Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  “I think we need to talk about a few things.”

  Jane-Ann frowns but clicks off the television and turns to me, mirroring my pose. “Okay?”

  “What are your plans for Tyler’s future?” I ask.

  She tilts her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I say, trying to broach the subject carefully. “What do you want for him?”

  She takes a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the ceiling while she thinks, and then she smiles. “I want him to grow up the way I did. I want him to learn to ride a horse and play in the mud. I want him to spend weekends with his grandparents and have sleepovers with his friends in the backyard. But mostly, I want him to be kind and feel loved.”

  The future Jane-Ann outlined sounds idyllic. I just hate that I won’t be there to see it.

  “What do you want for his future?” she asks, and by the smile on her face, I can tell she thinks this is a fun game we are playing.

  I reach out and lay a hand on her palm. “I want whatever you want for him. Because I know you love him and will always do what is best.”

  She smiles, but the light begins to fade in her eyes, and her eyebrows lower. “What about you? Are you going to do what is best for him?”

  “I’m going to try.”

  Jane-Ann nods, and I know she is beginning to understand what this means. What this conversation is really about.

  “When do you leave?”

  I look down at my lap, unable to meet her eyes. “Soon. I don’t have anything scheduled yet.”

  She twists away from me and stares straight ahead at the now-black television screen. “Why did you come back at all?”

  The words feel like a punch to the gut, but they are fair. More than fair.

  “Because I care about you, Jane-Ann. And Tyler. Because I needed to make sure you two were going to be okay.”

  “Okay without you,” she clarifies. “You needed to make sure that we weren’t destitute and living in a friend’s apartment, and now that you’ve bought this house, you think your duty here is done?”

  “That is not why—”

  “We were just fine before,” she says, interrupting me. “I could have managed on my own. I didn’t need the house or the furniture. I got through the pregnancy without you, and I could have found us a house without you. I didn’t need you to come back and save me like some knight riding in on a white horse.”

  She stops suddenly, eyes wide, and then she laughs. It is a bitter sound. “God. You even picked me up from the hospital in a white Mustang. Was that some kind of plan? A cute play on words?”

  “Completely unintentional,” I say, waiting to see if she’ll continue talking. She doesn’t, so I grasp desperately for the right words to fix things. “If people find out about you two, your lives will never be the same again. You will never have a normal life. I don’t want that—my life—for either of you.”

  “We don’t get a choice?” she asks, her voice breaking.

  I’ve thought about the three of us together more times than I can count in the past eight days. I’ve worked through every scenario, and I never found one that ended with a happily ever after.

  “The only way we could ever be together would be to get married,” I start.

  “Is that so horrible?” Jane-Ann asks, surprising me.

  It’s not horrible. It sounds wonderful and is so easy for me to imagine. I’ve been dating Lady Freyja for months, and I could never see myself with her. But I’ve spent nine days total with Jane-Ann, and I’d commit to her on the spot. But it can’t happen.

  “Even if my family would agree to me marrying an American woman outside of our social class, Tyler would grow up to be a king. Do you realize that? Everything you wanted for him—a normal, happy life full of fun and love—would be so much more difficult.”

  Jane-Ann frowns. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “He would grow up under the spotlight. His every move would be monitored, and he would be under more scrutiny than I ever was. Because he would be half-American. And, based on strict moral codes, illegitimate.”

  She sags back into the couch.

  “I know this is a lot to take in,” I say, wishing I could stop right there. But I have more to say. Now is the time to come clean about everything. “But there’s more.”

  Her head whips to me, eyes narrowed. “What?”

  I swallow back my nerves and spit out the words as fast as I can. “I’ve been dating someone these past few months, and my family expects us to be engaged within the month.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds and then shakes her head. “I wish you’d stayed in Sigmaran.”

  The words hurt, but I can tell they hurt Jane-Ann just as much. She lowers her head into her hands.

  “How long were you planning to play house with me before you told me there’s another woman waiting for you?”

  “It isn’t what you think,” I say. “Freyja is not my choice. She was chosen for me by my family.”

  “That doesn’t change anything. You’re still going to marry her.”

  Jane-Ann stands up and walks into the kitchen. I think about giving her a minute to cool down, but I can’t. Not when there is so much she doesn’t understand. Not when I need her help.

  When she hears me behind her, she turns and plants her feet, arms crossed over her chest. She’s wearing loose pajama pants and a tank top, the evidence of her pregnancy obvious. Still, she looks fierce, and I take a step back.

  “What do you think your new wife will say about your son? What are you going to tell her when you have to leave to come back for his birthday party or when you have to send off an extra Christmas gift? Or are you even going to bother telling her anything? Maybe it would just be easier to send a card and not come back at all, right?”

  Her eyes go glassy, but her voice stays strong and firm. “I will not let my son be your dirty little secret, and I am not going to be your royal mistress.”

  I hate that I don’t have answers for all of her questions, but I can explain some of it away. “I don’t want to marry Freyja.”

  “If it’s not her, it will be someone else,” Jane-Ann says. “What will be different?”

  “Love,” I say simply. “If I marry someone else, I want it to be for love. Not because of duty or tradition. And if I marry for love, I’ll tell her about you and Tyler. You won’t be a secret. Not between my immediate family and me. Maybe to the world, but that would be for your benefit. And Tyler’s.”

  I hope Jane-Ann doesn’t make a connection between this admission and the way I’d given serious thought to the idea of marrying her. She doesn’t need to know how I feel. Not when it only makes everything more difficult.

  For the first time, she doesn’t seem to have an argument. She lifts her chin. “So, what are you going to do?”

  “Well, I have an idea. But it is a little crazy.” Understatement of the century. “And I’d need your help.”

  Jane-Ann frowns, and I love the way the freckles across her nose wrinkle. “How?”

  I smile and shrug. “How would you like to be my fake fiancée?”

  Chapter 21

  Jane-Ann

  Christian is smiling at me in a mischievous way that sends tingles into my kneecaps and other places I’d rather not discuss, especially so close to giving birth. So, I replay his words over in my head, using them to sharpen my indignation.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, popping one hip out to the side and planting my hand there. It’s a move my mother pulled on my father often. Even after twenty-eight years of marriage, he still cowers at the sight.

  He sighs and moves forward, head low, his blond hair falling forward into his eyes. “If you come to Sigmaran and pretend to be my blue-blooded fiancée, my parents will lay off of me with Freyja. They only want me to marry her to prove to the country that I’m capable of making a serious commitment to someone. So, if you help me prove that, I won’t have to marry Freyja.”

  “But you’ll hav
e to marry me,” I say, spinning around and marching into the kitchen. I can’t stand in front of him and talk seriously about pretending to be his fiancée. Not when I’d so recently considered it an actual option. Not while the wound is still fresh. “If I’m not good enough to marry for real, I don’t see how I’m good enough to fake-marry.”

  “No, we won’t,” he says, following after me. “That’s part of the plan. You’ll end the relationship and break my heart, and everyone will feel so bad for me, it won’t be suspicious when I don’t date seriously again for a few years. It gives me time to find someone besides Freyja. Someone I could actually love.”

  Someone who isn’t me. Because how could he ever love me?

  I hate that I had any stock in the idea of us becoming a real family. I hate that I’m disappointed. That I once again let myself be vulnerable with him.

  I start making coffee even though I’m way too agitated for caffeine. I just need something to keep myself busy. “When exactly did you start thinking about this plan?”

  “A few days ago,” he says, having enough decency to seem ashamed. “The more time I spent here, the more I realized I could never be happy with Freyja.”

  “Don’t,” I say sharply, pressing my palms into the countertop. “Don’t flatter me with compliments and what could have been. I’m not going to be manipulated into helping you.”

  I don’t hear him cross the kitchen, but I feel him standing behind me. The warmth of his body. A current flows down my spine in his presence.

  “I’m not flattering you,” he says softly. “I’m telling the truth.”

  I spin around and regret the decision immediately. He is too close. Too handsome and tall and warm. And blond. Too Christian. Why couldn’t he be an ugly prince? That would have made things so much easier.

  I remind myself that he has made his feelings clear. Twice. The first time was the night we met. The night he left me naked in bed. The second time is currently happening. This entire plan is just proof that I’m not good enough for him or his family or his country. I’m only good enough to be used as some prop in his game. It could never be real between us, and I’d do well to remember that.

  “These last few days with you and Tyler have made me realize that I can’t settle for anything less than love. I want to feel comfortable in a relationship. I want to feel the way I feel with you. In this house. I don’t want my marriage to be a sham for the sake of my country. Because for the sake of my country, I have to be happy. And I will never be happy with Freyja.”

  Christian takes a step back as soon as he is done unloading his feelings, and I can see by the paleness in his cheeks that he didn’t mean to say so much. To be so honest with me. He doesn’t love me the way I want him to, but it feels good that he has at least admitted how easy it is between us. At least I’m not completely delusional. Even though I’m still angry with him, I’ve lost the hard edge.

  “You deserve to be happy,” I say grudgingly.

  His face lifts at my words, and I recognize the expression. Hope.

  “I don’t expect you to help for free,” he says. “I’ll pay you for—”

  “I’m not going to be an escort,” I snap. “I may not be as wealthy as you, but I have some self-respect.”

  Christian’s eyes go wide. “No. That’s not what I meant. Fake fiancée. As in, not real. No behind the scenes…anything going on.”

  I look away, embarrassed, and Christian runs a hand along the back of his neck.

  “You would just come to Sigmaran for a week or two. We’d be seen together, discuss how our relationship has been a long time coming. Maybe we’ve been pen pals over the years.”

  “Pen pals?” I snort. “I haven’t had a pen pal since I was ten years old.”

  He rolls his eyes, though there is amusement there. He can tell I’m beginning to crack.

  “You can help me with the story,” he says, “but we’ll admit that we continued talking during my relationship with Freyja, and though nothing inappropriate happened, we realize our feelings for one another are more than friendly and have become engaged. We will maintain that story for a short time before you decide you cannot handle my very public lifestyle, and we split ways. I’ll be heartbroken, and you will be free to live your life with Tyler undisturbed.”

  “What about the press?” I ask. It seems like an obvious oversight. “Won’t I be recognized?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Had you ever heard of me before you saw me in that honky-tonk? No offense, but Americans don’t tend to bother themselves with the goings-on of other countries. And since I’m not British royalty, my engagement won’t make American papers. Especially not the Round Rock, Texas, papers.”

  I lean back against the counter and cross my arms. “I can’t leave Tyler. It’s too soon.”

  “I can delay the engagement another month or two,” he says quickly. “I can give you time. And you’ll only need to be in Sigmaran for a couple weeks.”

  I can tell he is desperate, and despite everything, part of me wants to help him. And another part of me—a part I’m ashamed of—wants to do it just so he doesn’t get engaged in the next month. Even though he won’t be mine, I’m not ready for him to be someone else’s. Especially if that someone else will keep him away from his son.

  “And I’ll pay you,” he says again. “Handsomely.”

  I don’t want to be lured in by the money, but with a newborn baby and no job prospects aside from Rufus’ Sofa Shack, I can’t really turn down the offer.

  “How handsomely?”

  “One million dollars. Cash.”

  I laugh. And then quickly cover my mouth. “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not,” Christian says, smirking at me.

  “That’s not a real amount of money. You can’t just give me a million dollars. For a favor? No.”

  “I can,” he insists. “And I will. We can write up a contract if you’d like?”

  “No, I trust you.” I say the words before I can contemplate their meaning.

  Do I trust him? Yes, I really do. But why? Christian has been anything but reliable, yet he has never broken a promise. Because I never asked him to make one. Our night together nine months before was just that—one night. And he had never said anything about living in the cottage with me and Tyler long-term. He’d asked if he could stay with us for a while, and I’d agreed.

  Wishful thinking had led me to believe he might choose us over his born duty. I was still angry with Christian for so many things, but I couldn’t be mad at him for lying. He’d always told the truth.

  He nods. “So, one million dollars for a couple weeks of your time?” he asks, extending his hand.

  I stare at his long fingers, at his pale skin, and the tight coil of muscles sticking out of the bottom of his rolled-up shirt sleeve. Taking his money feels like a cop-out. Like the easy solution. But that money could change my life. And Tyler’s. Though admittedly, I’d rather have Christian decide to step up and be a present father to our baby than take the money, but since that isn’t an option, the money is the least he can do.

  Before I can change my mind, I reach out and grab his hand, shaking it once. “It’s a deal.”

  Chapter 22

  Christian

  Two Months Later

  The wind is wailing, and a light mist splatters against the windows of the small airport. I’ve never been a nervous flyer, but that is because I prefer commercial airplanes to the private planes reserved for the royal family. However, the newly revealed love interest of Prince Christian of Sigmaran couldn’t fly into a standard airport. It would have been a media circus. More so than usual, anyway.

  The papers have been buzzing with any scrap of news about Lady Ann Callister. Though there is admittedly little since she only sprang into existence eight weeks ago when Jane-Ann agreed to my crazy plan. Insofar as Lady Freyja returned to Sweden the moment she heard about my love connection with a beautiful aristocrat from overseas, the plan has worked. Freyja is rumored t
o be dating a Danish prince and seems no worse the wear for my rejection of her. But in terms of having a healthy relationship with the mother of my child, the plan has been a failure.

  Jane-Ann hasn’t answered or returned any of my calls for the last two months. She sends pictures of Tyler every day and sends generic updates about his development and doctor appointments, but I have no idea how she is doing, mentally or physically. The last time we spoke on the phone, she kept things brief, wanting to know when she should fly in, who would greet her at the airport, and what she should wear.

  I assured her it would just be the two of us when she landed, and if she sent along her measurements, I’d have a wardrobe tailored and ready for her, so she wouldn’t need to pack anything. In a truly un-Jane-Ann fashion, she had no comments about any of the plans and agreed to everything with a few generic hums.

  So, standing inside the airport and looking into the gray, stormy clouds for any sign of her small plane, I can’t help but wonder if the weather is a harbinger of what is to come.

  My parents are ecstatic to meet Lady Ann. I showed them a photo, one sent to me by Jane-Ann of her at a cousin’s wedding. She looks every bit the aristocrat she’s pretending to be. My mother went on and on about how cute our children would be—and it took everything inside of me not to pull out the latest photo of Tyler to show him off—and my father patted me on the shoulder and congratulated me on finding a beautiful lady.

  They were so excited that I almost got carried away by the moment, wanting to admit to them that Lady Ann is actually Jane-Ann, and we met at a honky-tonk in Texas and had a child after our first night together. But common sense and the reminder that Jane-Ann was barely even speaking to me kept me from spilling the truth. I was pretty certain that asking for this favor from Jane-Ann had ruined the very slim chance there was that there could ever be something more lasting between us.