Baby Surprises 7 Book Box Set

by Layla Valentine

“What do you mean?”

  “They’re celebrating the wedding,” Ilaria says. “Look, there’s a TV news crew.”

  Sure enough, a woman with a microphone and man with a camera have set up several yards away, well off the palace grounds.

  “They’re reporting on the wedding,” I say aloud. Of course, on one level I understood that this was a big deal, that it would be national news, but it’s something else to see it playing out.

  “There’s so many of them,” Ilaria says. “It’s a shame we couldn’t invite more people to the event itself.”

  “How many are coming?” Lizzie asks.

  “Only about a hundred to the church,” I say. “It’s a tiny building, but generations of Gosars have been married there. So we invited our families and friends and a few notable people—members of Parliament, foreign heads of state, things like that. And then everyone we couldn’t fit into the church is invited to join us at the reception. That’s why there are already people upstairs in the ballroom. They’re so early, though.”

  “Not so early now,” Ilaria says. “Come on. Let’s get you into your dress.”

  Together, my bridesmaids help me into my wedding dress, careful not to smudge my makeup or mess up my hair. It takes both of them to lace it up the back.

  I admire myself in the mirror as they do. The dress is absolutely regal, and though it’s hard to truly believe it, I feel like a princess wearing it. I feel like the woman looking back at me is someone who should be marrying a king today.

  The church is only a block away, but there’s a car to take me and my bridesmaids over. Lizzie stares out the window at the waving well-wishers as we drive past them. Ilaria adjusts and readjusts my veil. All I can do is look down at my hands, drawing in and releasing deep breaths, trying to stay calm. I’m surprised to find myself having stage fright—after all, I’ve appeared on television dozens of times—but this is different. This time I’m appearing as myself.

  The only thing that keeps me calm is the thought of what awaits me at the end of this car ride. Soon I’ll be seeing Alex. He and I have already been through so much together. Compared to that, today will be a cakewalk.

  The car drops us off outside the church, and we head up the stairs. My father is waiting for me in the atrium. He hugs me, careful not to disturb any aspect of my carefully arranged appearance.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, his voice husky with the kind of emotion he generally doesn’t like to show. “I’m so proud of you, Erica.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say, blushing. “Did Lauro bring the kids over yet?”

  “He did. They’re with your mother and Alex’s parents,” he says. “Waiting to see their parents tie the knot.”

  “Good.”

  I was reluctant to let them out of my sight today, not because I don’t have confidence in Lauro’s ability to look after them—he has children of his own, after all, and Alex vouched for him—but just because there are so many people around. My children have been exposed to a lot of things, but crowds of people have never been so close to them. I’m a little nervous about how they might react.

  “And they’re doing all right?” I ask.

  “Just like any toddlers in a situation like this would be, I imagine,” Dad says. “They’re curious. They’re restless. But they’re okay.”

  He smiles. “You’re so like your mother. You worry about them so much. I’ll never forget her calling the emergency room at three in the morning because you had a stomachache.” He rests a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so lucky to see you become a mother yourself.”

  “God, Dad…” I swallow hard. “I don’t want to ruin my makeup before I even get in there. Let the cameras get at least a couple shots of me looking nice.”

  He laughs. “Don’t worry about that. You just enjoy today, okay? Don’t worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

  I’m an actress. I’m a princess. My whole adult life has been about paying attention to the way I’m perceived. That’s all I’ve ever done. But my father’s words strike a deep chord in me, and something seems to release.

  He’s right. Today isn’t about putting on a show for the people of Avaran. I want my new country to be included in this, of course, but today is really for me and Alex. That’s what this is all about. Me, Alex, Vito, and Marianna.

  And all my nervousness suddenly drains away.

  I expected to cry walking down the aisle. I expected to be focused on holding back tears, not wanting my face to go blotchy before we can say our vows. But to my pleasant surprise, as the music swells and Dad takes my arm and leads me through the door, I feel no urge to cry at all. Instead, a huge smile breaks across my face, like the rising sun.

  Alex is waiting for me at the altar. He’s dressed in full military regalia and looks so devastatingly handsome that I actually can’t believe it’s me he’s waiting there for. He meets my eyes as I walk to him, holding my gaze until my father has placed my hand in his.

  We deliberately planned the ceremony to mix historic Avaranian traditions with ideas of our own, making it unique. We follow the basic structure of an Avaranian wedding, reciting the usual words a couple says to each other, overseen by a minister. Because it’s a royal wedding, the national anthem is played, and an honor guard is put through a perfunctory exercise. But when it comes time to say I do, Alex and I deviate from tradition. This is our wedding, after all, and for these few minutes, it will be as my father described it—about the two of us and no one else.

  Alex speaks first. He slides a beautiful wedding band onto my finger.

  “Erica, when I met you in that hotel in Los Angeles, I had no idea who you would become to me. I had no way of knowing how our lives would intertwine. And now, just two years later, standing here beside you, I find it’s impossible to imagine a life without you. The fact that I lived so long without you in my life is incomprehensible now, and I’m so thankful that I’ll never have to do it again. Now that I know you, I know I could never let you go.”

  I take his hands in mine, sliding a wedding band onto his finger.

  “Alex, you were the first person to see me as a princess,” I say. “Millions of people saw me play a princess on TV. But you were the first person to see me, Erica Steadman, and think that I was regal. To me, you have always been a prince. But I want you to know that I would marry you if you lived in a one-room apartment. I would marry you no matter what. Because what makes you the man I love doesn’t come from titles or money. It comes from your heart.”

  Without waiting for the minister’s say-so, Alex wraps his arms around me and kisses me, and my ears fill with the sweet sound of applause.

  The minister gives his blessing and we turn, wide smiles on our faces as we walk arm in arm down the aisle, taking our first steps together as king and queen, husband and wife.

  The End

  The Baby Blindside

  Layla Valentine & Ana Sparks

  Copyright 2018, 2019 by Layla Valentine and Ana Sparks

  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.

  This is a reissue of a book first released in January 2018, then titled “His Surprise Baby.” This edition contains an extended epilogue, previously only available to subscribers.

  Chapter 1

  Heidi

  She pulled at the hem of her skirt, smoothing out a wrinkle in its cotton paneling. Above all else, she thought, I will not look a fucking mess.

  Walking to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a dazzling view of the Orlando skyline, then beg
inning to make circles around the whole office, she ran her hand over the sleek mahogany desk, the leather-studded chair, and paused at the coffee maker.

  “Thanks for your service,” she said to the machine.

  She waited, as if expecting some kind of response from the inanimate object. No such luck, not even a beep. Where was the comfort of a robotic voice when a girl needed it?

  Relenting, she strode to the full-length mirror she kept in the corner of her office for just such occasions. Well, not quite these occasions, but still. For crises. Late nights at the office, emergency video-conferences with clients, etc.

  Heidi peered in the mirror, gently mussing her dark caramel locks that were run through with streaks of dirty blond. Hands came to rest at her trim waist, seated firmly above a set of bodacious hips.

  “Yup,” she said, gazing at her reflection, “Still got it.”

  Her confidence had gotten her this far, and damn it, it would keep her going. Confidence had given her the chutzpah to move from Miami, her hometown, to Orlando. What girl without brass balls could’ve swung that move? To leave behind the long, sultry days of Miami for—what? Retirement communities and outlet malls?

  Although, in fairness, Heidi wasn’t spending her days at either of those joints. No, instead, she’d located the night life in Orlando, which she had to admit, passed muster. The bars were noisy, fun and packed with tanned men who would buy you a drink faster than you could say your name.

  The local drink was a Negroni. The best nail salon was Bella’s, on 8th Street, where they had massage chairs and good gel polish. She knew the best route for runs, based on the weather pattern predicted for the day, and which local library had quiet spaces that didn’t smell weird.

  She’d even gotten involved in neighborhood politics, helping a councilwoman run for reelection on the grounds of repaving the streets and getting a handle on that damn red light camera on the intersection of Normund and Colie, which always seemed to snap pictures about half a second too soon.

  All these things she’d learned, and now what good were they? She’d probably have to leave town, like a bandit in the middle of the night, rubbing her face over with greasepaint. Finally call up her Mom and Dad. Poor Tom and Dina. She was really overdue to call them, but things in her life had been piling up like precarious blocks, and spare time to chat with parents had been a luxury she couldn’t afford.

  God, that made her sound like an ungrateful brat.

  Now, though, she’d have all the damn time in the world. Especially if she moved back down to Miami, which was looking increasingly probable.

  And I was so close to having it all, she thought. Swanky apartment, nice car, killer job. She paused and reconsidered. Well, minus any semblance of a healthy romantic life.

  In fact, she had to admit, maybe this was for the best. Work at Image-ine—the PR firm that had taken one look at her glowing 22-year-old self and hired her for an internship on the spot—had always been frantic. Long days, longer nights, caffeine dependence, an aching back from hunching over a laptop all day.

  And, as she’d soon painfully realized, celebrities don’t ease up on the scandalous behavior over the holidays. On the contrary, they seemed to amp it up, as if to say, “Sorry, we know you had Thanksgiving plans, but I just got caught snorting coke off a public urinal! Cancel your trip!”

  And Heidi had made it in for each one of those calls. Through perseverance and sacrifice, she’d made herself invaluable, a vital member of the team no matter what play the bosses planned. Whenever a higher-up at the company needed something, they’d explain what they wanted to another intern, then sigh and say, “Just have Heidi do it.”

  It wasn’t long before they’d been forced to promote her from unpaid schlep to Executive Assistant, and from there on out, she was given a better title and a pay bump every six months or so. She climbed faster and faster, with a speed and grace the firm had never witnessed before. That’s how she, at 27, had become the youngest exec in Image-ine’s history. And none begrudged the rapidity of her ascent.

  Well. They hadn’t, at least. She had recently begun to wonder if that was what had prompted Gary to be such a fucking—Stop, she told herself in a firm tone. Don’t get mad. Get even.

  After all, she’d already called up Meredith, her day-one office buddy who’d eventually become her closest confidant, and dramatically reenacted the whole story. They’d weighed pros and cons for nearly an hour and, at last, Heidi had given up on strategizing. She’d known the right move at the start of the hour, but sometimes, you need to hear your girlfriend say it about 50 more times before the answer sinks in.

  Gary was a pig. No doubt about it. He’d always been a damn pig, squealing and getting flecks of the mud from his pen onto Heidi’s life. This just happened to be the last straw.

  She thought she could withstand the incessant, inappropriate remarks until she’d scrounged up enough money to open her own PR agency; she figured that another remark about her firm tits could go be withstood in the name of the future.

  That goal now seemed light-years away, in a different dimension. Opening up a PR agency? God, the seed investment alone would be in the hundreds of thousands. Her parents had offered to help, but she was too proud for that. Taking more money from them, after they’d paid for college? She couldn’t bring herself to do that.

  Besides, even if they gave her the seed money, there was still the matter of literally everything else: finding investors, getting office space, hiring an entire new staff and training them by herself. She could do it—you don’t graduate alma mater from business school at the University of Miami without knowing how to open a, well, business—but it would take money she didn’t have, and there weren’t enough hours in the day. Besides, she’d have to do it all alone.

  She took another long look at the skyline. She’d miss this part. The city at night, lights flooding the darkness as if for her and her alone. She liked the way they flickered and flashed in gaudy colors. And she liked the way her heels sounded clacking on the marble floor, liked feeling as though she moved with her own power soundtrack, click-click-clicks following her, always announcing her arrival.

  Yeah. She’d miss all of it. Maybe she could convince Meredith to leave—actually, she was certain she could—but it wouldn’t be fair. Mere had a kid who needed to be placed in a private school, the little Brainiac, and a new home loan to pay off. Heidi couldn’t ask her to blindly jump onboard a startup that wouldn’t turn a profit for at least a year, assuming things went dazzlingly well.

  Nah, friends watched out for friends, and that meant not roping them into a business that might land them in financial ruin. Heidi wasn’t some kind of shark; she took her friendships as seriously as she took her relationships (when those happened, back in the day). She wanted the kinds of friends she could call at two in the morning to cry about the finale of a reality show, not the kinds whose backs she stepped on to reach the next rung in the career ladder.

  Heidi sighed. No time like the present. A small huff escaped her full lips and she reached one long, crimson red nail to the buttons, then began to dial home.

  Chapter 2

  Bradley

  Bradley awoke with a start, as if emerging violently from a bad dream, maybe something that included sirens and badges. He was in a room filled to the brim with sunlight. He shielded his eyes with a hiss, and when that failed, he squeezed them shut tightly. Hadn’t he told the maid to lower the blackout curtains?

  He curled his body into a rigid ball, strong arms encircling worn-out knees, then paused. The light physically pained him, and a headache hammered hard and fast into his brain. Suddenly, a figure appeared, though pieces of its proportions were blocked by what Bradley thought were silver lines. Weird. Wait, was that—

  “Todd?” he asked groggily, hands still partially covering his face. “Did I miss practice?”

  Not again, he thought. Coach will fucking murder me. Actually, scratch that, he’ll hire someone to murder me, someone who
’ll make it slow and painful.

  His agent shook his head.

  “No, buddy,” Todd replied, “It’s the middle of August. Off-season. Or did you forget?”

  “Oh.” Bradley mulled this over. He had, it seemed, misplaced all sense of time and space. How embarrassing. Even Todd’s face seemed to float in the middle ground, somehow separated at an awkward distance.

  “Come closer, dude,” Bradley instructed the agent.

  Todd hit something, and a clang resounded.

  “I can’t,” he said.

  Rubbing his eyes free of sleep, Bradley at last was able to assemble the picture in front of him. Todd couldn’t come closer, because that clanging sound had been his hands hitting metal bars. Oh shit.

  Todd watched the realization dawning on Bradley, and tilted his head to the side, nodding wearily.

  “Yup,” he said. “Another night in the drunk tank.”

  Bradley groaned deeply, and rolled onto his back, no longer caring how badly the sun burned. The splitting headache made for a good distraction from the consequences.

  “Do the Sharks know yet?”

  He didn’t need the answer—he already knew the horrendous words about to be said—but Todd answered obligingly.

  “Oh yeah.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “How bad is their star quarterback getting arrested for public intoxication yet again? I’d venture to say, uh, pretty fuckin’ bad.”

  With that, Todd turned and waved to someone out of Bradley’s sight line. A guard strode up, a menacing gun in his holster, and he and Todd exchanged words. The guard stared at Bradley, unable to keep his eyes off the 6’3” giant who was taking up the bulk of the cell.

  Bradley was used to it, obviously, but that didn’t make the unabashed stares any more welcome. But perhaps the stare was the price he had to pay for freedom, because it wasn’t long before the bars were thundering open, and he was a free man once more.