Going up to her room sounded good, but she hesitated. “I should probably say hello to Vader.”
“Pfft. He’s not even here. He’s on-site for a photo shoot.” She ushered Greer toward the back stairs that led to the staff rooms. “You go rest up and you call the kitchen if you need anything. Do you want some medicine?”
“I’m fine.” She kissed Marta’s cheek and gave her a smile. “It’s so good to see you again.”
The woman pinched Greer’s cheek as if she were a child. “Go rest.”
So she did. The staff rooms were small and plain, and the single bed she laid down in was laughably small compared to the palatial guest rooms upstairs. But she liked it better with the staff, always had, and she fell asleep right away despite having napped on the plane. She was home.
Several hours later, she woke up, feeling refreshed. Greer changed her clothes, pulled her hair back into her typical braid, put her glasses on, and headed downstairs for some of the soup she’d been promised. True to her word, Marta had made a batch of chicken noodle, but she insisted on serving Greer in the dining room. Greer was a Janssen, Marta explained, and she needed to be treated like one.
That was how she got to meet the triplets.
The dining room in the Dutchman castle seated twenty-four, because her father loved to entertain. The table itself was long and wooden, and the entire room was set up like a medieval dining hall, complete with massive fireplace at one end and pennants hanging from the ceiling. Crowded around one end of the table were three identical blondes noisily chewing salads. They looked over at her as she entered, but didn’t get up.
Greer sat down underneath the rose pennant, her “usual” spot when she was visiting. It also thankfully placed her at the opposite end of the table from the triplets. A moment later, soup and crackers was served to her, and Greer gave the staffer a grateful smile before picking up her spoon and tucking in.
She’d had about three bites of Marta’s delicious soup before the whispering started to get annoying.
“Is she one of the centerfolds?” asked one.
“Get real. Look at her.” This was accompanied by a snort.
Well, there went her self-esteem. Nothing like being home. She took another mouthful of soup.
“But why’s she here?”
“She’s not a centerfold,” said another. “She’s got no tits.”
“You can buy those!”
At that, she nearly choked on a noodle.
“A new girlfriend, then?”
“But he’s got us.”
“He’d say something, wouldn’t he?”
“Stijn didn’t tell me, and I thought he told me everything.” There was a pout in that voice.
“I can’t believe it! He’s cheating on us!”
After that ridiculous statement, Greer put her spoon down and calmly wiped her mouth. She should probably say something before they worked themselves into a frenzy. She looked over at them. They were all incredibly beautiful, in an overly made-up sort of way. Big, processed blonde hair flowed over tanned shoulders and all three women had high cheekbones, nose jobs, and boob jobs. They wore bikinis to dinner—naturally—and one was in pink, one in baby blue, and one in purple. They also didn’t look very bright. One girl’s big lips were quivering as if she were about to cry as she stared down Greer, her fork poised over her salad.
She felt a twinge of pity for them. Their sad, sad little world was threatened by her? Man. “Don’t worry. I’m his daughter.”
Three sets of eyes widened.
“But you’re Mexican!” Pink girl blurted. “You don’t look anything like him.”
Oh lord. Not this again. She smoothed her cloth napkin in her lap. “Actually, I’m part Indian.” She was half Dutch, too, but to white people, she was other. Ironically, she couldn’t claim desi as her heritage either, because that implied she knew the culture and, well, she didn’t. So she was just a square peg in a round hole. Story of her life. “My father dated my mother in the late eighties. I look like her.”
Blue snapped her fingers. “I remember that! She’s the one in the picture in his room. What was her name? Lacey?”
“Lakshmi,” Greer corrected, touched. Her father kept a picture of her dead mother in his room? That was oddly sweet. “Lakshmi Chadha.”
“That’s right,” Blue said triumphantly. “The porn star.”
For some reason, that irritated Greer. Sure, it was true, but Lakshmi hadn’t gotten into porn until after she’d broken up with Stijn. After losing her meal ticket and with a young, mostly unwanted child in tow, she’d spiraled and gotten into drugs . . . and porn. Greer didn’t remember much about that, since she was too young, but she remembered her mother’s bright smile and her achingly lovely face. “She started out as a Dutchman centerfold.”
Their expressions grew envious. “I want to be a centerfold,” Purple sighed.
“I was,” Pink said, her voice smug. She sat a little straighter.
Purple scowled at her. “Just because you’re a suck-up.”
“Come on,” Blue said. “Behave, you guys.” She smiled at Greer. “I’m Kiki and this is Bunni,” she said, pointing at Pink. “And this is Tiffi.” Purple. They beamed at her, and all of their expressions were the same. “Has your dad mentioned us?” Kiki asked.
Oh, awkward. Greer never talked to her father much, and they never discussed who he was dating. They weren’t close like most families. Cordial, yes. Close? No. He’d never wanted children, and Lakshmi’s pregnancy had caused their breakup. Her mother had gone ahead and had the baby just to piss off her ex. The only reason Greer hadn’t been shipped to foster care when her mother overdosed was that it would have reflected badly on Stijn. So he’d taken Greer in, shuttled her off to a far end of the castle where she would be out of the way, gave her a nanny and tutor, and tried to forget she existed.