Surprise Packages

by Layla Valentine

  When finally he returns, however, the vibe coming off him is so stressed that I know at once our day in bed together is no longer an option.

  Sure enough, before I can say anything, before I can ask him who was on the phone or what it was about, he’s reaching for his sweater and pulling it over his head. I grab an extra-large T-shirt from my dresser that I usually sleep in, pull it over my head, and clamber out of bed.

  “What’s going on, Alex?”

  “Nothing,” he says.

  I’m stunned by the distance, the coolness, in his tone. It’s not impolite, not exactly, but he’s talking to me as if we’re strangers instead of people who spent the night together. All the closeness that was between us, all his attentiveness to me, seems to have evaporated in the time he spent out on the balcony.

  How could it all have just gone away so quickly?

  I’m not the kind of person who’s prone to overly romanticizing things. It’s not like me to make more of something than was actually there. And last night with Alex was absolutely the most amazing connection with a man I’ve ever had. Both mentally and physically, it seemed like we were in exactly the same place. And now it’s just gone? It doesn’t make sense.

  He goes into the living room and sits down on the couch to pull on his shoes. I follow.

  “Are you leaving?” I ask, feeling pathetic.

  “I have to,” he says.

  “I thought we were going to get brunch.”

  I feel like the saddest girl in the world. I didn’t even want to get brunch with him. I wanted to spend the day in bed. But now it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers and I’m grasping to hold on to anything I can. It’s humiliating.

  Alex shakes his head. “No time. I’m sorry. I need to get to the airport right away.”

  “To the airport?” Now I’m confused. “I thought you were here on vacation. Didn’t you say you were staying for a while?”

  I try to think back over our conversation last night. I could have sworn he told me he’d be in California for a few weeks. Did I just imagine that because it’s what I wanted to hear?

  “I have to cut my trip short,” Alex says. “I need to get back to the palace. It was a mistake to think I could stay here for any real length of time. I should know better, really.”

  “Alex, who was that on the phone?”

  But he just shakes his head again. He’s patting his pockets now in a way that’s all too familiar to me. I’ve seen men do this dozens of times, always right before they walk out the door. He’s making sure he has everything.

  “Please, Alex,” I try one more time. “Can’t we just get breakfast before you go? Maybe talk about this?”

  We’re never going to see each other again if you leave this way, I think, but don’t say aloud. I guess I do have a scrap of dignity left.

  “I can’t,” he says firmly. “I need to catch a plane.”

  “There are planes leaving all the time,” I protest. “What difference is an hour going to make?”

  And for the two of us, it could make all the difference in the world. We could make a plan, arrange to see each other in the future, at least discuss the possibility of keeping in contact…

  “Listen, Erica,” Alex says. “This was fun. I had a really nice time.”

  I feel humiliated tears welling up behind my eyes and swallow hard to choke them down. So it was only a one-night stand. How foolish I was to imagine something more.

  “I think,” Alex continues, “that it would be best if we ended things now. On a positive note. Any kind of future for the two of us…it’s just too impractical, isn’t it? You need to be here so you can film your show, and I need to be back in Avaran taking care of royal business.”

  “Is that what that call was?” I ask, and to my surprise, I manage to keep all bitterness out of my tone.

  A few tears spill over, and with them, my embarrassment and feelings of being pathetic seem to dry up. It’s okay that I’m sad about this, I realize. The connection between Alex and me—that was real. I didn’t imagine it.

  “I can’t really talk about that call,” he says, and for the first time, I’m acutely aware of the status of the person standing in my home. The difference between celebrities and royalty has never seemed so stark. I don’t have secrets the way he does. I don’t have anything I couldn’t tell him.

  “So this is it,” I say quietly.

  It’s not really a question. He’s been telling me since he got off the phone, and I understand him well enough. He has to leave now, and we have to end whatever this is before it starts.

  Maybe he can see how sad I am about that, because something in his face softens.

  “I really did have a wonderful night,” he says, and for a moment I’m caught all over again in the warmth of his eyes. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. Really I do.”

  “I know,” I say regretfully. “I know you’re right, Alex.”

  “We’ll always have last night,” he says. “One perfect night. I know I’ll always remember it that way. I wish it could have been more, but I’m glad we got to have what we did.”

  I nod. “Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

  He crosses the room in two strides, sweeps me into his arms, and kisses me, long and hard. It feels like he’s pouring the entire future we’ll never have into that kiss, and everything that might have been is being explored and celebrated between us right now.

  The kiss goes on and on, and for just a moment I start to believe that he might have changed his mind. Maybe he isn’t in such a hurry to leave. If I can just get him back to bed…

  He pulls away. “It was wonderful meeting you, Erica,” he says.

  And then he turns and disappears, the door closing behind him, and it’s as if he was never here at all.

  I press my fingers to my lips, which are still sore, reassuring myself that I didn’t imagine him. He was really here. I had a prince—the sexiest man I’ve ever met—in my house just a minute ago.

  And now I’ve lost him. He’s out of my life for good.

  I know he’s right. There’s too much in the way of our pursuing any kind of future. How could we have a relationship when he lives in Avaran and I live in California, practically on opposite sides of the globe? How could we even be friends when he’s busy all the time with whatever royalty does and I’m working eighty-hour weeks on film sets?

  Yes, he’s definitely right to end things now.

  I’m glad. I’m glad he had the strength to do it.

  It would have dragged on, rotted, turned from beautiful and magical to stale and painful as we struggled to make a complex long-distance relationship work.

  And in the end, of course, it would have ended, and it would have been a horrible, very public breakup because there’s no way we could keep Princess Aeryn Redfall dating the real-life prince of Avaran out of the tabloids. Everyone would have known, and everyone would have had an opinion, and there would have been articles on the internet from people who knew nothing about either of us about which of us had done the other wrong.

  He’s right, so why do I feel like my heart is breaking?

  I collapse onto my sofa, exhausted, overwhelmed by how quickly my plans for the day have changed. I’m not going back to Ohio for another week. Alex is gone. All my friends are people from the show, and they’ve already started to scatter for the hiatus. And if anyone is left in town, I’d be too embarrassed to face them after ditching the party the way I did last night.

  I pull a pillow over my face and let myself imagine I’m back with Alex, that his hands are roaming over me again the way they were last night. The chemistry between us, the connection, was truly unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and I doubt I’ll ever find anything like it again.

  No sooner had I found it, it was gone.

  Chapter 7

  Six Weeks Later

  Today, I tell myself firmly as I get dressed, I am not going to think about Alex.

  The only
problem is that I’ve been making this promise to myself every morning, and never once have I succeeded in keeping it. And I know that part of the problem is the fact that I’m pledging not to think about him—trying not to think about something or someone almost guarantees that you will think about it. Them. Him.

  Alex.

  I wish I’d had the presence of mind during our short time together to take a photo of him. I wish I had some kind of evidence of our time together. But, of course, if I did have a photo, I’m sure I’d spend all my time staring at it and never get anything done.

  God. This was supposed to be a one-night stand. I shouldn’t be this hung up on it—on him.

  I grab my keys and head out the door, fully aware that, contrary to my pledge, I’ve done almost nothing but think about Alex so far this morning.

  When push came to shove, I found I wasn’t able to tell Lizzie what happened that night. I don’t know why. Maybe I just wanted to keep the truth for myself.

  “Yes, it was him,” I said when she called me up the next day to press me for details about the mysterious prince of Avaran. “Melissa was right. He was trying to keep a low profile, though.”

  She was ecstatic. “You hooked up with a European prince!”

  “We just had drinks,” I lied. “He’s a fan of the show, so he wanted to hear all about it, and I thought his life was interesting too. It was just one of those fun encounters.”

  “Some people have all the luck,” Lizzie moaned. “Why is it that whenever I meet a fan, it’s either a skeevy dude or a huge nerd?”

  “Women like your character, too,” I pointed out.

  She made a dismissive noise. “That’s great and everything, but come on. A real live prince? That beats everything.”

  She didn’t know the half of it. The more I look back on that night, the more I feel like I was in a fairy tale. A handsome prince emerging from out of nowhere—almost literally out of nowhere, just bumping into me as we turned a corner in opposite directions. Discovering that we hit it off more perfectly than I have with anyone I’ve ever met before.

  It’s surreal and wonderful in my memory, but always, always, I wake up in the cold reality where it’s already happened and slipped through my fingers. The most magical event of my life was over almost before it had a chance to begin.

  I drive to my favorite coffee shop to pick up a drink. It’s a new routine for me. When I’m filming Royal Blue, I don’t drink coffee, because the physicality of my work gives me plenty of adrenaline. You don’t need caffeine when you’re filming fight scenes. But during the hiatus, I’ve found my body craves that spike of additional energy.

  I pull into the parking lot outside Alabaster Studios and climb out of my car and into the sunlight, juggling my purse and my coffee. There must be something wrong with me, I think wryly as I make my way toward the door. This was supposed to be my vacation, my time to go back to Ohio and feel normal for a little while. I was going to be back with my parents, having breakfast made for me by my mom every morning, playing chess with my dad by the fire in the evenings, and just generally not being in Hollywood. But before I had even unpacked my bags, I was on my way back.

  It’s all my agent’s fault, really. I told Debra I was going to take the hiatus off and do absolutely nothing. I knew she didn’t like it. I’m her most successful client, after all.

  She took me on when I was small time—she mostly works with commercial actors—and when I landed the gig on Royal Blue, she worried I was going to ditch her for a more hotshot agency. I could have. They courted me. But Debra was the one who got me that audition in the first place. She’s always believed in me, and I’m loyal to her.

  She doesn’t like it when I’m not working, though.

  “Couldn’t we book you some paid appearances, at least?” she asked. “You could do a signing in Vancouver. I know you’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “I’ve always wanted to go there on vacation,” I corrected. “And that’s what this hiatus is going to be. A vacation. Not work.”

  She let it go. But one week later, she sent me the script that made me eat my own words with a knife and fork.

  I’ve always been in awe of the work Alabaster Studios produces. It’s an independent studio, which means they don’t have as much money as some of the big guys, but they have a lot more freedom when it comes to deciding which scripts to make. They take chances on the kind of projects that big studios would be afraid of.

  The film I’m working on is about a girl who becomes lost and stranded out on the tundra with only her sled dogs for company. My scenes are almost entirely nonverbal, and I get to work closely with the animals, which is so much fun. There are horses on the set of Royal Blue, but I’ve never shared a scene with them.

  Inside, the director, Martine, is sitting by craft services and snacking on a donut. She waves when she sees me come in and beckons me over.

  “You’re early,” she says.

  “I’ve been sleeping weirdly,” I admit. “I was awake.”

  She examines me. “You do look a little tired. But that’s probably good for the character. I’ll have makeup check you for continuity though. We don’t want you looking a lot more tired than you did in yesterday’s shots.” She tosses me an apple. “Eat something, for God’s sake. You’re so skinny it’s ridiculous.”

  “I’ve actually gone up a few pounds,” I confide.

  She rolls her eyes. “Actresses.”

  Almost pointedly, she takes a big bite of her donut. I bite into the apple and head to my dressing room to prepare for the day’s work.

  The scene we’re shooting today is one in which my character takes shelter in a cave with her dogs and tries to build a fire. Once I’m dressed in the dirty rags that comprise my costume, I head out onto the set to greet the dogs. Part of the schedule is always spending a few minutes with them so they can get acclimated to me.

  Liam, the trainer, has them all seated and waiting for me.

  “So, today you’re going to be working very closely with Nome,” he says.

  He makes a signal with his fingers and one of the dogs steps out of line. I recognize him by his darker coat and bright blue eyes. He’s the one who ran at the head of the pack, back when my character still had a sled.

  “The others are going to pile up at the back of the cave, but on his cue, Nome is going to come over and lie down on top of you to keep you warm.”

  I nod. “What do I need to do?”

  “Just keep still. He’s not expecting you to move, and if you do, he’ll think that means get off.”

  “They won’t go too near the fire, will they? I don’t want anyone to get burned.”

  “No, no. They’re sensible enough to keep clear of that,” Liam assures me.

  I nod and head over to the stage.

  It occurs to me, suddenly, that I haven’t thought about Alex since I arrived at the studio, and I take a moment to congratulate myself on that feat, but of course now I’m thinking about him again.

  This is how it’s been every day. I try to lose myself in my work. It’s such an interesting movie, and I really am excited to be a part of it. At any other time in my life, this would be all I could think about. But now I can barely keep my mind in the present.

  It’s not just his body, either—although it totally is his body. I’ve felt more sexually voracious in the past few weeks than I think I ever have in my life, even as a teenager. And I know exactly what’s causing it. It’s got to be the memory of that night with Alex. It’s running through the back of my head all the time, and I feel like I’m always watching a dirty film.

  But it’s more than that. I want to talk to him. I want to tell him about the movie I’m making. I want to tell him about Nome and ask him if he likes dogs. I want to know what’s going on in Avaran. I could use a search engine to find the answer to that last question, of course, but every time I sit down at my computer I pull away. I don’t want to ask the question. Maybe I’m just afraid of what seeing his fa
ce again will unlock in me.

  I can’t believe it’s been six weeks already.

  Six weeks.

  Six weeks…

  Something clunks into place in my head, suddenly and unpleasantly, and my stomach swoops with realization.

  I’m late. My period is very, very late.

  It’s circumstantial, it must be. It doesn’t mean what my first thought is that it must mean, but suddenly other things are starting to add up, and they’re forming a complete picture that’s all too telling. Things like how tired I’ve been. It’s not because I’m not getting my usual adrenaline rush. My libidinousness isn’t due to constantly reminiscing on my time with Alex—or, at least, it’s not solely due to that. Even my weight gain makes sense.

  I’m pregnant.

  But I can’t be, can I? Alex and I used protection. I remember my lessons from health class that protection isn’t one hundred percent effective, but it’s damn close. How could this have happened?

  Feeling shaky, I turn and walk back off the set.

  Martine stares at me as I approach her.

  “What’s with you?” she asks. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Not feeling well,” I say, hearing the tremor in my own voice. “I’m sorry. I think I might be sick. Do you think we could postpone the shoot a few hours?”

  “Do you need me to call you a car?” she asks.

  “No, I’ll be fine to get home,” I say.

  “All right. Take the rest of the day off, then. We’ll just pick it up tomorrow. But call me if this gets any worse, okay? If we’re going to have to cancel tomorrow too, I’d rather switch the shooting order so we can shoot one of the scenes you’re not in.”

  I nod. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Martine says, not unkindly. “Get some rest.”

  I stagger out to my car. Once I’m inside, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and try to think.

  Pregnant.

  Honestly, there’s a part of me—under all the anxiety and worry and dread about what’s to come—that’s a bit excited. It seems like every day one of my old high school friends is announcing her pregnancy on social media. Some of them have babies already and send me pictures in the mail or on holiday cards. They all look so happy.