Royal Baby_His Unplanned Heir

by Layla Valentine

  “I didn’t think you were being serious…”

  I ripped my hands out of his grasp, wincing at the pain the sudden movement caused.

  “What difference does it make anyway? You aren’t going to release me.”

  Jake said nothing and didn’t move as I flopped down to sit on the ground. It was too tiring to stand, and maybe he would go away for a bit if I sat down.

  He didn’t say anything, only crouched down beside me and, his mouth at my ear, said softly, “You know, it isn’t easy seeing you in pain like this.”

  I said nothing, keeping my gaze on the smooth rock in my palm.

  There was no point in looking over at him, in hoping. Jake had said it himself: “Orders are orders.”

  He placed his hand on mine and, with his other, produced a pair of shears.

  With one swift cut, my hands were free.

  My hands shook as they were released. Hardly able to believe what I was seeing, I turned to him.

  After a few seconds of shocked staring, the words tumbled out of me.

  “Thank you.”

  Jake turned away.

  “Don’t thank me; it’s only common decency. This job is turning out to be a lot more than I bargained for.”

  I stopped myself before I said “me too.”

  A few minutes later, our search completed successfully, the three of us returned the way we had come. Pip trotted on ahead, Jake close behind, and then, last of all, came me.

  My hands, newly freed, were precious. I let them run over the trunks of trees and pine branches, felt the smoothness of hanging leaves. My feet were similarly pleased. I skipped; I hopped; I jumped; I ran. Jake shot a few guilty yet pleased looks over his shoulder at me.

  By the time we got back, Pip was howling victoriously at the door. Jake gave her an affectionate head rub as he opened it.

  As I walked in, Pip turned her attention to me and jumped up on my chest, her excited bulk overwhelming and a bit scary.

  Seeing me freeze up, Jake pulled Pip away.

  “Calm down, girl. Alice has had a hard day as it is. She doesn’t know that you’re a big old softie who couldn’t harm a fly, or that people just get the wrong idea about you and keep it.”

  Something in his face as he said it made me think that Pip wasn’t the only one Jake was talking about.

  Once I settled onto the couch, Pip hopped up beside me. Jake busied himself with emptying the contents of the plastic bag into the corner of the tank.

  “Want help?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “Nah. I’m the reason our toad friend is hurt, so I want to do this myself.”

  After a few more seconds, he added, “And I wouldn’t put it past you to slam my face into this tank here when I’m not looking.”

  “Really?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “Yeah. Something tells me there’s a bit more to you than meets the eye, princess. I mean, you said it yourself.”

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” I said after a beat of silence. “And not just in a joking way.”

  His back to me, Jake shrugged.

  “You don’t trust people, do you?” I asked softly.

  His shoulders stiffened. Silence.

  “No. I can’t say that I do,” he finally said after a minute. “I can’t say they’ve given me much reason to.”

  I fell silent, patting Pip’s fluffy head and feeling a strange, misplaced sense of guilt for the tensed back of this closed-off man.

  After a few minutes, Jake bustled over, tank in hand.

  “Whaddya think?”

  I took in the setup: the impressive mountain of dirt with its covering of twigs, sticks, and leaves and its still fairly dismal-looking occupant, Gerald, gazing out at me.

  “Well, it’s…”

  “I’m a toad killer, I know,” Jake said despondently.

  His face fell. Pip let out a little yip, and a grin slid onto Jake’s face.

  “Yes, of course! We still need the water!”

  And then he was gone, over at the sink filling the tank with a low level of water.

  He returned with a broad grin, and just as I was about to speak, he held up his hand. “Last we need the finishing touch—rock, please.”

  I held out my hand and opened it. Jake grasped the smooth thing eagerly and plopped it down inside.

  Then, putting it on the ground in front of us, he dropped onto the couch next to me.

  “There,” he said, sinking deeper into the maroon cushion as his eyes closed in content.

  His leg was touching mine, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or, if he did, he didn’t seem to care.

  After a few seconds, he jumped up and grasped my hand.

  “Hey, look!”

  I scrambled up and crouched down beside him to see Gerald swimming eagerly in the water. His hurt leg jerked out unnaturally, but he was gliding from one end of the tank to the other nonetheless.

  “Looks like he likes it,” I said.

  Jake squeezed my hand. As I extricated it, he released his hold.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, averting my gaze and returning to the couch.

  He sat next to me and shot me a sidelong look.

  “You’re blushing.”

  “Can you please just leave me alone for a second?” I burst out.

  Jake’s face transformed before my eyes. The almost childlike look of giddiness was wiped away by a furious snarl.

  Storming off, over his shoulder Jake sardonically said, “Whatever you say, princess.”

  Pip and I sat there looking at each other, wondering just what I’d done and, worse still, just what I’d gotten myself into.

  Chapter Six

  Jake

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I slammed my fist onto the top of my bedroom cabinet, leaving a dent beside another where I’d slammed my fist before.

  What was wrong with me? She was just some rich, high-society bitch. Some uppity princess who thought herself more worldly and humble than she was. Why did I care what she thought?

  Sure, she’d probably make a fun lay, but I’d already had a ton of those. Those exciting nights and empty mornings, the same nothing-faced girls slipping out the door and away. Yeah, I’d had enough of those.

  Who gave a damn about it anyway? About any of this? It was just a stupid job—a big one, but just a job. That was all. Just a few more hours and I’d be free of her.

  My stomach growled. I should’ve gotten food supplies before I’d decided to take a hostage. Still, there were some cheese balls downstairs. Just because I was down there didn’t mean I had to talk to her.

  Once downstairs, I found the bag of cheese balls emptier than I remembered. I headed for the stairs without a word, however. The skinny little rich girl probably hadn’t had a non-organic snack since she could talk.

  “Your hand…”

  “What?”

  Alice had risen, and she took my hand in hers.

  I looked down and was surprised to see a splinter embedded in it, blood trickling out of the gash.

  Ripping my hand away, I backed up a few steps.

  “It’s nothing.”

  But Alice’s face was unchanged. She looked as concerned as ever.

  “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she said softly.

  Pip let out a small bark of support.

  “Listen…” Alice took the snack bag and set it on the floor. Then she took my hand in hers. “I’m sorry about before. I…it’s just been a tough day. This wedding, my life—it isn’t the fairy tale it seems, okay? And you just…you got me at a bad time.”

  I said nothing.

  “Can I just take the splinter out, please?” she asked.

  I said nothing and let her lead me upstairs to the bathroom.

  Once there, she turned to me and asked, “Do you have any tweezers?”

  I laughed.

  “You kidding me? What kind of place do you think this is?”

 
She frowned, and I opened the cupboard under the sink.

  “Wait a sec. Let me just check the basket.”

  I peered into the little pink plastic container of all things girly—all of my nighttime visitors’ left behind belongings. There were some hair ties and a brush, some toothbrushes, a thong, a bra, and, sure enough, a pair of tweezers.

  “Here ya go,” I said, handing her the metal thing.

  “I won’t ask,” she said, leaning in with the tweezers. “Now, this is gonna—”

  I roared as hot fire enveloped my palm.

  “Hurt,” Alice said, dangling the bloody splinter before me victoriously. Then she pressed a wad of toilet paper to my palm.

  “Goddam,” I swore, sitting on the bathroom floor.

  “You good?” Alice asked, sitting beside me.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said. “No bandages, so I’ll have to press on it till it stops.”

  “Okay. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much,” she said, actually sounding like she meant it. When I cast her a sidelong look, her face said she meant it, too.

  “You don’t have to stay here,” I said, and her face fell.

  In a cold voice, she said “okay” and walked out the door.

  I glared at the spot where she’d been sitting. No point in getting sentimental over some sneaky bitch who was just being nice to me so she could escape or catch me off guard.

  A few minutes later when I went downstairs, she and Pip were back on the couch, the bag of cheese balls tucked between them. She was feeding one to Pip one with orange-dyed fingers, although her delighted smile fell at the sight of me.

  I snatched the bag away.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  Handing it back to her, I waved my hand.

  “Don’t sweat it, princess.” I sat beside her. “Just didn’t peg you for…”

  Alice grinned.

  “Someone who eats cheese balls?”

  Grabbing one, I poked her nose with it and then tossed it into my mouth.

  “Well, yeah. Someone who eats anything that has more than 5 calories, actually.”

  To this, Alice grabbed a handful of the bright orange poofs and threw them into her mouth. As her chipmunk cheeks struggled to chew their giant load, she mumbled, “I’ll have you know that the Pizza Palace guys down the street from my apartment know me by name by now.”

  We laughed, and after a prodigious amount of chewing and a big swallow, Alice reached into the bag. As she did, however, her wrist brushed the edge of the bag, and she jerked back, wincing.

  I glanced at the still-red welts on her wrists.

  “I don’t have any Tylenol, but I’ve got bourbon.” To her suspicious glance, I added, “For the pain.”

  Her forehead crinkled with irritation. Then she flopped her whole body back into the couch, almost making herself disappear into the cushions.

  “Oh, all right,” she said, casting me a weary look. “After the day I’ve just had, I could sure use a drink.”

  I went over to the cupboard and got out two tall glasses and my newly replenished bottle, a store brand knockoff that I loved.

  I plopped on the floor in front of the couch, and at the sight of the name on the bottle, Alice started giggling.

  “Jake Daniels—seriously?”

  “What? What’s wrong with a knockoff whiskey when it’s so well named?”

  We grinned at each other, and I poured her a drink.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” she said with a devilish grin. Then she drank half the glass in one gulp.

  “Wow. Looks like you really needed that thing,” I said approvingly before taking a deep drink of my own.

  Drinking the rest of hers in another long gulp, Alice nodded.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Yeah. I guess having my perfect wedding ruined would be a tad upsetting,” I said, and Alice’s face darkened.

  “To be honest, being kidnapped isn’t turning out to be much worse than if the wedding had gone through.”

  I stared at her, her lowered lids already shifting back to the bourbon and her lower lip stuck out in a pout. She was being serious.

  “Why marry the guy then?”

  Staring into the emptiness of her glass, she spoke to it. “It’s stupid.”

  I poured her more bourbon.

  “We’re not exactly short on time here.”

  Another big gulp, then: “He was the first really good catch I went out with. I don’t know, I just kept hearing about how lucky I was, how happy I must have been to be with him, and I started believing it myself.”

  As I poured myself another glass, I nodded.

  “You’re right. That is stupid.”

  Her blue eyes narrowed. God, they were so blue, they almost looked like they were contacts. A mesmerizing blue—that was what it was.

  After gulping down the rest of the bourbon, she said, “Well, that’s not all. It’s about my inheritance. When I wanted to postpone the wedding, Papa threatened me, said he’d take it away.”

  Now I laughed outright.

  “So it’s about money. Typical. I should’ve known. With you people, it’s always about money.”

  Alice rose.

  “Fuck you,” she said, her eyes so blue now that they didn’t look real.

  “You know it’s true.”

  She shook her head so hard that a piece of hair fell out of her bun.

  “Did you ask me what the money was for?”

  I gaped at her, at her narrowed cyan-blue eyes, her trembling lips, her beet-red cheeks. It was strange seeing her like this. Rich people didn’t have feelings like the rest of us. Or at least that was what I’d always figured. They only got riled up if their money was being taken.

  “Did you ask me what the money was for?” she repeated, her voice a quiet hiss.

  Taking a swig of the bourbon straight from the bottle, I patted her face and asked, “What was the money for?”

  She shoved my hand away, stood back, and proclaimed, “Setting up a non-profit.”

  Now it was my turn to stand up.

  “Bullshit.”

  She was shaking her head, looking up at me as furiously as ever. She was a little fireball of blue eyes and bared teeth.

  “It’s been my dream since I was a kid—helping people. I went to Africa, to Sierra Leone, to help with local projects. And that’s what I’m going to do with it: build my own foundation. Help people.”

  As I scrutinized her face, her haughtily irate expression didn’t shift. Shit, the girl was actually telling the truth.

  “Sorry,” I said, sitting down.

  Alice didn’t move.

  “Looks like us rich people aren’t the only ones who have a problem making unfounded assumptions.”

  I took another swig of the bourbon and then extended it to her.

  “Maybe.”

  She grabbed it, took a big swig herself, and then settled back beside me. Our legs were touching from top to bottom, and if her rosy face and sudden anger were any indication, she was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol.

  “I’m sorry,” I said again, turning to her.

  She was staring at me with strange eyes. They looked angry and defiant, and yet sad and understanding. As if, somehow, right then she was thinking the exact same thing I was: how tragic and useless it was to feel this connected to someone so different, someone I could never see after this.

  As I stared into those deep, sea-blue eyes and tucked a mahogany strand of hair behind her ear, I started to wonder if I could really be starting to care about this girl.

  When Alice handed me the bourbon bottle, her arm brushed against my chest. Our eyes locked, and then hers flicked to my lips.

  Yes, we were definitely thinking the same thing, for better or for worse.

  I got up and grumbled “bathroom” as I headed upstairs to escape.

  Goddam, I had to be careful, or I was going to ruin everything.

  Chapter Seven

  Alice

  When
Jake came back from the bathroom, he looked distant and sat at the far end of the couch. I slid to the opposite end. Two could play this game.

  “So, princess, what do you think—time for bed?” he asked me.

  But it was funny. As he said it, he extended the bottle to me, as if he were asking me to stay instead.

  I took the bottle, drank deeply, and then handed it back.

  “Soon.”

  So we sat there not saying anything, drinking and passing the bottle back and forth, inching closer on the couch each time. It was as if we were daring the other to talk first, to break the silence.

  Finally, as I offered him the bottle, I spoke.

  “So, you heard my story. What’s yours?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  His hand closed around the neck of the bottle, but mine didn’t budge.

  “You know what I mean.”

  He let go of the bottle and sat back. By now, our legs were touching once more. I could smell him, some deep musk that made me drowsy and yet attracted me.

  “Got kicked out of the army for fighting and going AWOL a few times. Some buddy got me into bodyguarding and then doing odd jobs—beating up guys, transporting things.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “What? Saw a tiny little pinprick of good in me?”

  I turned away.

  “No. I…well, yeah. Yeah, I guess I thought somehow you ended up here by accident, that you’d had a tough life.”

  “Sorry, princess.” He patted my face. “Though I reckon you wouldn’t know a tough life if it hit you in the face, with your perfect life, perfect friends, perfect fiancé, and perfect family.”

  I shrank away from his touch, my jaw clenching. Before I could help it, “my mother is dead” slipped out of my lips. Jake’s hand drooped, as did his ironic smirk.

  “What?”

  “She died, and it was my fault. I was five.”

  Jake shook his head.

  “No. No way. I mean, you were five. You were just a kid. How could it have been your fault?”

  Tears were coming to my eyes, but I couldn’t help it. I spoke the words I’d never really admitted to anyone, the ones that had played over and over in my head.

  “I distracted her while she was driving—made a mess all over the car with a milkshake. I was crying for her to clean me up since it was cold and sticky. She didn’t pay attention to the road for just one too many seconds.”