Royal Baby_His Unplanned Heir

by Layla Valentine

  “Honey, how are you?” Helen asked, her ring-bedazzled fingers clasping my hand. “I warned you…”

  And, speak of the devil, there he was, standing at our booth, his black eyes on me.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  I looked away.

  “No.”

  “Donna, please.”

  I kept my gaze on Helen’s face, which looked as determined as I should have been.

  “Go away, Carter. Leave me alone.”

  “Donna, I’m serious—”

  “Hey, bro, I got us another bottle.”

  I looked up to see just about the last person I wanted to.

  “Oy, Freckles, you’re here?”

  It was the jerk customer who’d come in from time to time these past few weeks. The douchebag who Carter was friends with, of course. I should’ve figured.

  His gaze was on my cleavage and his fleshy lips were saying, “Hey, you should join our table.”

  I shook my head.

  “We’re meeting a friend, thanks.”

  As if on cue, Kyle appeared behind Carter and Douchebag.

  Wearing a starched shirt and a confused smile, he said, “Donna?”

  “Kyle!” I exclaimed, pushing past the two buff bodies to reach the thinner one.

  Throwing my arms around him, I craned my head around so I could enjoy the discomfort on Carter’s face as I pressed myself to Kyle. I separated from him slowly and then, taking his hand, led him into the booth beside me.

  “We ran into some friends,” I said, throwing a sneer their way. “They were just leaving.”

  And, sulking off, finally, they did.

  Kyle was looking at me like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

  “Donna, you look…”

  “Stunning, right!” Helen piped up. “I told her the red dress was perfect for tonight.”

  There was something frantic in her words, and yet I found myself smiling, nodding.

  Yes, now that things had been decided, they were going to go just fine.

  While Helen and Kyle chatted about something or other, a bottle was put down on our table.

  The waiter inclined his head to the corner of the room. “From that gentleman.”

  I shook my head.

  “There’s been a mistake.”

  He shook his frizzy blond head.

  “He said it was for the woman in the red dress.”

  I shook mine again.

  “Well, I don’t want it.”

  “Here, I’ll order us something,” Kyle said, lifting the bottle and extending it to the waiter. “You can take this back, and I’ll order a pitcher of sangria.”

  The waiter nodded and disappeared without another word.

  “Thanks, Kyle,” I said.

  I touched his chest at the same time as I tossed a glare to Carter. Smiling at me, Kyle slipped his arm around me. Helen smiled at us while the music, the calm, smooth beat, egged us on.

  The pitcher took a long time to arrive, but we didn’t take long to finish it. Everything was gradually becoming inconsequential, delightfully blurry. More drinks came and went, and Helen, Kyle, and I laughed at everything and nothing, and yet, through it all, Carter was on the periphery.

  No matter how much I drank, I could feel him, watching me with his steely gaze, ordering drinks he didn’t need. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about caring about me or anything like that. This was about winning and losing, and Carter Ray, who always got what he wanted, didn’t want to lose. I was the prize he hadn’t quite finished with yet, so he was going to do his damnedest to win me back.

  As I staggered off to the bathroom, delivering him an extra-icy glare, I almost felt like striding up to him and saying it to his face, “I’m done with being toyed with. Now, I’m going for what’s good for me. Rather, who’s good for me.”

  And yet, inside the small, too-black box of the bathroom, I still couldn’t escape him. It was just like his building, dark and imposing, just like those eyes of his. Carter.

  I glared at the girl who was crying in the mirror, the girl I used to know. What had I been doing these past few weeks? What was wrong with me? The answer was with the man out there, the one with the heartless black eyes. The one I passed as I exited the bathroom and walked toward the table with my friends.

  Halfway there, however, my arm was grabbed. It was the muscular douchebag, the one with the cropped hair, Carter’s friend. He had a reddish orange drink in his hand, and he was looking at me.

  “Got this for you.”

  He extended the drink. Over his shoulder, I saw Carter watching us with something that looked like worry in his furtive eyes. I took the drink and, glaring at Carter all the while, downed it in one go.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Carter

  As Donna staggered off to her friends, Skylar returned to our table. It was just us; the girls were off in the bathroom.

  Nudging me, he said, “I give her ten minutes.”

  “What are you talking about?

  “Little Miss Hard to Get. Once what I slipped in her drink hits her, she won’t be protesting much longer.”

  I stared at him, scanning his face for the crack of a smile, anything. But the glint in Skylar’s eyes was entirely serious.

  “You’re joking,” I said, and he smirked.

  “What? I thought you wanted to have fun tonight.”

  A coil of tension dropped to the bottom of my stomach. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

  “What the fuck, man? Are you crazy?”

  Now Skylar was the one scanning my face, his smile falling.

  “This coming from Carter Ray, the coldblooded business machine?”

  When I said nothing, he continued. “C’mon, I mean anyone with eyes can see the girl wants it.”

  I was shaking my head, but the words weren’t coming out. What would I say, anyway? Some expression of disgust, shock, or shame? That Skylar was just as sleazy as I’d suspected—worse, even?

  “Look,” he said, pointing behind me. “Looks like her friends won’t be a problem much longer, anyway.”

  Sure enough, I turned around to see Donna sitting at her table obliviously while the girl and guy made out. After a minute, they rose with linked arms.

  “We’ll be back in a few,” the girl slurred to Donna’s half-slumped form. “Don’t move.”

  And then, stumbling out of the bar, they were gone. Next thing I knew, Skylar was striding over to the table, me following him close behind. Sitting down, he draped his arm around Donna.

  “It’s time to go, isn’t it?” he asked her.

  She nodded dully and allowed herself to be helped up. Shooting me a “you see?” look, Skylar wasted no time steering her out of the bar. A few feet outside, I caught up to him.

  “Hey, Skylar?”

  “Yeah?”

  When he turned around, I punched him in the face.

  He slumped back, taking Donna tumbling down with him. Sprawled on the ground, he regarded me with shock.

  “What the fuck, man?”

  I was already by Donna’s side, helping her up. Once she was standing, albeit unsteadily, I turned to Skylar, who was getting up himself. He was advancing, his own fist raised this time.

  “No one fucking hits me and gets away with it.”

  I took a few steps back.

  “Don’t do this, man.”

  A high-pitched, almost delirious-sounding laugh emerged from his snarled lips.

  “It’s already done.”

  And with that, he lunged at me.

  I stepped to the side. He hurtled past me. I paused. His face was a beet-red mask of rage now; Skylar was only getting started.

  The next time his fist swung at me, I swung my own punch back. I caught him under the chin, sending him staggering back.

  Then there was a palm on my chest. It was security, a big beefy bald guy.

  “Hey, hey. Break it up, guys, c’mon.”

  A hand was
placed on my arm. It was Tracie, her face scared and exhilarated.

  “Carter! What’s going on?”

  I looked from one of them to the other, the words I should say all slamming against each other in my head. My gaze stopped on Donna. My mind went blank. Then, sweeping Donna up in my arms, I ran.

  Footsteps and shouts followed me. Carrying a full-grown woman in my arms, I wasn’t fast, though I was fast enough. I ran until the footsteps and shouts diminished to the quiet buzz of the night, of passing cars and far-off strangers’ voices and my own harried breath.

  I surveyed Donna’s half-conscious form incredulously. What had I just done? What was I doing now?

  Seeing just how out-of-it Donna really was answered the second part: I had to get her somewhere safe. Now.

  I stared at her oblivious face. No, I couldn’t take her to my place. If she hated me already, what would she think when she woke up there with no memory of tonight? Would she even believe me when I tried telling her the truth, tried convincing her that I’d had nothing to do with what Skylar had slipped her?

  I brushed a stray hair out of her face. No, it would be better to take her home.

  Luckily, her bag was slung over her shoulder. A quick look through her cards revealed the address of her family’s old ranch, which was no help to me now. I was about to move on to scanning her phone when, wedged between her driver’s license and library card, a small sheet of paper fell out: 324 Cherry Tree Lane, it read.

  Getting out my phone and plugging it into my maps app revealed an address on the outskirts of town—a dumpy-looking house. It had a purple door, just like the one Donna had mentioned to me. That had to be it.

  The cab ride there was depressing, to say the least. Gradually, the city high-rises and swanky apartments gave way to squat structures with neon signs until these too were replaced by medium-sized houses and then, finally, little dirty boxes of homes, and 324 Cherry Tree Lane. The house was unmistakable. It was the most ramshackle looking of all of them, with a lawn of garbage-flecked dirt and that sad, deep purple door.

  The cab pulled over; I paid the driver, then picked up Donna and got out.

  Unsurprisingly, the door was open, as if the house were resigned to any guest, well intentioned or otherwise. Inside, the floor was a battleground of dust and garbage, and I stepped over it gingerly as I made my way down the hallway, searching for her room.

  At the end, the pale sliver of light from the hallway illuminated a Monet poster on the far wall, and I knew I’d hit gold. I flicked on the light and, for a minute, took in the room I’d often wondered about.

  It was a small oasis from the wretchedness outside, the peeling tulip wallpaper covered with Monet water lilies, Renoir dogs, and Van Gogh cherry blossoms. Her bed had a velour comforter that was the same light blue as her eyes. I moved it out of the way before setting her down on the white and pink striped sheets underneath. Then, I took off her shoes and tucked her in.

  I took one last look at her, at the girl I’d failed today, the woman I’d betrayed. The girl who I wasn’t good enough for, who’d finally figured it out an hour or so ago. Then, with a kiss on her forehead, I left.

  In the cab home, shame crept over me. The horrible images of Donna’s house slid through my head—the house that my company had consigned them to, these wretched circumstances I’d forced them into.

  That alternated with Skylar’s snarling face, a face I now couldn’t picture any other way. He was supposed to be my friend. My friend, the guy who just tried to roofie someone. Just what kind of company was I keeping, anyway? What was I doing with my life?

  As the cab rolled down city blocks, waited at red lights and sped through greens, the question returned to me as a twist in the gut: What was I doing with my life?

  It was only once I finally got home and collapsed in bed that the reply came to me: nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Donna

  I awoke aching. My whole body felt like I’d jumped off the Empire State Building and had unfortunately survived. I stared up at my water-stained ceiling, trying to make out the shapes they formed, as if that would help me piece together what had happened last night.

  The final thing I could remember was the drink Carter’s friend had given me. Then, nothing, black space, gone. Although, whatever had happened, it couldn’t have been that bad if I’d ended up at home in bed, right?

  When I sat up, I remembered Carter and his redheaded woman at the bar. My replacement. I flopped back into bed.

  I was still wearing my clothes, while my purse was beside my bed. Reaching out, I picked it up and took out my phone. Turning it on gave me a symphony of beeping notifications: ten missed messages, four missed calls. They were all from Helen.

  Right away, I called her.

  There was one ring, and then Helen yelled, “Donna!”

  “Hey. What’s up?” I asked.

  There was a pause, and then her furious voice came back. “What’s up? Are you kidding me? After you disappeared last night?”

  My gaze flicked down. I was under my bed’s comforter. I never slept under the comforter, only the sheets; I found it too hot.

  “What happened last night?” I asked Helen softly, and she let out a soft “Oh.”

  “Oh shit, Donna. I…”

  “I thought you took me home,” I said.

  “So, you’re at home?”

  “Yeah. I just don’t remember anything after that drink Carter’s friend gave me.”

  Another pause, then, “Oh shit. Shit, Donna. I’m so sorry. We were idiots for leaving you. I mean, I came right back, like, ten minutes later, but you were gone. I think I saw Carter’s friend outside, but Carter wasn’t there. I thought you’d just upped and left, ignored my calls on purpose.”

  “No. I…I think I have to go, Helen.”

  A whole crumple of my wallpaper had fallen to the floor.

  “Wait. Donna, just hold on a sec.”

  “Yeah?”

  “There’s a protest this afternoon—the biggest one yet. RayGen’s got their biggest pipeline project planned. A huge part of the Arapaho National Forest is slated to go. Everyone’s meeting at Byers Peak. I’m going there at four. You should come.”

  Halfway through my automatic “No,” I paused. My wallpaper was falling off my walls, my body was dead tired from who knew what, and I couldn’t stand to be in this room another second.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  Then, I hung up and started moving. Getting out of bed was easy now that I knew what would catch up with me if I lay there, if I let it. I was in no mood to consider the hazy conclusions produced by my phone conversation with Helen.

  No, there was no point in sitting here feeling sorry for myself. I had a protest to go to.

  I slipped off last night’s red dress and slipped on today’s ‘fuck-you’ skull T-shirt and ripped-up shorts. After adding a bandana and my cowboy boots, I was ready to go.

  The roads were empty, just one long, bare line of pavement between me and my destination. I drove unthinkingly; my mind was already with the trees that lined the road. A few minutes later, after I pulled up onto the shoulder, minutes away from the peak we were to meet at, I walked out of my car and into the trees.

  The silent giants shifted as I passed through them. They seemed to know what was on my mind, know better than I what I should do next. Yes, with their broad, hard trunks and extended, well-leaved branches, the trees were exactly as they should have been and nothing more. Not like me. I didn’t know where I belonged anymore, who I was. And, most importantly, what I should do.

  Even here, there was no escaping Carter and my feelings for him. Tired already, I stopped to sit on a fallen-down log. Seated there, I gazed out into the green shade of the forest. It was so calm and quiet—just like the forest where Carter and I had had our first official “interaction.”

  And to think that I could have believed that man—that renowned womanizer—could have thought I was anythin
g other than a passing amusement. How could I have?

  A brown squirrel burst out of a nearby bush, chasing another. It was easy how I had believed him: Carter’s gifts, his words—hell, that look on his face when he’d watched me sometimes. How could I not have thought that he really cared?

  Feeling a tingle on my shoulder, I turned around to see a spider. Yelping and leaping up, I brushed it off. Once on the ground, it scurried off.

  In any case, it didn’t matter how well-founded my belief in Carter’s care had been; now I knew the truth. Our whole deal had been an amusing way for him to screw me over. It had taken him all of one day to find another woman to replace me with.

  I sat back down. Now, all I had to do was forget about him. Sure, it was unfair that something that felt so right could be so wrong, but now that I had seen the truth, there was no doubting what I had to do—forget about him.

  “Please,” I whispered to the forest, to the universe, to God, to whoever was listening. “Please, if I’m supposed to forget Carter, help me. Please help me. Show me the way.”

  A sweet-scented breeze flowed by me, and I exhaled. Maybe, just maybe, if I did my best, the universe would deal with the rest. Maybe things were going to be all right. Checking my phone revealed that it was 3:50 p.m. I had spent longer in the forest than I’d realized; it was time to get to Byers Peak.

  It only took me a few minutes to get to the summit. Halfway there, the trees started to thin out, and all I had to do was follow the sound of the far-off voices. Helen hadn’t been kidding. This wasn’t just the biggest protest against RayGen yet; this was an all-out war, with our side amassing what must have been hundreds. I hardly recognized anyone. I saw Peter with his usual tie-dye shirt, but I was otherwise among strangers. Everyone was chanting already, moving toward the trees.

  “RayGen not again! RayGen not again!”

  The sky reverberated with our angry roar. Hell, even the clouds were crackling with our anger—dark storm clouds rolled forward to meet our advance.

  As the crowd marched ahead, I was brought along with it. There was no way I was going to find Helen here unless she texted me. Already, however, I was swept up in the crowd’s chants and feverish energy. I was pumping my fist to the mantra as I had dozens of times before.