie, the dark chocolate coursing over her tongue. She closed her eyes, oxygen flooding back into her brain. Suddenly, she could articulate thoughts. And the reality of what had just occurred in the clinic struck her, full-force.

Armed with her soup and sandwich, Lisa collapsed into a chair near the window, gazing out at the city. Post-Christmas, everyone looked a little fatter, a little wearier, and unprepared for the rough months ahead. As she scarfed her chowder, bits of it dribbling down her chin, she considered her dwindling bank account, and the fact that she’d have to feed herself properly for the next six months, until the babies came.

She wouldn’t be able to afford her breakfasts, let alone her lunches. And beyond that, she was growing lonely, inching toward being unable to rub her feet, and knowing that her working days were drawing to a close.

She had read that Francesco had been on a Christmas vacation with his father, mother and sister, without Princess Rose. But the tabloid hadn’t mentioned anything about “trouble in paradise.” Rather, the vacation had been touted as a last-ditch effort for the family to spend “quality time” together before the wedding festivities.

Lisa pressed the edge of the spoon against her lips, uncertain. If she tried to call Francesco and Rose again, telling them that she was expecting triplets, she’d be breaching the arrangement she and Rose had made the previous month.

She was supposed to stay away. And the alternative—that the royal family ruin her very existence—didn’t seem viable, compared to just scraping through the next six months and ducking out on the other end a free, rich person.

But as she sat, her stomach churned: a constant reminder that her babies required her love and nourishment; that this silly “trade” didn’t take their health—mentally and physically—into account.

“Penny for your thoughts,” the barista said as he gathered trash, shoving napkins into the plastic bag and looking at her earnestly.

“I just wish life was a bit easier to figure out,” Lisa breathed, leaning her chin heavily upon her fist. “Don’t you?”

“Tell me about it,” the barista stated, his eyes wide. “I just asked out a girl for the second time, and she’s still ‘thinking about it.’ When will it end?”

He turned, then, and returned to his place at the register, where he accepted more orders and frantically brewed another round of coffees. Lisa just watched him, centered upon the youthful nature of his face, his gangly arms, and his eyes, so lost. Was anyone ever found?