Surprise Packages
Layla Valentine
Holly Rayner
Contents
Surprise Packages
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Dr. O’s Baby
Introduction
1. Carmen
Also by Layla Valentine
Surprise Packages
Copyright 2019 by Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
“Cut!”
A cheer goes up at the sound of the director’s declaration. I jump down from my perch on the back of a wooden fence, where I’ve been clinging with my toes and fingertips, and the set crew comes rushing onto the soundstage. They strip away the world around us quickly and efficiently, rolling away the castle wall and the marble fountain that is the most visually recognizable centerpiece of the Redfall family lands. Soon all that’s left on the soundstage is the group of colleagues, shaking hands, high-fiving each other, and exchanging congratulations on another successful season of Royal Blue.
Gary Breyer, who plays my father, King Noah Redfall, on the show, already has a glass of champagne in his hands. I suppose I should be using the past tense. Gary played Noah Redfall. After today’s scene, of course, that’s all over. You don’t come back from being assassinated by your political rivals. The king is dead, and Royal Blue as we know it will never be the same.
It’s kind of exciting, actually. I accept the glass of champagne a crew hand offers, pondering the possibilities. With the king of Redfall dead, the question everyone is asking is, who will come into power?
I’m not sure if I want the role or not. It would definitely be an exciting challenge to play a ruling monarch. But my character, Aeryn Redfall, is developing into a warrior. In spite of her noble upbringing and the expectations placed on her by her family, she’s spent season two of the show learning skills like hunting, fighting and living off the land. If she has to assume the throne now, that whole subplot will be over. I can’t imagine a queen having much time for combat training.
Gary climbs up onto a stepladder. He’s still wearing his heavy fur cape, a signature piece of his wardrobe. It’s drenched now with fake blood, matting the fur down on one side. He raises his glass.
“Can I have everyone’s attention please?”
We all turn and look at him. We’re used to that deep, booming voice, the voice of the king, issuing commands. We’re used to obeying Noah Redfall.
“I want to thank everyone for two amazing seasons,” Gary says. “This show has been one of the best experiences of my life. I’ve found true friends here.” He reaches over and squeezes the shoulder of the man who plays his royal advisor. “And I’ve been able to step into the fantasy of a lifetime, of course: being the boss of everyone.”
We all laugh. I’m going to miss having Gary around, that’s for sure. He’s been a kind of father figure to me since I was cast on the show.
Leaving my family in Ohio and moving to LA has been the greatest challenge of my life, and it’s often hard to feel at home here. Sometimes, of course, I feel like it’s paid off better than I could ever have dreamed—I’m a star on a critically acclaimed TV show, so no one could say my dreams of acting haven’t been met with success. But other times I feel desperately, confusingly alone. I have no family in California and no close friends outside of the show.
Of course, there’s always my best friend on the show. Lizzie plays my sister, the well-mannered Princess Mirabella Redfall. On the show, Mirabella and Aeryn can’t stand each other, but Lizzie’s probably the person I’m closest to in the whole state of California. I know the tabloids and the internet bloggers enjoy our friendship, catching us on camera in moments of fun together, smiling at each other. And now she’s at my shoulder, throwing an arm around me, with her other arm flung wide so the glass of champagne in her hand doesn’t spill on my costume.
“Erica, you were amazing!” she cries. “I was watching you during Gary’s death scene, and you looked like you were going to cry.”
“I was going to cry,” I tell her, laughing. “I think I have a splinter in my toe from that fence. I don’t know why I had to be barefoot for the scene.”
“At least you don’t have to wear a corset,” Lizzie groans. “Why can’t Mirabella throw off the patriarchy? You get to have all the fun.”
“Let’s get to wardrobe,” I say, linking my elbow through hers. “We can get out of these clothes, and maybe someone can take a look at my foot.”
“And I can get my hair taken down,” Lizzie says. “These styles are pretty and everything, but good Lord do they hurt.” She looks enviously at my hair, which hangs in loose waves around my shoulders, the same way it has all season. “Some people really do have all the luck.”
I laugh. “Aeryn’s hair would never look like this in real life. It would be a knotted, frazzled mess. There are about seventeen products and forty-five minutes of work making this look happen. And I haven’t been in any sword fights.”
“You haven’t even been outdoors,” Lizzie laughs. “We’d all be much uglier if this were real.”
The assistant director passes us, moving in the opposite direction. “Nice work today, ladies,” he says. “A very impressive performance.”
Lizzie waits until he’s out of earshot and then clutches at my arm. “Did you hear that? He was watching my performance!”
“That’s not…exactly what I heard,” I say.
She ignores me. “I’m going for it tonight. I’m going to make a move on him. Tonight’s the night for sure. He’s been watching me. He wants it. Do you think he’ll be at the wrap party?”
“I think it’s at his hotel, isn’t it?” I ask. Lizzie, God love her, isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer when it comes to detail.
She laughs. “Right! Obviously! Okay. So I need to go home and change first, because this”—she gives the pajama pants and tank top she wore to the shoot this morning a shake—“isn’t going to get me anywhere.”
I laugh. “Just make sure you take care of yourself, will you? Let’s not make this a repeat of the Christmas party.”
“That was one time,” Lizzie protests.
Her wardrobe attendant finishes unlacing her dress, and she shrugs it to the floor and steps out of it, unembarrassed in nothing but her corset and panties.
“Besides,” she goes on, “you’ll be there. You won’t let me overdo it.”
I don’t answer. The truth is that I’m seriously considering blowing off the wrap party. I love my job more than anything I’ve ever done. I love playing Aeryn, dressing up in these fabulous costumes and step
ping into the role of the warrior princess. I love learning to fight. And most of all, I love my castmates. Being part of Royal Blue is like being part of a family—not a vindictive, warring family, the way we’re depicted on the show, but a kind family. A family that really cares about each other.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
But the truth is that my Royal Blue family is no substitute for a real family. I know they like me. I know they think I’m good at my job. They always include me in everything, from parties to random adventures, like the time two months ago when the entire cast decided to visit a children’s hospital nearby. But there’s still something formal about these relationships. Everything we do together is an event. It’s always a big deal.
It’s a little bit different with Lizzie, who is perfectly happy to meet me for lunch or for a beach day.
But this party, I know, won’t be an opportunity to relax. Even though most of the people around me will be blowing off steam, they’ll also be networking. Business cards will be exchanged. People who have never been in front of a camera will come up to the cast of the show, thinking we can use our clout to get them cast in something. After two or three drinks, someone with ambitions of parlaying their acting career into directing will approach the showrunners about possibly doing an episode.
That’s how it is in LA. Even parties are work.
I love my job, but I also miss the way, back in Ohio, work ended at the end of the day. I could go home and put my feet up on the couch, spread some peanut butter on some celery, and relax. Ever since I was cast on Royal Blue, it feels as if I’m working all the time.
And tonight, if I’m honest, I want a night off.
Lizzie glances over at me. She’s clearly taken note of my long silence.
“You will be there, won’t you?”
I sigh. “You know me too well.”
“Come on. You cannot skip the wrap party. This is going to be the party of the century. I forbid it.”
“That’s what you said about the New Year’s party,” I remind her. “And it turned out to be completely lame.”
“It was not lame. That was the one where Chris taught us how to do keg stands, remember?”
“Yeah, that wasn’t fun.”
Chris Watson plays our older brother, Boniface Redfall, on the show, and he’s probably the cast member who’s most like his character.
Boniface is the medieval version of a frat boy. A part of me is really hoping to see him assume the throne next season—that ought to be good for some laughs.
Lizzie plants her hands on her hips. “Erica. This was Gary’s final episode. This isn’t just a wrap on season two, it’s a wrap on Gary. You are not going to miss his farewell party. You wouldn’t do that.”
Damn. She’s right. No matter how much I want to go home, get in a bubble bath, and forget all about the fact that I’m famous for a few hours, I have to go to the party. Gary deserves that.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell Lizzie. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
“Yeah, you’d better be,” she says, turning her attention to the mirror, beginning to wipe off her makeup. “You don’t really want to give Jay the satisfaction of finding out he got you to stay home from a party, do you?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with Jay,” I protest.
Lizzie sighs. “Of course, it does,” she says. “You don’t have to lie to me, Erica. I know he totally humiliated you.”
Jay. Possibly the biggest mistake I’ve made since leaving home, and the one that most gave away how naive I still am, in spite of the fact that I’ve been here in LA for six years now.
It’s not that I loved him or anything. Of course, I didn’t. We only went on a couple of dates—we didn’t even sleep together. But I did like him. I thought there was something between us, and I was looking forward to getting to know him better.
He was level-headed, I thought. Down-to-earth. He owned a coconut stand on the beach and rented surfboards to tourists. On weekends, he gave surfing lessons. He was free-spirited and easygoing and nothing like any of the clamoring, ambitious people I work with every day.
Or so I thought.
Then he sold me out to a gossip magazine. I don’t know if he was even interested in me as a person. Probably not. Likely, he only went out with me to gather details that he could sell to anyone who was willing to buy.
Lizzie had warned me off the whole situation. Despite her girlishness, she’s a lot more savvy than I am when it comes to the ways of Hollywood. Her parents were both in the industry, and she grew up around all this.
“Don’t date someone who’s not in the business,” she warned me the first time I told her about Jay. “They get stars in their eyes and then they never see the real you. It’s not worth it.”
But I didn’t listen. I thought I knew better. I wanted it to be real with Jay. I wanted to believe that I’d finally found someone here in my new life who liked me for me—not a colleague, not someone who needs to get along with me in order to have a pleasant work environment, but a real friend. Not one of the many reporters or interviewers or bloggers who shout my name and take pictures when they see me walking out of the drugstore. Someone I could really talk to.
Jay, it transpired, was not that person.
“I wasn’t humiliated,” I correct Lizzie as my attendant eases Aeryn’s tunic off over my head. “I was lucky, really. I think Jay was hoping to uncover something scandalous about me. And there just isn’t anything that dark in my past.”
“Yeah, he was hoping the whole ‘sweet little girl from Ohio turned superstar’ thing was an act, for sure,” Lizzie agrees. “I’ve seen it before. A friend of my mom’s used to go around acting like she was fresh off the bus, and then it came out that she had done sex tapes before getting her first TV role. She never got cast as a good girl again, but she was able to make the most out of it. She actually came out of that situation with a lot more fame.”
“I wouldn’t want to get success that way,” I say, putting on my sweatpants.
“Me either,” Lizzie decides. “But maybe burlesque shows, or something more soft-core. But seriously, you’re okay about what Jay did?”
“I mean, I’m not wild about it,” I say.
The story Jay sold was one in which, unfortunately, I recognize myself all too well. It was the tale of a beloved Hollywood actress, gorgeous and admired from afar, who just hasn’t been able to fit in or feel at home since arriving in the city. Jay painted me as a farm girl out of my element, the unpopular kid in the high school lunchroom, awkward and shy and unsure. It’s played up for drama, of course—I don’t have that much trouble feeling at home—but at the dark heart of the story is some truth.
Jay’s name doesn’t appear anywhere in the article. He’s too smart for that, I suppose. He knows that if he and I started throwing stones at each other publicly, my fans would all come down on my side. He could be ruined, put out of business. Staying anonymous was a coward’s decision, perfectly in keeping with the man who pretended to care about me so he could make a quick buck off my struggles.
I don’t need to see his name to know it was him, though. “Erica Steadman loves to talk about the barn she used to sit alone in as a kid,” the source is cited as saying. I never told anyone but Jay about that.
I thought he’d understand, as independent and free-spirited as he was. I thought he would relate to the need to be alone with my thoughts. Instead, he makes it sound as if I was isolated or hiding out from the world, an outcast.
Everyone in the cast read that article. There’s no way they didn’t—I even saw a copy of the magazine in one of the green rooms. So, not only will I have to be networking at this party, putting in face time with the important people in my business, I’ll also be dodging questions and sympathetic stares about my poor, lonely life.
But going home would be proving Jay right.
The hell with him. I’m not too awkward and isolated to have a good time. I deserve it.
> Besides, this is Gary’s farewell party. And it’s more than just that. With season two filming at an end, the cast is about to scatter. Everyone will be heading to vacation homes or family homes, wherever they spend their time away from the set. A nice long hiatus from filming, a break during which I won’t have to be Princess Aeryn at all.
In truth, I’ll miss her. I love Aeryn. Stepping into her skin is empowering.
But this hiatus I’m looking forward to a trip back home. I’m leaving for Ohio in just a few days, and I’ll be staying in my parents’ house, sleeping in my childhood bedroom and completely forgetting about the realities of fame and LA and show business.
In Ohio, no one looks for famous people at the grocery store or the movie theater. I’ll be able to go out and have fun, breathe a little bit, without worrying every moment about my image and what might end up in the tabloids.
My parents’ friends will probably want me to sign a few dozen autographs and regale them with stories of what Chris Watson is really like, but I can deal with that. It could be a lot worse.
Lizzie finishes pulling on her clothes. “I’ll see you tonight, right?” she asks. “Promise you’re coming.”
“I’m coming,” I say. “You know I’m good for my word.”
“If you don’t come, and I drink too much, it’ll be all your fault.” She grins and hugs me. “Nobody cares about the article, babe. We’ve all had bad press. Most of us have had worse. At least it wasn’t one of those gross bikini pics where they pick apart your flaws.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” I say.
Lizzie leans over my shoulder and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you tonight,” she says and flits out the door, tote bag slung over her shoulder.
Chapter 2
The assistant director, Peter Cornwall, is a Hollywood enigma. He’s one of the only people I know in this town who made his money outside the industry, as a hotel magnate. You can stay in Cornwall hotels all around the world, and it wasn’t until Peter was in his late thirties that he decided to come to California to settle down and try his hand at directing.
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