by Kate Johnson
An unmarried mother in the Royal Family is unprecedented. Did the Queen know? Were they planning to marry? RoyalGossip.com is on the trail!
There were security staff everywhere.
It had taken Xavier a hideously long time to get to the hospital, eventually begging for lifts. His phone ran down as he tried to contact Eliza, and when he arrived he realised finding her wasn’t going to be easy.
Xavier knew the look. He could spot an off-duty cop at a hundred paces. These people weren’t employees or patients or staff, they were there to stop people getting through to Eliza. He tried bluffing his way through, but that didn’t work. He tried begging, but they were stony-faced.
“Look, man, I’m her fiancé,” he said.
“Her Highness doesn’t have a fiancé.”
“She does, but it’s a…” A secret. Right. With his cop head on he knew how this sounded, but he couldn’t get his cop head to stay on. “Look at all the pictures from Badminton. I’m with her all the time. I’m in every shot.”
Nothing. Blank, stony faces. Unlike the average British policeman, these men were armed, and very visibly so. They weren’t messing around.
“I just need to see her! Or her sister. Her mother knows me.”
“Their Highnesses are busy, sir.”
“A secretary, then! A… an aide. There’s staff all over their house, somebody from there must remember me!”
“I suggest you contact the staff through the usual channels, sir.”
“Usual channels?” Xavier clutched at his hair. “What the hell are they? Do I, like, send a telegram to the Royal Herald? I need to speak to someone now! It’s important! I have rights!”
“It’s family only, sir.”
Screw discretion. “I’m family! She’s having my baby!”
“I’m afraid we haven’t been apprised of that, sir,”
“Haven’t been apprised? Jesus Christ, will you get that stick out of your ass!”
He wasn’t being rational. He’d been in this man’s position. It wasn’t fair to scream at him. Xavier knew all this, but since Eliza was somewhere in this hospital bleeding, he didn’t really care.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave, sir.”
“No! I’m not leaving until I can see her. Will someone please tell me what is going on!”
“We don’t wish to use force, sir.’
“Well, you’ll have to,” said Xavier, beyond sense now as he barged the security guy. He was repelled, and tried again. This time he landed on the floor.
“Let me the fuck in, you bastards!” he screamed, as he was grabbed and dragged across the floor. The movement tore at his shoulder, which robbed him of breath. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a smartphone filming him.
Yeah, put that online and see how your precious Royal Family likes it. He struggled against the men holding him, but they seemed to be made of iron and Xavier only had one working arm. “Let go of me! Let me see her! I have rights! It’s my baby too!”
The video did end up online, albeit briefly. It was held up as an example of how hysterical and unsuitable Americans could be. But Xavier didn’t know this until much later. Until long after he found himself in handcuffs in a police station.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.” He tried to be rational. The police were just doing their job, as he’d always done his. But he shook with fear and anger. It had been so long since Eliza had disappeared at the event. Whatever she was in danger of had already happened and he needed to know what it was. Was she okay? Was the baby? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him anything!
“You’re a policeman,” said the weary woman dealing with him. “Isn’t ‘breach of the peace’ an offence in Florida?”
“I’m sorry,” he ground out, “but I was emotional. Terrified. She’s my fiancée—”
“You keep saying that,” said the detective or whatever her rank was. “But we have no documented proof of it.”
“It wasn’t public knowledge! Look, ask her—”
“I’m afraid that’s not really possible.”
Xavier thought he might be sick. He didn’t even know how to ask the awful question on his mind.
But apparently it showed in his face, because the cop relented. “She’s stable, sir, she’s recovering. That’s all I know.”
“And the baby?”
“There’s no word of any baby. The Palace hasn’t seen fit to release that information. What they have sent us, however, is information about you.” She leafed through a file.
“It looks worse than it is,” Xavier mumbled. There’s no word of any baby. Did that mean it was all fine?
“Yes, sir, I’m sure. But we have the facts, and we have the Palace’s instructions.”
His head snapped up. “What instructions?”
The file closed with a snap. “You belongings are being collected. You’re booked on the first flight in the morning—”
“What?” He was on his feet, lunging forwards before he checked himself and stepped back, cuffed hands raised. “No. Please. I have to see her. I have to stay here. Will you just tel me what is happening?”
The cop gave him an emotionless look. “You’re being sent home, sir. There is no reason for you to stay in England.”
RoyalGossip.com: The princess’s playboy lover
Remember Xavier Rivera, the hero cop who saved Princess Elizabeth from kidnappers in the Caribbean and fathered her child on that remote desert island? Well, it turns out there may have been a reason she was keeping him quiet. Because it turns out Rivera is a love rat!
That’s right: He was married five years ago to gorgeous Marisol Vega, pictured below. But when the aspiring actress fell pregnant, heartless Rivera cast her out of his home!
“He accused me of adultery and refused to even see our beautiful baby boy. He can talk, he’s married to his job! And when I asked him to pay just a few dollars so we could keep a roof over our heads, he divorced me and left me unable to even afford legal aid. I was forced to live on the same street as a registered sex offender with my newborn baby because Xavier was so cruel!”
Her acting ambitions thwarted, Marisol has been living in poverty ever since.
“He says he can’t afford to send me much because he’s only a cop, but surely his undercover work brings in a bonus and he must have had a pretty hefty reward for saving that princess, so I’m petitioning the court for more money. I want to marry my new boyfriend, but money is so hard for us.”
Meanwhile, Xavier Rivera has been leeching off the British Royal Family, living with Princess Elizabeth who has a sizeable property portfolio and who stands to inherit a huge sum from her mega-rich father, the Duke of Suffolk. Not to mention her grandmother is the Queen, and the monarchy is funded by the British taxpayer. How much money is this love-rat costing poor loyal Brits?
The voices came from outside her room, but none of them were Xavier’s, so Eliza didn’t pay much attention.
It was more than a day since she’d seen him. Maybe. There was no clock in her room and her phone had been taken away. Presumably so she couldn’t contact him.
The door opened, and it was Drina who came in, looking like she was about to be loaded onto the tumbrel for the guillotine.
“How are you feeling?” she asked, with a slightly plastic looking smile.
From an early age, they’d been taught to never answer that question honestly. Which was just as well, as Eliza didn’t think her sister needed to hear about the pain, discomfort, humiliation and misery she was going through.
“Been better,” she replied.
“Yes.” Drina looked around awkwardly, fiddled with her handbag, and eventually perched on the edge of the vinyl seat by the bed.
“Lize, I need to talk to you about Xavier. Mummy was going to do it but she kept getting it all wrong, and Daddy just kept muttering about horsewhipping, so…”
“What about him?” In the last twenty-four hours she’d been through every scenario, from Xavier being t
rampled under the hooves of Drina’s horse to his plain unfeeling desertion of her. He doesn’t love me, she’d convinced herself in the middle of the night. Now the baby’s gone he has no reason to stay.
“He’s… it seems,” Drina was choosing her words carefully. “It seems he’s not exactly who he pretended to be.”
“What do you mean?” The idea he’d been in disguise entertained her for a bit. “He’s secretly a woman? He’s an alien? He didn’t look like either when he was naked on that beach.”
Eliza glanced at the drip attached to her arm. Maybe the drugs in it were stronger than she’d realised.
“If you’re trying to shock me, darling, trust me, it’s all water off a duck’s back at this point.” Her sister took a deep breath. “Did he tell you he’d been married before?”
Eliza shrugged. “Yes. That’s hardly a dealbreaker, is it? The Family has spun much worse things.”
“No, I mean yes. It’s not so much that, as…” Drina chewed her lip, and Eliza lost patience.
“Just tell me, for Christ’s sake!”
“He has a child with his ex-wife who he’s never seen.”
That hit Eliza like a blow to the chest. She felt pinned to the bed. For a long moment she stared blindly at the wall, trying to rearrange those words to make some kind of sense. Sometimes she misread words and they didn’t mean the right thing until she looked at the bigger picture, and now—
Now there was no way they could mean anything else.
All this time she’d felt as if she was underwater, trying to find the surface, and now the water had started to fill her lungs and she was sinking to the bottom.
“I’m sorry, Lize,” said Drina, and she did really look it. “Mummy had people looking into him, you know, after he turned up and she sort of suspected there was something going on with you two. You know she’d do it for anybody,” she added defensively. “Why do you think I never tell her about anyone I’m seeing?”
Eliza wasn’t shocked, not about that. It was standard protocol.
“It took a few days for her to get all the info. She had to get it double checked. Didn’t want to go off half-cocked. She was waiting for you to come home from Badders first.”
Eliza opened her mouth to ask if Drina was sure the information was correct, then didn’t bother. Of course it was correct. Her Majesty’s Security Services didn’t make easy mistakes like that.
“He has a child?” she asked instead. Her throat was dry. She’d been terribly thirsty all this time.
“A son. His ex says he’s never seen him. She had to go to court to get him to pay child support. That’s what alerted them to it in the first place, the regular payments from his account. Apparently he won’t have anything to do with her. Insisted on DNA tests before he’d pay anything. Won’t even let his family say her name. Refuses to admit they even exist any more than he absolutely has to.”
Eliza flinched, a dull kind of certainty settling down on her. All that stuff about making it work, about doing it together, about being a family. And all the time he’d had one and just… kept it hidden away.
Until he found a rich woman desperate for a husband. No contact from him for months after they left the island, until she told him she was pregnant and then, boom, he was under the same roof faster than you could say paternity rights. He’d never insisted on any DNA tests with her, had he? Or a pre-nup. How long would he have stuck around before leaving and taking a hefty chunk of her income?
Nanny was right. You really are stupid.
“Eliza?” Drina said. “I’m sorry. He seemed so nice. We were all taken in.”
I even told him how rich I am.
“It’s better you found out before you got the ring on your finger, eh?” Drina said, not quite managing to smile.
He’d called her brave and beautiful. He’d said he could look at her for the rest of his life. He’d been lying.
“Eliza?” Drina looked worried.
Eliza’s gaze rested on her hand. Her left hand, with no ring on it. “Where is he?” she asked.
“He’s, um. Well, he caused a bit of a disturbance at the hospital, so the police, um. Should I… do you want to see him?” Her expression said she didn’t think it would be a good idea.
“No,” said Eliza. Her ringless hand lay on her flat stomach. “No. I never want to see him again.” The pain inside her began to turn to anger. “I suggest he goes home to Florida and takes care of the child he’s already got. There’s nothing for him here.”
Chapter Fifteen
RoyalGossip.com: Rivera told to ‘leave England’
As Princess Elizabeth recovers from her heartbreak over losing her baby, the man she thought she loved has been ‘ordered’ to leave, according to one royal insider. “He’s not allowed to see her, or to go anywhere near the royal palaces, or her parents’ private houses,” says one friend of Elizabeth’s. We should think not! After it emerged Rivera has already abandoned one child, we don’t blame the princess for wanting him out of her life.
He seems to have had no intention to marry her: none had been declared (under English law, at least 28 days’ notice must be given, and posted in public) despite their baby having been due in less than six months.
“She should never have got involved with him,” says her friend, who wishes to be unnamed. “But then, dear Eliza was never the sharpest tool in the drawer.”
Meanwhile Princess Elizabeth has not been seen in public.
“Xavi, you can’t let them write this garbage about you,” said his mother.
Xavier turned his head away from the offending website. “I’m not exactly giving them permission.”
“You should sue them.”
He laughed hollowly. “Sure. With all that money I have hanging around? She is still getting half of it.” And I just spent a fortune on getting to England and back on short notice.
“I told you that woman was no good. Your sister says she saw her at the game—”
“Mom.” He held up his hand. “What’s the rule about my ex-wife?” He couldn’t even say her name.
His mother’s nostrils flared. “You brought it up.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t be doing it again.”
His mother dissolved into mutters about ‘that woman’. Xavier had succeeded, finally, in getting Marisol to consent to a DNA test to prove that the child wasn’t his, only to be told by the courts that he should have petitioned for disestablishment of paternity within two years of learning of her infidelity.
“You said you knew from the start,” said Abe as they left court.
“Yeah, but what was I supposed to do? Tell her to piss off and live in a cockroach infested rathole because the kid wasn’t my responsibility? Jeez, Abe. I’m not perfect but I’m not an asshole.”
“Better an asshole than a poor bastard,” Abe opined. “You could always petition to reduce the size of the payments.”
“I won’t have to,” Xavier said glumly. “The desk job involves a pay-cut.”
Abe opened the door of his Mercedes. “You know what you need, kiddo, is a rich woman.”
“That’s not funny,” Xavier said, but apparently his lawyer disagreed, and drove off laughing.
He’d drafted a letter of resignation while he was in England, but never sent it. This turned out to be just as well, as he found himself in need of a job when he returned. Desk duty, the two worst words in a cop’s career. They couldn’t fire him, of course, but he’d gone from hero to zero so fast the public had called for his resignation.
Xavier spent his days doing court paperwork, moving prisoners and watching surveillance videos. No gun, no badge. When he’d attended court to testify against Jorge Lopez and his gang, protesters had waited outside waving placards that accused him of abandoning his responsibility.
“How can a man who would go to court to absolve himself of caring for an innocent child call himself a defender of the city?” one woman shouted on the evening news.
The placards had pictu
res of babies on them. Some protestors had gotten confused and turned up to protest against abortion, and a particularly harrowing placard had made an internet meme. It was forever tagged with the words, “Protest against Xavier Rivera.”
“Xavi, you must set the record straight,” his mother urged him. “Tell them you don’t support the killing of babies! Tell them your baby died!”
“Mom, that’s really not something I want to keep talking about,” he said, and went outside for a cigarette.
He’d told her it was someone else in the office who smoked, and didn’t quite care if she believed him. It was this or drinking, and if he turned up to work too hungover to drive he’d be demoted somewhere even worse. If that were possible.
His mother kept having muted conversations with someone on the phone, and Xavier tried not to care who it was. But then his brother Pierre accidentally included Xavier on a group text sharing an ultrasound of the baby he and his wife were having in December. About a month after—
Xavier summoned polite words of congratulations, and managed not to cry until he was in private.
Then he got up each day and had breakfast—white eggs from his mother’s refrigerator— and stared at a computer screen in an office where the air conditioning frequently broke and his colleagues all seemed to have a liking for spicy food that repeated on them, and watched half his pay-check get sent to Marisol.
Perez and a couple of his other buddies had tried to take him out for a few beers to cheer him up, but all that happened was he got hit on by girls who wanted to take a walk on the wild side with a notorious bad boy. He turned them all down. There was only one girl he wanted, and she refused to see him.
Now he filed paperwork for eight hours a day and watched TV with his mother and switched over if a British accent turned up.
