Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “It really is a beautiful place,” I say. “It feels fit for royalty.”

  He nods. “My great-grandfather had it designed when he sat on the throne. He always regretted the fact that the palace had to be in the city. My father feels differently—he says it’s important for us to be close to the people, and that if we isolated ourselves on the coast, we couldn’t appreciate the needs of those we ruled. But it is nice to have somewhere to get away to. It’s one of the perks of royal life that makes me feel a little guilty, but that I can’t help enjoying.”

  “I know what you mean,” I agree.

  “At least you have a job,” he says. “You work hard for your status.”

  “Ruling a country is much more of a job than what I do,” I object.

  “But I don’t do that yet,” he points out. “Until my father passes the throne to me, I’m basically in school. I accompany him to meetings and meet with heads of state, but it’s all just training for the role I’ll have someday. And yet, all my life I’ve been treated like I’m important.”

  “You are important,” I tell him, resting a hand on his.

  He smiles and leans his head into mine, our temples meeting.

  “I can’t believe I’m here with the star of Royal Blue. Who would have thought?”

  “Who would have thought I’d be here with a prince?” I counter. I can’t keep myself from laughing. “We’re ridiculous. Do you actually think I’m a bigger deal than you are?”

  “In some ways you are,” he says. “And, of course, you’re a much bigger deal to me. I feel like I’ve been looking for you all my life.”

  “You’re so sweet.” I kiss him on the lips. “When will we see each other again? Will you come to LA?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I would like to. But I won’t be able to do it until I speak to Parliament, and to my family. Maybe not even then. It’s possible they’ll insist that their meeting you be the next step we follow.”

  He meets my eyes. “Please don’t take offense, Erica, but they are going to want to know who you are. They’ll want to make sure I’m not being taken in by someone with bad intentions.”

  “You mean someone who wants to hurt Avaran?” I ask. “I’d never do that.”

  “I know you wouldn’t. I’m not suggesting you would. And the idea is offensive to both of us. That I could be fooled like that.” He shakes his head. “Still, Parliament won’t allow anyone close to the throne without a review. So you’ll have to come back here at some point and prove your integrity.”

  “At some point I won’t be able to travel, though,” I say. “I’ll be too pregnant to fly. We need to answer some questions before that time comes. Like, where are we going to have the baby? Here or in LA?”

  “I assume here,” he says slowly. “It’s important that my child have Avaranian citizenship.”

  I want my parents to be around when my child is born, but I have to admit, Alex’s point makes sense.

  “Well, if that’s the case, we’ll have to figure out when I’m coming here to give birth, and where I’m going to be. And then…there’s the issue of living arrangements after the baby comes, and where we’re going to be…I know this is a lot, and we don’t have to figure it all out right now, but there’s plenty to think through.”

  “Yes, there is,” Alex agrees. He’s not smiling anymore.

  He drives me back to my hotel after breakfast and kisses me goodbye, but it feels like the trip has already come to an end. There’s a distance between us now, wedged in by the worry about the decisions we need to make together.

  The future is no longer a clear blue sky where everything is going to work out perfectly for us. At the moment, it feels more like a sea that looks beautiful and serene but contains hidden dangers just below the surface.

  Chapter 15

  Three Weeks Later

  My mornings have become routine, even though I’m not working right now. I roll out of bed and make my way to the full-length mirror in my bathroom, stopping along the way to start a pot of water boiling. I’m lucky in that one of the most annoying things about pregnancy has been having to vastly reduce my daily coffee intake. I feel sort of noble about the fact that I’m sacrificing my go-to energy boost for the sake of my unborn child, even though I know there are a thousand larger sacrifices to come.

  In the bathroom, I shower, taking my time about it since I don’t have anywhere in particular to be today. The book I managed to order without alerting anyone to my condition has led me to expect that pregnancy will give me thicker hair, and the doctor I saw in confidence told me that my prenatal vitamins might cause my hair to become shinier than it normally is. I’ve been monitoring both factors carefully, but so far I haven’t seen any change.

  I stand naked in front of the mirror and examine my body, turning first to the right and then to the left. I know I’m not visibly pregnant yet when I’m dressed, and thank God for that—I haven’t had to explain anything, answer awkward questions, or pretend I’m just putting on weight.

  Standing here unclothed, though, I can see it. At least, I think I can. Maybe I’m just imagining that swelling between my hips, that place where my usually flat stomach bows out ever so slightly.

  I take the tape measure I’ve been keeping here in the bathroom and wrap it around myself, checking. The number hasn’t increased yet.

  I put on my underclothes, turn sideways, and snap a picture of my profile with my phone. I’ve been doing this every day, saving them up to make a slideshow so I can show Alex all the days he missed of our baby’s growth.

  When I first had the idea, I felt certain it was a good one. I was sure he’d be grateful for my efforts. I was excited to be able to show it to him, so excited that I had trouble not texting him and letting him know what I was doing.

  But things have changed since then.

  It’s been three weeks. Three weeks since I returned home from Avaran. Three weeks of the same routine, wandering around my house, trying to keep myself busy.

  And three long, lonely weeks with hardly a word at all from Alex.

  What could possibly have happened? We parted on such good terms. I was sure our future held nothing but bliss, and I half expected him to call me as soon as I texted him that I’d landed safely in LA. When he didn’t call that night, I chalked it up to the time difference, did the math, and stayed awake the next night, hoping my phone would ring.

  It didn’t.

  It still hasn’t.

  I tried to force myself to stay busy. The first week was easy enough. We were finishing up filming at Alabaster Studios. That was a bit of a mixed blessing for me personally.

  On one hand, I have to admit that it’s a good thing I’m not going to be coming into work in a few more weeks, when my pregnant belly starts to show for real. It’s a good thing I won’t have to try to mislead a production team about a pregnancy. I know actresses who have done it, been discovered, and lost their contracts on the grounds that they lied. I know others who have succeeded and told me in secret how emotionally exhausting it was to cover something like that up, combined with the physical exhaustion of just being in the beginning stages of pregnancy. So I’m grateful that’s not something I have to worry about.

  On the other hand, it was good to have something to do every day. I have my morning routine now—wake up, shower, measure my belly while checking myself out in the mirror. But after this, I have nothing.

  I try to make sure I get healthy meals so my baby can be well nourished, which means I spend more time going through cookbooks and preparing things than I used to. I spend a lot of time with my pregnancy book, too, curled up on my bed or in a warm bath or out in my garden, reading up on what I can expect in the months ahead.

  But my mind always drifts to Alex. Why hasn’t he called me? I was so sure he would, after the closeness between us when I went to Avaran. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

  I was happy to go along with his request for these first few weeks. Keeping my pregnancy
quiet until we had the chance to work out our own plans made sense to me too—the last thing I wanted was gossip columnists and tabloid journalists speculating about the father of my child, pairing me up in their publications with God-only-knows who, or worse, getting it right and calling Alex out publicly. I would have hated to see him humiliated like that.

  But keeping quiet isn’t going to make sense for much longer. I may be done with the Alabaster Studios shoot, but I’m still a famous face. Everywhere I go, my picture is taken. Every picture that’s taken is analyzed by the gossips. They notice if I’m wearing sunglasses—maybe it means I’m hungover—or if I’m not wearing makeup. And if I start to become visibly pregnant, or even to wear baggier clothes, it’s not going to go unseen.

  I need to announce this pregnancy myself before I lose the opportunity to control the story. But I can’t do that until I speak to Alex and get his consent. And I can’t do that until he calls me.

  We’ve texted a few times, back and forth, but nothing of substance has been said. And I’m clever enough to read the signs. Always, I am the one to initiate conversation. His answers are quick and direct, but always short. There are no terms of endearment and no indication that he misses me at all. We might as well be business partners, for all the warmth he shows me. I haven’t dared to bring up the question of what the future holds for us. With the way he’s acting right now, I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.

  My social life has already begun to suffer. Even though I’m not sure whether or not my pregnancy is showing, I don’t dare to take any chances. What if I went to a public function, an awards show or a party, and a reporter asked an uncomfortable question? How would I handle it? What would my answer be? I’d probably blurt out something completely unhelpful and damning out of sheer nerves.

  Then there’s the issue of morning sickness. I’m not suffering today, thank God, but it’s been very unpredictable and on some mornings very severe. I’ve spent hours hunched over the toilet, then crawled back to my bed to lie in the dark, only to discover that it wasn’t over after all.

  That means I’m completely out of commission when it comes to anything that takes place in the morning. I’ve canceled meetings with my agent twice now because I don’t want to risk throwing up in her office and having to explain myself.

  Even my parents don’t yet know that I’m pregnant, and that’s the most painful thing of all. I’m used to keeping parts of my life secret from my fans and from journalists. I’m not used to keeping secrets from my family.

  My original plan was to return to Ohio after I finished filming at Alabaster and spend the rest of hiatus holed up at my parents’ house, but I haven’t been able to return for fear they’ll put the signs together and figure out what’s going on with me. My parents have always been intuitive. Fooling them would be much harder than fooling anyone else.

  And more than that, I want to tell them. Their first grandchild. I know they’d be excited. They’ve never been the sort to pressure me about giving them grandchildren, but they love kids, and it’s a big deal. They’ll be ecstatic when they hear the news, and they’ll be deeply hurt, I know, by the fact that I waited so long to tell them. Every day I put it off is one more sprinkle of salt in that wound.

  But I can’t tell them. Because the first question they’d ask would be “who’s the father?” And that’s the one question I can’t answer. Until I know what Alex and I are going to do, I can’t tell anybody. It’s excruciating.

  He’ll call me. He’ll call me once he has a resolution from his family and from Parliament. I have to believe that.

  I pull on a green jersey dress and examine myself in the mirror again. I think maybe the dress fits a little more tightly than I’m used to—the top part across my chest is definitely snug. It’s amazing how much I’m yearning to see my belly swell up when I know it’s the evidence that will blow my cover. I want my baby to grow big and healthy. I want it deeply, viscerally, in a way that subverts and surpasses all logic.

  I’ve been completely alone for the past two weeks, with the exception of a few phone calls to my parents and to my agent. I’ve had no one else to talk to. It’s not just the lack of Alex’s voice that’s driving me crazy, it’s the lack of anyone. But who could I call? It’s not like I can talk about what’s going on with me. For lack of anyone to converse with, I’ve found myself going deeper and deeper into my own mind, questioning everything I think I know.

  Like that night in Avaran. Was it really as magical as I thought it was? Could any night be that magical?

  I must have blown it up in my mind, convinced myself it was more than it was.

  I hate that I’m thinking this way. I was so certain when I was with him. I remember that certainty—it’s imprinted on my heart. I can feel it even now, when I think of the feeling of his hands on my body, his breath on my neck, the gentle way he carried me across the beach and back to his cottage.

  But he knew the truth at that point, a small voice deep inside me argues. He knew you were pregnant. What if he was already plotting to escape any responsibility for it? What if he wants nothing to do with you or the baby, and he was just too much of a coward to admit it?

  No. Alex isn’t like that. He’s a good man. He wants to serve his kingdom. He wants to do right by the people of Avaran. Surely the same intentions apply to his son or daughter.

  That’s just what he told you, the voice says. It feels like it’s mocking me. I can actually feel myself blushing. Of course, he would present himself as noble and upstanding. Of course, he wants you to believe he’s a good man. How else would the trick work? You’d never have left him alone if you didn’t believe he was honorable.

  I did believe he was honorable…

  Could it be true? Could he have been lying the whole time, adopting a false persona, treating me kindly so I’d never suspect that his true intentions were to get rid of me?

  I have to admit that his messages have been abrupt to the point of coldness. If I weren’t carrying his child, I would have taken the hint by now and stopped reaching out to him. But this is Alex. It’s so much harder to believe that the man who held me and told me we were meant to be together, and that our baby was a sign, could want me out of his life.

  That could be what he wants, though. How well do I really know him?

  I know he’s royal, and that he’s been raised to deal with heads of state. Surely he must have the skills of a politician—the ability to flatter and lie, to tell people what they want to hear with the ultimate goal of getting his own way. How easily he convinced me to keep my pregnancy a secret, even from my own family! What a clever strategy it would be to think of a story that makes perfect sense and assure me that that was the reason for the secrecy.

  And what a genius move it would be, too. If his ultimate plan is to claim my child isn’t his, then the more time he can put between the night we spent together and my declaration of pregnancy, the muddier the waters will become. Already I could have been with a dozen men. It’s a story tabloid writers won’t hesitate to believe. And it’s not as if I can demand a paternity test of a prince—nor do I want to, really. I don’t want to entrap him into some kind of relationship, and I don’t need his money.

  But I do want my child to have a father. I won’t pretend I don’t want that.

  And even though I have serious cause to doubt the bond I thought I shared with Alex, I have to admit that I still want the beautiful future with him that I dreamed of.

  I still fantasize about his touch and the sound of his voice in my ear, his thick, powerful muscles dominating me, taking command as we make love, then losing it at the very last moment. I fantasize about the thrill of my body being enough to shatter his perfect control. That much happened the way I’m remembering it; I’m sure it did. Sex like that couldn’t have been faked. It was real, and it was the most intense thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. Alex couldn’t possibly walk away from that twice, could he?

  Unless it was only good for me?
>
  No. I don’t believe that. I refuse to believe that. I was there in that moment with him. This isn’t about him not having an interest in me, physically or even personally. This is about him wanting nothing to do with my pregnancy and trying to establish a credible distance between us. This is him dropping hints that I should just go away.

  I rest a hand on my belly, where even now my child is growing. I have to protect my baby. I have to provide the best possible life for him or her. I am not going to just go away.

  I grab my phone, intending to call Alex and force him to speak to me. I pull up his contact information, but as my thumb hovers over the call button, I lose my nerve.

  Who knows what he’s doing right now? Even though he’s treated me poorly, even though I do want to call him out on it, I still don’t have any wish to shame him in front of the rest of Avaran. If the wrong person is in the room when my call comes through, if someone overhears me, it could spell trouble for all of us.

  All of this is true, but it’s also an excuse. Really, I’m just too nervous to speak to him.

  I type out a text—“we need to talk”—and press send.

  I’m expecting his usual quick reply, but there’s no answer.

  I set the phone down, walk into the kitchen, and occupy myself by making a sandwich. When I pick up the phone again, there’s still nothing from Alex.

  Is he ignoring me altogether now?

  “Get back to me ASAP.” I type. “This is important.”

  I know he’s a prince, but I’m used to him responding promptly. It’s the one thing I’ve grown to count on. Yes, his answers are short and impersonal, but they always come. It’s the one thing I’ve hung my hopes on as it’s gotten harder and harder to keep faith in him. Why would he keep answering me if I meant nothing to him? It’s hard to know.

  But half an hour goes by, and then an hour, and there’s still no answer. I have to assume he’s avoiding me. And I can’t allow it. Fine for him to ignore this pregnancy, shove it under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist, but I’m not going to be able to keep up the pretense much longer.