Unexpected Daddies

by Lively, R. S.

  "That's awful," I say.

  "Not really," she says. "To be honest, I really don't have any memories of her. I think I remember the last time I saw her, but the memories are hazy. I don't remember ever missing her or feeling like I was incomplete because she wasn't around. I had the most amazing father in the world, and he was more than enough for both parents. He taught me how to shave, and even learned how to sew to help me make the prom dress I designed in high school. He then bought me a dress when that failed miserably, so I didn’t have to go to prom in a dress designed by two people with absolutely no taste or future in the fashion industry. He was the best."

  "Sounds like he was a great dad," I say.

  She nods, still not looking at me.

  "He was," she says.

  "How did he pass?"

  It’s a question I probably shouldn't ask, but I do anyway. I've never been great at doing what’s expected of me.

  "Car accident," she says.

  It's a straightforward answer, but one that gives no room for elaboration, or invitation for further questions.

  "I'm sure it'll be nice to be home."

  She gives a single nod.

  "I'm looking forward to seeing my stepmother. She got remarried last year and I haven't gotten a chance to really get to know her new husband. I have a couple of older relatives. There are a few friends I want to see."

  She sounds less enthusiastic about the visit as she talks, and I wonder what's really going through her mind. Finally, she lets out a breath, and looks at me.

  "What are you planning to do on your vacation?" she asks.

  "Whatever I want to," I say. "That's the beauty of life. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want."

  Right now, anyway. Maybe not so much when I'm in Cambria and my parents are breathing down my neck. But Piper doesn’t need to know that.

  "And things always go exactly your way, huh?"

  Piper has the same frustrated, incredulous note in her voice I'm used to hearing.

  "You're sitting here, aren't you?"

  She scoffs.

  "Only because they made it impossible for me not to."

  The plane bounces, and Piper grabs at the armrests again as I look out the window. It's early afternoon, yet outside, it is dark and ominous. The storm has gotten more intense, and for the first time during the flight, I'm starting to feel concerned about it. I glance over at Piper and see her eyes are closed. There's something about her that intrigues me. She's gorgeous, but it’s more than that. She's bold and outspoken but has a softness about her that keeps her from being overly abrasive. She has none of the eyelash-batting silliness common in the countless women my parents have introduced me to over the last year. They want me to get married. It's not exactly a secret. A life of serving Cambria is ahead of me, and they want to know I'll have a suitable queen at my side.

  But right now, I’m not a prince. I’m on vacation. I'm going to relax, have fun, and see what kinds of adventure I can get into, and that means not telling Piper the truth. We’re only spending the extent of the flight together, and the last thing I need is to have my face splashed all over social media by the end of the day.

  The plane hits an even rougher patch of turbulence and bounces so hard the masks drop from the ceiling. There's a moment of panic, but the flight attendant starts down the aisles, reassuring everyone the flight isn't at risk. Her smile is so wide I can only imagine there's a whole day of training that involves being incessantly positive even if you are moments from crashing to a fiery end.

  The intercom comes on, and the pilot's voice breaks through the incessant muttering of the passengers, many who had latched the masks in place — despite the flight attendant telling them they didn't need to.

  "Hello, everybody. Thank you for your patience as we got through that storm. We are approaching our destination and will be landing soon. I have been advised that the weather has become far more severe, and it is impacting several outgoing flights. If you were not planning on staying in Boston, please consult outgoing flight schedules to determine if your flight has been grounded."

  My stomach sinks. Throwing together my travel arrangements didn't include any type of contingency plan. Being stuck in Boston without a place to stay definitely isn't something I prepared for.

  "Fuck," I mutter. "They better not have canceled my flight. I have places I need to be."

  "Oh, I'm sure if they hear you're on it, they'll make sure to push it right through," Piper says.

  When the plane finally touches down, I stand up to grab my carry-on out of the overhead compartment and turn to see Piper already making her way down the aisle. She glances over her shoulder.

  "Thanks for the upgrade, Christian," she says. "Have a wonderful time in California."

  Despite her frantic scurry off the plane, Piper and I both hit the crowd of passengers waiting at the gate. I shoot her a smug look as I sidle up beside her, but I'm still focused on what's going on around me. By the rapidly increasing volume of the voices around me, I can tell passengers are finding out about additional delayed flights. This doesn't give me a tremendous sense of confidence about my own trip. Piper pushes her way through the crowd toward the relative openness of the terminal. Her grin tells me that how pleased she is to not have to deal with any more flights for the day.

  "I'm going to ask everyone to please remain calm, and step back from the gate.” The woman at the gate nearly screams from the loudspeaker. It sounds like she's been pushed to her limit. "This counter is now closed. If you have a connecting flight, please consult the schedule boards for further information."

  A crash of thunder overhead sent us scrambling to the boards like frightened insects. Stopping in front of it, I progressively lose hope as the word 'canceled' pops up to replace the departure time of each outbound flight. My eyes are locked on my flight number. I'm watching it intently, willing the departure time to stay in place. Suddenly it flashes. Canceled.

  "Damn it."

  I push back through the other passengers, very aware that we're all in the same position. And that position is fucked. An airport full of stranded people, which means everyone is now looking for hotel rooms to weather the storm in, or rental cars to continue bravely on their own. There are only so many of each to go around, however, and the wave of people rushing toward the rental desks and whipping out their phones to make reservations doesn’t make my chances seem great.

  Normally, this would be when I would use my status to pull some strings. But I left Cambria without telling anyone or making any arrangements. I sincerely doubt that calling a Boston-area hotel and telling them that I’m Prince Christian Hesse of Cambria is going to work in my favor. Still, I grab my phone and start scrolling through listings for nearby hotels, trying to secure a room as I make my way toward the rental car desks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Piper standing at the luggage claim. She grabs two large suitcases, and turns, obviously startled to see me standing there.

  "No flight?" she asks. "They didn't miraculously carve a path through the storm to get you to your very important vacation activities?"

  She sweeps past me, and I grit my teeth to stop the aggravated sound in my throat from coming out. My own suitcase comes around the carousel, and I snatch it up before continuing my progress toward the rental desk. I've gone a few yards when I hear distinctly indelicate shouting that immediately makes me smile. Ahead of me, I notice people making a large path around something on the floor.

  "Ah! Watch where you're stepping!" Piper shouts. "Can't you fucking see where you're going?"

  Just as she was the first time I noticed her, Piper is on the floor, scrambling to pick up the contents of her carry-on. I don't stop this time. She's just another source of competition standing between me and not having to sleep on the airport floor tonight. Instead, I look down at her and grin as I make my way past.

  Chapter Three

  Piper

  "What did you run into this time?"

  I look up just in tim
e to glare at Christian as he makes his way past me. That man's arrogance makes my skin crawl, but his voice is like velvet. I try to tell myself the flush spreading across my cheeks is a result of anger and frustration, and not that sexy voice of his. Shoving everything into my bag as fast I can, I get up and follow him on his way to the rental car kiosks. This carry-on is never traveling with me again. Christian's much longer legs carry him through the terminal faster than me, but that doesn't do him much good. By the time I make it through the throng of people and arrive at the desks, he is standing in line and looks decidedly pissed. I recognize my own impatient-passenger move as he leans and strains to see over and around the people in front of him. The line of people waiting to try to secure a car from this particular company winds through the open atrium, and around itself, getting twisted and confused with other lines. The people standing in the middle seem to not know what line they’re actually in. To the opposite side of the desk, however, is a much shorter line.

  I smile and make my way toward the line, sifting through my bag for my reservation confirmation. Getting behind the woman at the end of the line, I throw Christian a look over my shoulder. His eyes narrow at me, and he ducks under the blue velvet rope put up to control the masses. The line I'm standing in is moving at a nice clip when he comes up behind me.

  "You think you're too good to stand in line with everyone else?" he says. "What is this? Some sort of special humanitarian line?"

  The woman in front of me steps up to the counter to take her turn. She holds out her phone to the man behind the computer, who promptly hands her a set of keys.

  "No," I say, waiting for my turn to approach the counter. "It's the line for people who already have reservations."

  "What?"

  I slide my reservation form across the counter toward the man, who eyes it carefully before taking a set of keys and offering them to me.

  "Thank you," I say with a smile as I take them, ignoring Christian. "It's the line for people who already have rental car reservations," I repeat. "Like me."

  "You already have a car?" he asks, falling into step beside me as I start toward the terminal doors.

  "Yes," I say. "I always make sure I have things like that arranged before I go on a trip. You should have thought about that."

  "I wasn’t supposed to need a rental car," he says, thinly masking the anger in his voice. "I thought I'd be getting on another plane from here."

  "Then maybe you should get back in line. It looks like it's getting pretty long. You probably shouldn't have given up your spot like that."

  Christian looks back at the line, which has gotten exponentially longer at this point and lets out a growl. The sound sends a shock through my body, and I turn away from him. He storms back toward the line and I walk past, stepping through the doors toward the parking lot where the other ‘lucky’ people who have keys to rentals are scurrying around in the rain, trying to find their cars. I glance down at the keys in my hand, memorizing the letter and number on the bright yellow tag before ducking out from under the awning. Cold droplets of rain immediately run down the back of my neck, and I shudder. Juggling my suitcases and carry-on, I make my way as quickly as I can, and head directly to the parking spot indicated by the tag. I hit the little button on the key fob and hear the cheerful beep of the car unlocking as I approach, inspiring a quick shout-out to the gods of modern technology. Opening the back door, I toss my luggage inside and then dive behind the wheel to escape the rain.

  I rest my head back and briefly close my eyes before something crashes on the passenger window. Screaming, I sit up and look at the source of the sound. A dark shape presses against the window, and a flash of lightning illuminates Christian standing there, his hands flat on either side of him.

  "What the hell is the matter with you?" I shout at him. "You look like something out of a fucking horror movie."

  Christian shakes his head, and points to his ear. I see his mouth moving but can’t hear anything he's saying over the pouring rain. He reaches for the handle to the door, and my habit of locking doors the instant I'm inside pays off. He gestures wildly. It looks like he's playing charades and wants me to guess "old-timey movie director," but I assume he actually wants me to roll down the window. When it is down a few inches, he sticks his face close to it.

  "There aren't any rental cars left," he shouts. "All of them were taken. From all the companies. And there are no taxis because of the storm.”

  Water streams down his face and has soaked through his shirt. His wet hair, plastered against his forehead, looks almost black.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "That tends to happen when an entire airport of people has their flights canceled at the last minute."

  "You are a really fucking frustrating person, you know that?"

  "I've been told. What are you going to do?"

  Christian pushes angrily against the car so he stands straight.

  "I don't really have much choice, do I? I'm going to go in there and find myself a section of carpet to spend the night. Hopefully, the weather will clear up and the flights will start again in the morning." There's another bright flash of lightning as he gives a single bitter wave.

  "Have a fantastic visit home, Piper," he says flatly.

  Hiking his bag up higher on his shoulder, Christian turns away and heads back toward the airport. I pull out of the parking spot and start making my way through the lot. Ahead of me, I see Christian. People are running around him, screaming and spouting profanity like the storm is the first sign of an impending apocalypse. I can't imagine what it's going to be like in that terminal overnight. My mind flashes with thoughts of babies crying, bored children running around, frustrated parents lashing out, and passengers at the end of their ropes coming to blows over the last packet of mayonnaise at the burger stand. Then I remember sitting back in the plush First-Class seat, sipping wine, and being able to imagine crashing as usual – but in luxury.

  Damn it.

  I blatantly cut off the person in front of me, so I don't lose sight of Christian. The blaring of their horn makes him turn around, and I gesture at him. He pauses in the middle of the parking lot, causing traffic to stop and filling the air with an even louder cacophony of horns. I gesture more aggressively, and he finally comes over. Leaning down beside the driver's side window again, he glares in at me.

  "What?"

  "Do you want a ride?" I ask.

  "What?"

  "A ride," I repeat. "I can give you a ride somewhere."

  "Why would you do that?"

  My feelings of goodwill are already beginning to fade.

  "Because I am a fucking humanitarian, and you are in need. I am risking death by road rage here, so either get in the car or go enjoy your slumber party with a few thousand of your new friends."

  Christian looks hesitant for a second, but relents and tosses his luggage in with mine before walking around to the passenger side and climbing in. Horns are still going off around us, and I notice a massive SUV trying to sneak past us to one side. I turn my wheel just enough so that the nose of my little compact juts out in front of the eco-unfriendly monstrosity. The driver promptly lays on his horn and starts screaming at me through his heavily tinted windows.

  "Oh, blow it out your ass!" I shout back at him.

  Christian turns to look at me, and we both laugh.

  "I'm sorry," I say. "I should really remember I'm not in the field anymore."

  Christian laughs again.

  "It's alright," he says. "It's refreshing to hear a woman who actually expresses herself for a change."

  It seems like an odd thing for him to say, but I'm concentrating too much on driving to think much about it. I'm sitting up as tall as my five feet and three inches will allow and maneuvering my way out of the congested parking lot, trying not to give Mr. Asshole SUV the opportunity to move around me. It's completely petty and passive-aggressive, but he started it.

  "I should probably work on being a little…less expressive. At least wh
ile I'm home."

  "It's funny, I always think of humanitarians as being really mild-mannered. Courteous, even."

  I roll my eyes.

  "You're thinking of missionaries," I say. "I am not a missionary."

  "Ah."

  We finally make it out of the parking lot from hell and onto the road. It's just as congested as the parking lot, but at least moving off airport grounds makes me feel like I'm making progress.

  "Where to?" I ask.

  "I don't know, actually," Christian says. "I haven't had any luck finding a hotel. Apparently, other travelers are much savvier when it comes to being screwed over by the airlines than I am."

  The rain seems to be getting harder, the lightning coming at faster clips, and the traffic in front of us slows to a crawl. Despite the tension of the competing cars around us, and the chaos of the storm, I feel myself relaxing. I might not be the biggest fan of storms when I'm several thousand feet up in the air in the midst of them, but when I'm securely on the ground, I love them. The bright flashes of lightning and booming thunderclaps are somehow both comforting and invigorating.

  "Let me guess, you're used to someone else, maybe your assistant, making all of your travel arrangements for you?"

  Christian looks at me briefly.

  "Why would you say that?"

  "You just strike me as someone who is accustomed to getting things your way, and having people jump to make that happen."

  I don't mean it as an insult, but Christian doesn't respond. His eyes focus directly in front of us at the few feet we can see past the rain-blurred windshield.

  Several minutes later, we've moved approximately three feet and Christian has his phone in his hand, scrolling through hotels in the area. He presses the call button, and I see a hopeful look on his face as it rings rather than immediately going to a voicemail system as the last several have.