Protecting Rayne

by Emily Bishop

  The tears finally broke, and she sniffled. “Gosh, I’m such a cry baby. Ha!”

  “Ironic.”

  “It must be the hormones. Or is it? I don’t know if they kick in at eight weeks or not.” She licked her lips. “The morning sickness does, though, sheesh.”

  “Ugh, sorry about that. We could take you to the doctor and see if he has anything that will help for that? Maybe like a natural remedy?”

  “I’m too happy to care, right now. I was stressed about this,” she said. “I figured it was the last thing you needed.”

  “This is the first thing I need,” I said. “You and me, in this cabin.” And I slung my arm around her shoulder, and we both sat back against out splintery bench and looked out at the lake and the forest again.

  Aurora rested her temple against my shoulder, and I placed my hand on her still-flat belly.

  “When will you start showing?” I asked.

  “I think somewhere around three months? I’m not sure. Oh, god, I need to get some baby books. And pregnancy books.” Her voice went light and bubbly, and she sat upright and turned to me again. “I’m going to get big. Like scary big. Ass and face, and hips. What if my feet swell?”

  I chuckled. “You sound happy about that?”

  “It’s a new adventure. God, I might have to set up my tent in our front yard. I doubt I’ll be able to walk out to the fairgrounds when I get that big.” She swiveled in the seat and peered at the clearing beside the lake, positively glowing, her smile broader than I’d seen it in weeks. At least now I understood why that was.

  “That could be arranged. It might be nice. Mysterious for folks to come out here and get readings from the pregnant fortune-teller.” Honestly, I loved the privacy of this place—after being in the limelight for years, our cabin in the woods was my safe haven. We’d already fenced off the borders in the forest.

  “Would you mind? I mean, it would only be if I couldn’t walk that far.”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t mind.” I rose and brought her up with me, tugged her to my side, and grasped her tiny waist. I pointed to the line of trees where our little dirt path began. “We’ll get some fairy lights and string them up in the trees. Put a sign by the gate that announces that you’re in here. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect,” she choked the words out. “Oh, god, here come the waterworks again.”

  “What’s wrong? Is it something I said?”

  “No, Jarryd, it’s—this is everything I’ve ever wanted, right here. It’s more than I ever thought I’d have.” Aurora reached up and placed her palm against my cheek. “I can’t help wishing my mother was here for this.”

  “I wish I’d met her,” I said, and it was true. She’d created and raised Aurora, who was the most unique person I’d met. I couldn’t help but believe that Libby would’ve been an amazing woman and a wonderful grandmother.

  “She would have loved you, I know it. She despised James,” Aurora said.

  “Oh? You never told me that.”

  “My mother was a good judge of character. Me, not so much. Till now.” My woman clung to me, and I lifted her left hand, which held the engagement ring I’d placed on it six months ago.

  “We’d better get to work on arranging this,” I said. “Not that I care whether we’re married when the kid arrives. I can’t wait for you to be Mrs. Tombs.”

  “Me neither. God, I’m so happy you’re happy.”

  “Hey, why wouldn’t I be?” I turned her in my arms and studied her expression, happy yet tearful. “This is the best thing that could’ve happened to us. We’re going to be a real family.”

  “Yeah, but it’s like I said, this is a difficult time for you.”

  “No way. I’m going to call Rod, right now. I’ll reschedule the meeting.” If she needed me, I’d be here. The script could wait. I’d spent a year writing and rewriting, ensuring that the characters weren’t one-dimensional as those in Pride’s Death had been. Another nine months wouldn’t hurt.

  “No! Please, no,” Aurora said and rose onto tiptoes. She kissed me quick, a light brush of her warm lips against mine. “I want you to follow your dreams. I have everything I’ve ever wanted, like I said. A family and a home, a real home that my mother would’ve been proud of. You don’t have your movie.”

  “My dream? What if this is my dream, too?” I asked and tightened my grip. “Just being here with you.”

  “You have a passion,” she replied. “It’s your calling, and you’re good at it. Performing, writing, being who you are. I think you have a real gift, Jarryd, and you need to share it with the world. Please, you’ve got to go on Monday.”

  “Are you sure? What if you need me?”

  “I’m eight weeks pregnant. I think it will be a while before I need you to paint my toenails for me.”

  I chuckled and kissed her forehead, inhaled that oh-so-Aurora scent. “All right, I’ll go. But man, speak about nervous, I’m going to shit bricks on Monday. Rod wasn’t exactly happy with me the last time we spoke.”

  “It will work out.” Aurora perked up. “Wait, does this mean I finally get to read the script?”

  I hadn’t let her, because I wanted it to be a surprise, but nothing I’d written could top what she’d told me now, not that I wanted it to. “Yeah, I guess you could. I don’t know how you’ll feel about it—”

  Aurora sniffed. “What’s that smell?” she asked and gave a couple more sniffles. “Smells like—”

  I inhaled, too. The acrid tang of smoke on the air, and something else, something sweet. “Apples?”

  “Oh, Jesus, the pies!” Aurora jerked out of my arms and rushed for the front door. “I totally forgot about them.” She dashed inside, and a series of clatters and muted cuss words followed. “Ow, ouch! Hot!”

  I started for the door.

  “It’s all right, I’m OK,” she called.

  Mistress wandered out of the front door, her whiskers twitching. She flicked her tail. Apparently, she didn’t care much for the smell either.

  “There goes my plan for afternoon pies,” Aurora called back. “Damn, so much for my domestic vibe.”

  “I’m not marrying you for your cooking.”

  Aurora poked her head out of the open window and narrowed her eyes at me. A thin plume of smoke drifted out behind her. “Then why are you marrying me?”

  “For your tarot reading skills, of course,” I said. “I need you on my side and all the fortune-telling I can get.”

  She bust her gut laughing, and that rolling mirth washed over me and echoed across the lake and between the trees.

  “Forget about the pies,” I said. “Come out here. I’ll tell you more about the script.”

  Aurora’s curious streak got the better of her, and she immediately disappeared from the window. A minute later, she walked out, brushing off her skirt with the kitchen towel. “I got a little burnt crust on me, can you believe it.”

  “Take a seat, pregnant fiancée,” I replied and gestured to the bench.

  She sank onto it and folded her dainty hands in her lap. I joined her then cursed and popped up again. “Always with the splinters, hot damn. Why doesn’t it happen to you?”

  “Because I am at one with nature,” she said, in a put on British accent. She cleared her throat. “Well, what’s it about? Don’t renege on the deal now, Tombs. I’ve been waiting a year to finally hear what it’s about.”

  “All right,” I said, and my nerves got the better of me for a second, dried up my throat and my thoughts. I lifted the script from the bench and held it on my lap, hand over the title.

  Mistress hopped onto the spot the script had vacated and settled in to listen.

  “It’s important that you like this. I was going to tell you about it tomorrow but now that—well, yeah. Aurora, if you don’t like it, I won’t take it to Rod. That’s an important point to understand.”

  “Why wouldn’t I like it?” she asked and took my hand.

  I lifted hers to my lips and kissed
it, relished that flavor, that natural sweetness. “The movie’s name will be Gypsy.”

  “Gypsy,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  “All right, and what’s it about?” She tilted her head as she always did when she listened, and Mistress mimicked her exactly on my left side.

  “It’s about this actor who comes to a small town and meets this girl.”

  Aurora inhaled sharply. “Yeah?”

  “She’s a gypsy, a magical, gorgeous gypsy, who changes his life forever. The story is about how they overcome countless obstacles, her jealous ex, media scrutiny, and an obsessive actress to find the meaning of true love. The meaning of home.”

  “Oh, wow,” Aurora said. “Jarryd.” She leaned in and kissed me, hard, sealing this moment, the one I’d worried over for an entire year, with the one gesture that meant more to me than anything else. Her opinion mattered and that was it.

  “Do you like it?” I asked.

  “I love it,” she whispered. “May I read it now?”

  “Sure,” I said and held it out to her.

  Aurora placed her hand on the first page then withdrew it, a smile as light as a rainbow dancing on her lips. “Actually, you read it. Read it to me and to the baby.”

  So, I flipped to the first page and started reading them the story of how we fell in love.

  I’ll protect her no matter what…

  One fake marriage.

  One hot billionaire.

  One beautiful nanny.

  Trying to run a billion-dollar empire while my son chews up nannies for breakfast is tough.

  Until Sabrina.

  Blue eyes that could fill the sea and legs for days. I can barely talk to her without stuttering.

  The gorgeous bomb shell is the only nanny my son has ever loved. She’s also the only nanny I’ve ever loved.

  But her psycho ex-boyfriend is obsessed with marrying her, and he’s willing to do anything to have his way.

  Only one option: I marry her first.

  I’ll do anything to protect her, but the ex takes it too far.

  Now I have to rescue her before it’s too late!

  Escape

  Sabrina

  I have to get out of here.

  Standing in the corner with the brass table lamp clutched tightly in my shaking hands, I wait. The sound of my heavy breathing punctuates the stillness in the soundproof room.

  I’ve already been waiting days to execute my new escape plan, which adds to the weeks I’ve been trying to escape from this gilded hellhole.

  Seven weeks and four days.

  That’s how long I’ve been rotting here. That’s how long it’s been since I made the biggest mistake of my life.

  I should have known it was too good to be true. I should have known a nobody like me with no name, no money, no manager, and no family would never make my mark on the world. But did I listen to that voice inside my head? No.

  I thought at twenty-two I could already spot bullshit and assholes. I thought I was strong enough, wise enough. But no. I was too weak, too naïve, too foolish.

  And now, I’ve paid the price.

  Not anymore. Enough is enough.

  I glance at the bed. I’ve already arranged the pillows beneath the blanket so it seems like I’m still hiding under there with my wrists and ankles tied.

  Thank God I managed to cut through the pillow cases that he used to tie me. I cut them with my teeth and my guitar pick–the only thing really left of my guitar–that I keep in the back pocket of my pants.

  Now all that’s left to do is to wait for Vince to come in.

  Finally, I hear someone at the door. I hear the beep, which means the keycard has been accepted. I hold my breath as I lift the lamp, wincing from the pain that shoots up my still-bruised left arm from Vince’s last tantrum but ignoring it as I prepare to strike.

  Please let me hit him.

  The door opens and a man with hair as black as his tux and a blonde in a red dress, both wearing masks, tumble in.

  Wait. What?

  “I told you it was a good idea to get that keycard, Babe,” the woman says. “I knew it would lead to an interesting room.”

  “Steal the keycard, you mean,” the man says.

  “Whatever. Finally, we can have some privacy.”

  They start kissing, oblivious to my presence or to what they’ve just stumbled upon.

  I still don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. The door’s open and there’s no sign of Vince, so I go out, leaving the lamp outside the room.

  As I do, I realize there’s loud music playing. Really loud.

  A party? That would explain the weird couple and the masks they’re wearing.

  A masquerade party. My perfect chance to escape.

  Avoiding the cameras in the hall, I sneak into one of the rooms, finding another couple fooling around in there.

  What kind of party is Vince throwing?

  I don’t care. I pick up the feathered mask and the gown that have been discarded on the floor and I put them on before continuing my escape.

  I go down the stairs, trying to act as naturally as I can past Vince’s thugs. I pass through the crowd of guests, half of whom are dancing and the other half making out, most of them drunk. At least they provide good cover.

  As I catch a glimpse of Vince, my heart stills, fear coursing through my veins. I steel my nerves, though, and quickly leave the crowd to search for the exit. Finally I see the door leading to the kitchen, which I know leads to the gardens and to the gate.

  Almost there.

  Just when I’m a few feet away, a thick arm stops me.

  Shit.

  It’s one of Vince’s thugs. Bart, I think his name is. I don’t know. They all look the same to me – huge and scary.

  Now, what?

  “Where do you think you’re going, miss?” he asks with a grin, putting his hand on the wall.

  I take a deep breath.

  Calm down, Sabrina. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet.

  Right. He thinks I’m a guest so I should act like one.

  I return his grin with a mischievous one of my own as I run my fingers through my hair.

  “Miss? How kind. My name is Eleanor, and I’m actually looking for my husband.” I lower my voice as I lean forward. “We’re playing a little hide-and-seek, you see.”

  “Oh.”

  I can hardly believe it, but he’s blushing. So, even brutes can blush.

  “You didn’t happen to see him pass this way, did you?”

  He touches his stubble. “No. I’m afraid I can’t say I have.”

  “That’s fine. He’s very good at sneaking and hiding.” I trace circles on the front of his shirt. “You could say he’s had a lot of practice. But I will find him. And when I do, he’s going to pay for all the trouble he’s caused me.” I clench my hand into a fist then look up at him sweetly. “Do you think you could step aside so I can check the kitchen just in case? He does like sweets, you know.”

  Thank goodness I’ve watched a lot of movies and attended an acting workshop when I was part of the glee club in high school.

  “The kitchen?” The thug’s eyes narrow. “How do you know this leads to the kitchen?”

  Shit.

  “It doesn’t?” I ask him, doing my best to stay composed. “I’m pretty sure I saw someone come out of here with food.”

  He doesn’t look convinced.

  “Come now. I’m just going to look around. I promise I won’t take a bite.”

  He doesn’t move, eyeing me like a hawk.

  I straighten my shoulders. “Mr. Lestair didn’t say any part of the house was off limits.”

  He still doesn’t budge, like a statue guarding some holy gates. I resist the urge to tap my foot.

  Come on.

  Finally, he moves out of the way.

  “I guess not. Please help yourself.”

  I smile as I inwardly sigh in relief. “Thank you… What was your name again?”
/>
  “Jackson.”

  Right. “Thank you, Jackson. I hope your evening will not be so boring.”

  His grin returns. “And I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  I go into the kitchen, which isn’t as bustling as I expected, and pick up an apple. Then I slip into the gardens, crawling in and out of the shadows until I get close to the gate. I wait until the gates open so a car can leave, crouching so the guy in the booth doesn’t see me. Once outside, I hide behind a bush, holding my breath until the gates close.

  When they do, I heave another sigh of relief.

  Finally, I’m out. For a moment, I glance at the mansion with all its bright lights and loud music, with all its tragic memories and with all its hopes and promises for the future.

  This was where my dreams began and where they all ended.

  Goodbye, Savannah Brown.

  From now on, I’ll just have to go back to being myself, to being a nobody – plain old Sabrina James.

  I look away from the mansion, peering into the darkness and the uncertainty ahead of me. Now what do I do?

  I don’t know. I haven’t thought this far. Still, there’s only one way to go – away. As far away from here as possible.

  I take off my mask and start running through the darkness, uttering a silent plea as the wind blows through my hair.

  Please… someone… help me…

  Someone…

  Wanted: Perfect Nanny

  Three months later…

  Randall

  “Well, someone has to do something. I’ve given you the funds for your research. Now give me results.”

  I tap the screen of my phone to end the call then set the device down on the carpeted floor beside my mat so I can continue with my dumb bell crunches. Rather, I start them over, having been interrupted by that call in the middle of my routine.

  One… Two…

  I should have stuck to being a weightlifter, a gym buff, a personal fitness trainer. I should have contented myself with my bench press and my weights. But no. I decided to go into business, to start my own company, to build my own gyms across the country and train my own trainers, to develop my own fitness equipment, supplements and clothing line.