Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

Gosar. His last name must be Gosar.

  I open another browser tab, type in “Alessandro Gosar,” hit search, and click back to my encyclopedia article to finish reading.

  “Although the throne has been occupied by the Gosar family for several generations, a recent ruler, former king Enzo Gosar, was forced to abdicate the throne thirty-five years ago. Enzo Gosar now holds the title of Duke of Avaran. Meanwhile, his younger brother Donato Gosar has assumed the throne and now holds the title of King of Avaran. Because of Enzo’s abdication, the line of succession has shifted from his family to Donato’s.”

  Which means that Alex must be Donato Gosar’s son, right? And Enzo is his uncle. Forced to abdicate… I wonder what happened there?

  I open a new tab and run a search on the name Enzo Gosar. Then I click back into the tab with the results from my search on Alex himself.

  My jaw drops.

  I don’t know exactly what I was expecting—maybe another encyclopedia article or a nice shot of the royal family—but it’s all tabloids. They’re not in English, so I can’t read the headlines, but God knows I’ve seen enough of this kind of publication to recognize what I’m looking at.

  This must be what Melissa was talking about when she said she’d seen Alex’s face everywhere while she was in Italy. Based on the design choices and layouts of the magazine covers, I’d be willing to bet they were fairly recent.

  I return to the tab about Enzo Gosar. There are tabloids here too, but there are also actual news articles, text instead of just photographs of magazine pages, so I’m able to have the internet translate them into English.

  The articles are old, probably older than anything I’ve found so far. It looks like there isn’t really any recent news about the former king—despite being a titled member of the royal family, he’s faded into obscurity.

  So much the better for me, really, because what I want to know about is what happened back then, not what he’s up to now. Why was he forced to step aside? Why is his brother—Alex’s father—now on the throne? Could something like that happen again?

  The encyclopedia article said that the country was in turmoil, but I know enough to know that those things are just written by internet users who may or may not know what they’re talking about. Newspaper articles are a much better source.

  The page finishes translating, and I settle in to read.

  “Enzo Gosar has abdicated the throne in disgrace after news emerged that Countess Giovanna Mancini is pregnant with his child.

  The countess and Gosar had been courting for several months, and this publication has speculated on his intentions to marry her. However, no proposal has yet been extended, and the couple remain unmarried.

  The throne will be assumed by Enzo Gosar’s next eldest brother, Donato Gosar. The royal family has yet to release a statement.”

  Oh, my God.

  Enzo Gosar, Alex’s uncle, impregnated a woman out of wedlock, and it was such a scandal that he was forced to give up his throne to his brother? The word disgrace catches and holds my eye, like a flashing red sign on the page. Disgrace. Is that what I’m going to bring to Alex? Will I humiliate him in front of his family by telling the truth? Will I cause him to be disinherited?

  I don’t think I could stand that. This whole situation is messy enough, but if I had to watch Alex lose his title because of me, it would break my heart. I was so certain when I made the decision to tell him I was pregnant, but now I have to admit that I had no idea what the stakes were, and I’m second-guessing everything.

  And from what I can tell of Enzo’s story, mine is even more scandalous. At least he knocked up a woman he was in a relationship with. A woman he knew well. A titled woman of Avaranian heritage. If this article is to be believed, he was on the verge of marrying her anyway, and things just happened a little out of order. Yet they still stripped him of his title. If that’s how they respond to unplanned pregnancies in the royal family of Avaran, what are they going to say when the unwed mother is some random girl from California—from Ohio?

  They’re not going to want anything to do with me in Avaran. And Alex—what if Alex hates me for disrupting his life, for putting him in an impossible position? I know it takes more than one person to become pregnant. It’s not my fault this happened. But maybe he’ll expect that I should know I’m on my own at this point.

  After all, he did say we shouldn’t keep in contact.

  I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, trying to collect myself. This is crazy. This exact same thing happened to Alex’s uncle, and it’s happening again now, just one generation later. And I have no idea anymore what I should do.

  Maybe I shouldn’t tell him.

  But no. Something deep within me refuses to accept that option. I have to tell him.

  I’ll do whatever I can to tell him privately, so he’ll have the power to keep it a secret at least until we decide what to do. I don’t want to bring him public shame or do anything to mess up his life, but he needs to know he’s going to be a father—not only for his sake, but for the sake of the child. This isn’t a secret I can keep for the next twenty years. My baby is going to want to know who his or her father is. I’m not going to be able to lie about that.

  But how on earth am I supposed to get in touch with a prince?

  If only I’d asked him for a contact number! Would he have given me one? I have to admit, I wouldn’t normally give my personal cell phone number to a guy after a one-night stand… Although, if Alex had asked, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

  Why does this have to be so difficult?

  I wish I could call Lizzie. She’s been in Hollywood so long that she’s become an expert at penetrating the layers of security around famous and influential people. She’s always getting us dinner reservations at some pop star’s favorite restaurant or taking us to the salon where a movie star gets her hair done on the off chance that we might run into someone who’s more of a big deal in this town than we are. It always seems like a long shot, and I always tease her, but it works out more often than you’d expect. We’ve come across our share of big names, and most of them recognize us from the show and are happy to chat a little.

  But that strategy wouldn’t work with Alex anyway, because he’s on the other side of the world. I can’t just try to figure out what bars or coffee shops he frequents. They’re all in Avaran. Of course, he did mention that he likes to come to California when he wants to get away from it all, but who knows when he’ll next want to do that?

  I can’t rely on it being anytime soon.

  Is it possible that there just isn’t a way to get in touch with him? That as much as I want to do the right thing here, the right thing is out of reach?

  It can’t be, can it? There’s got to be something I can do. He’s out there. There must be some way of reaching him, even if it is difficult, even if it involves a lot of leg work. It can’t be impossible.

  Maybe there’s contact information for the royal family at the palace. That seems like a long shot, but I search the words “Avaran palace address” just to see what comes up.

  They have a website! Avaran Palace Residence and Administrative Headquarters. It looks like an informational page, much like the encyclopedia article I began with on the country itself.

  I scroll down a bit further and a subheading appears.

  “Contact the Royal Family.”

  Really? This seems too good to be true. Can it really be as simple as clicking on a link and getting an email address or a phone number that will lead me to Alex?

  With bated breath, I click.

  The website surprises me. I’m expecting something ancient and very formal-looking, but it looks like it could belong to the administrator of an elementary school. It’s headed by an image of friendly looking motherly women attending to paperwork.

  I read:

  “Members of Avaran’s royal family may be contacted by mail at the following address:”

  An address follows. Immediately, without mean
ing to, I commit it to memory. This is where my baby’s father lives. This is where I can find him. It’s the most important piece of information in the world.

  And I can write to him! I can actually send him a letter, and it will get to him! He’ll open it, of course. I don’t doubt he receives hundreds of letters every day, but he’ll open mine. The time we spent together was enough to ensure that. The feeling of relief that floods me at the knowledge that I’ll be able to reach him, after all, is indescribable. I didn’t realize how afraid I was that it was hopeless.

  Then my eyes move further down the page.

  “All correspondence sent to the royal family is received and reviewed by private secretaries before being shown to the addressee.”

  The reality of it splashes through my elation, shattering it and sinking into the pit of my stomach like a stone.

  Who are these secretaries? How private are they? Would a letter to Alex remain confidential, seen only by himself and the person whose responsibility it was to read it first? Or would the reader divulge the salacious information I’d have to include in the letter to someone else? Would they tell the king, Alex’s father?

  If there’s even a chance of Alex’s father reading my letter, I realize, I can’t send it. Not when it could cause such damage in Alex’s life, cause him to lose his throne and his title.

  I press my fingers against my temples, trying to think. Just when I thought I’d found a solution, it evaporated. Of course they’ll show the letter to the king. That’s probably why they employ private secretaries to open letters in the first place—to control the flow of information.

  Maybe I wouldn’t even be believed. Maybe the king would assume I was a chaser of gold or titles, trying to get attention. Maybe, after hearing that Alex and I had indeed met in California, he would assume that now I was lying, trying to leverage our meeting for power or fame.

  Maybe he would convince Alex that I was lying.

  I hate this. I hate thinking these awful things about a man I don’t even know. But how can I trust him with my future and the future of my child, especially knowing what happened to his brother when he was in this situation? Enzo Gosar was removed from the throne, and Donato Gosar benefited directly from that removal. I can’t put my faith in such a man.

  So what’s left? Do I send Alex a letter with no information in it, asking him to contact me? He won’t, will he? This is the same conversation we had as he was leaving. It’s better for us to cut ties and not try to hold on to each other, that was Alex’s opinion. And if I write to him now, even if I say I have something important to talk about, he’s just going to think I’m trying to revisit that question. He’s going to assume I’m writing to him to reestablish contact and for no other reason.

  He might even throw my letter away unopened. He might consider it too painful, reading my words, hearing what he’ll assume are going to be pleas for reconnection.

  There’s no point in trying to establish contact this way.

  And, I realize heavily, that means there’s only one option left. There’s only ever been one option. I think it’s been in the back of my head since the little plus sign appeared on that pregnancy test. I think I knew when I was searching for information on Avaran and saw the pictures of the narrow, cobbled city streets and brightly colored buildings.

  I’m going to have to go there.

  I’m expecting it to feel like a chore. I’m expecting to dread it. But as soon as the decision crystallizes in my mind, I’m surprised by a fluttering of excitement. How long has it been since I’ve left LA, not including my brief trips home to Ohio? How long has it been since I’ve been somewhere new? I don’t even remember. And I’ve never been to Europe before.

  And I’ll see Alex again.

  At least, I have to hope that I will.

  I know it will be complicated. I know I can’t just walk up to the door of the palace and ring the doorbell. But I’ll have to figure out exactly how to put myself in contact with him once I’m there. Maybe Lizzie’s tricks will come in handy, and I’ll run into him getting coffee. And if not…I guess I’ll just have to speak to whoever’s in charge of admitting visitors to the palace and see if I can be granted an audience.

  It’s a long shot. But there’s nothing else for me to do but try.

  Chapter 10

  I want to leave right away, but life is never so accommodating, and I can’t disappear from filming or I’ll never be hired again. Fortunately, Martine has a family vacation planned in a few days, so we have a scheduled break in filming. It’s only for about a week, but it will be long enough for me to do what I have to do.

  Avaran is so small, it turns out, that I can’t buy a ticket directly there from the United States, so I end up with connections through New York and Rome. It’ll be the longest plane trip I’ve ever taken by a significant margin, and I’m not especially looking forward to being crammed into a metal tube hour after hour.

  I’m not afraid of flying, exactly, or of traveling alone, but I feel a need to let someone know where I’m going just in case something goes wrong. I decide, after careful consideration, on Gary Breyer, who has never been a gossip and who I think I can trust to keep sensitive information to himself. If Lizzie or Melissa find out I’m in Avaran, this thing is going to grow legs in a hurry. I shoot Gary a quick email explaining that I’m going on vacation for a week and that I just wanted to make sure somebody knew where I was, and I attach my itinerary.

  He must be at his computer because a minute later a reply pings back: “Have a great time! Let me know if you need anything.”

  With my trip planned and the details taken care of, the days start to flow together. Before I know it, I’m at LAX waiting to board the plane that will take me to Avaran and, hopefully, to Alex.

  The flight is interminable. I try to pass the time by watching movies on the little screen built into the back of the seat in front of me, but everything I find is either a shoot-’em-up-style action movie, which doesn’t appeal to me at all, or a story of lovers reuniting, which hits too close to home.

  The best thing to be said about the journey is that at least I haven’t been seated next to any overeager Royal Blue fans. The idea of spending the entire journey talking about the show and Princess Aeryn is overwhelming. I need to relax so I’ll feel calm when I arrive.

  The last plane, from Rome to Avaran, is shockingly small and largely empty. I have a whole row of seats to myself, which is unprecedented for me on a plane. I know Avaran isn’t a well-known place back home, but surely the Italians must know about it? They share a border. I wonder why so few people are traveling this direction.

  We land after just an hour, and I watch as a rolling set of stairs is wheeled up to the plane. I’ve never exited a plane straight into the outdoors before. Already this trip is foreign to me.

  I step outside into early morning, sunrise. It’s just a little off somehow, the air just a slightly different color and weight than what I’m used to back home. It’s not uncomfortable, and it’s nothing I can put a name to, but the difference is enough to be distracting. There’s something about Avaran that just doesn’t feel like home.

  I’ll have to ask Alex about that. He’s been to both countries. He’ll understand what I mean.

  Of course, first I’ll have to find Alex. And get him to agree to talk to me. And if we do get that far, I doubt we’ll be talking about the weather for quite some time. There are more important things to cover.

  Welcome to Avaran, I think to my baby. I’ve gotten into the habit of imagining that he or she can hear and understand my thoughts. Even though I know it makes no sense, it feels true, in a way. We’re so closely linked. We share everything right now. Why shouldn’t we share a mind?

  This is where your father lives. You don’t know it yet, but you’re royalty here.

  Well, that or an outcast. Or both.

  I feel a flare of anxiety. How are we going to be received here? I don’t think I’d be shocked by anything, from a welcome t
o exile from the country. It’s terrifying to face what’s in store, but I know I have no choice. I’ve made my decision. I’ve come this far.

  God, it all started out so simply. The purity of my attraction to Alex, my determination to get him into my bed, feels like a lifetime ago. How could I have imagined that an encounter like that would have no fallout? Even if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I can’t ignore the fact that I’ve been mired in my feelings about him for weeks now. He’s proven impossible to get over.

  And now I’m going to be seeing him again.

  A vision of him, naked in my bedroom, flashes into my mind, and I close my eyes as a delicious shiver passes through me. That body. Those eyes. The way his hands felt on me all night long. The way I yearned to be closer to him, even as we became more and more intimate.

  I know it’s extremely unlikely that anything physical can happen between us again, and that’s going to make it even harder to face him than it would have been. And it’s going to make it doubly hard if he’s unhappy to see me.

  But how could he possibly be happy to see me? Alex must have been raised knowing the story of his uncle, Enzo, and the scandal that removed him from power. He’ll be mortified to find himself caught up in the very same situation.

  Inside the airport, the signs are in multiple languages. Luckily for me, one of them is English, and I’m able to find my way to baggage claim and then to the exit without too much trouble. There’s a line for taxis outside, and I join it.

  Once I’m inside a car, the driver says something to me in what I assume is Avaranian, and I hand him the slip of paper with the name and address of the hotel where I booked a room. He looks at it and nods, shooting me a thumbs up.

  “English?” I ask.

  He shrugs and smiles.

  Just as well. I’m not sure I feel like talking.

  I settle back in my seat and watch as the Avaranian landscape surrounding the airport gives way to the city. It’s so strange that I was just looking at this place in the image results of an internet search, and now I’m really here. I can feel the cobblestones I noticed beneath us, rattling the car in a way I’m not used to. It’s different from driving on asphalt-paved American roads.