Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  Will he and Tyler video-chat regularly? Will they talk on the phone? And even if they do, is that enough to rectify the fact that Tyler can’t hug his dad every day? That the only way Christian will be able to watch him play soccer or basketball or tennis is going to be through pictures and videos?

  When I look up, Christian is smiling at me, and I’m overwhelmed by the urge to ask him to choose me. Choose us. To come back to America and be a father to his son. To forget about his “people” and make a new life with me.

  The words are rising up to the surface—every barrier and filter I’d set into place to keep this kind of outburst from happening have been worn down by Christian’s relentless charm and kindness—when our waiter appears with a plate of French pastries and complimentary wine.

  “Your Highness. These are for you and your beautiful date.” The server bows deeply as he delivers the plate. He is a young man, no more than twenty-five, with a thin black mustache and a mop of black hair.

  “I come here too often to still be receiving this kind of special treatment,” Christian says, pulling the plate closer to him and examining it. He picks up one of the cream puffs and pops it into his mouth. His eyes flutter closed and he groans. “But I’m not complaining. These are incredible like always.”

  The server presses his palms together in thanks and bows again. “I’ll deliver your compliments to the chef. But no matter how familiar you become around here, we will never forget the kindness of our leaders. God bless.”

  Christian sits taller and tips his head toward the man, his wide mouth pulled back in an easy, comfortable smile. I can picture a crown on his head. A ceremonial robe around his shoulders. I can see Christian at his coronation, swearing his loyalty to his country and his people.

  He can’t leave them, and I could never ask him to.

  Christian opens my car door and holds my hand to help me into the limo. My dress is beautiful but restricting, so I cling to him as I lower myself in. I’m still adjusting the gown around my legs when he slides in from the other side of the backseat.

  On the way to the restaurant, we each stuck to our respective sides of the car. I was practically hugging my door the entire drive. Being in a confined space with Christian hurts. It’s like resisting a tractor beam; if I let myself relax at all, I’m at risk of being sucked in.

  But now, Christian is right next to me, his leg pressed against mine, which is exposed from mid-thigh down due to the slit in the dress. The fabric of his pants scratches against my skin and sends currents of electricity racing for my nervous system.

  “Ready,” he calls to the driver, rapping his knuckles on the roof. The car pulls away from the restaurant, and I watch as the tiny building disappears behind a row of beech trees.

  As Christian rolls the divider window up, separating us from the driver, I am achingly aware of how alone we are. All day, we’ve been alone, but in public. Witnesses and paparazzi were near enough that I never felt vulnerable being around Christian. Nothing would happen between us that couldn’t be caught on camera. But here? In the dark backseat of a limo? Anything could happen.

  Christian turns toward me, his knee sliding up my thigh as he twists his body. I know I should scoot away from him, but my body refuses to move.

  “We need to talk,” he says, voice low and deep. The rumble of it unsettles me and leaves me feeling breathless.

  “Are you breaking up with me?” I joke, too nervous to be serious.

  When I look up, his sea-glass eyes are devouring me. I can practically feel him mentally undressing me, and I don’t hate it. The realization that he is the last man I’ve slept with—the last man I’ve been with in almost a year—is alarming. Something like hunger settles low in my stomach, and I clench my legs tighter to try and dispel the thoughts Christian’s clenched jaw are stirring up.

  His mouth turns up in a smirk, and I begin planning my attack on him. Which clothes I’ll remove first, which body parts I’ll taste. Sensible Jane-Ann has left the building, allowing reckless Jane-Ann full authority over the controls.

  “Quite the opposite actually,” he says.

  I barely hear his words over the thrum of my heart and the blood in my veins. Who cares if this isn’t forever? It could be “for now.” And is that really so bad? I don’t think so.

  “There is a press conference tomorrow at the palace,” he says, his knee scratching against my thigh.

  I see it as a request for entry. I turn toward him until our knees are touching. Until it wouldn’t take more than a little friction for his leg to slide between mine. An invitation.

  “My entire family will be there, and I’d like you to join us.”

  I hum, intoxicated by what is about to happen. By his lemon and cedar scent. I’ll go wherever he wants as long as he—

  “Because I’ll be announcing our engagement to the people of Sigmaran.”

  The words crash over me like a bucket of ice water, and I freeze.

  Chapter 26

  Christian

  Jane-Ann blinks like she is waking up from a dream, and she tilts her head to the side slowly, studying me. “What?”

  I run my hands along my thighs, wiping the sweat from my palms, and I realize how close we are sitting. Jane-Ann’s knee is pressed against mine. Her body is turned toward me. It is the closest we’ve been since we were in Texas. Or, at least, the closest we’ve been in private.

  In front of my family and out in public, Jane-Ann plays the role of a smitten girlfriend. She smiles at me, holds my hand, brushes the hair from my forehead. But I remind myself it isn’t real. Constantly. Every minute.

  But this? Alone in the back of the limo. What is this? Is this real?

  I blink and push the thoughts away. There are more pressing questions to answer.

  “I will announce to the country and my family that ‘Lady Callister’ and I have entered into an engagement,” I explain. “The press conference tomorrow seems like a good time to spread the word.”

  “But your family already thinks that, right?” she asks, pulling away from me. Only an inch separates us, but it feels like a mile.

  “They suspect,” I say. “And expect it to happen soon. They will be thrilled, though not surprised.”

  She looks out the window so I can’t see her face, her blond hair falling from her shoulder to tumble down her back in shiny waves. After several seconds, she turns back to me, her face creased and concerned. “So, everyone will know about our engagement? I’ve only been here two days. Can’t we wait longer?”

  “You will not be staying in Sigmaran very long,” I say, the reminder landing like a punch to the stomach. “I want my people to see you as my intended for as long as possible before you leave for Texas. Given my reputation, I don’t want anyone to write this relationship off as frivolous.”

  She bites her lower lip, and I have to look away. It has been eleven months since I’ve kissed her lips, but the memory of it burns across my skin.

  “I didn’t expect to have to play your betrothed in front of the entire country. I thought our engagement would be announced later, once I’d left, and then be called off.”

  “Is there any difference?” I ask. “Either way, we won’t be getting married.”

  I see it. Only a flash, but it is there. Sadness and longing flicker in Jane-Ann’s eyes before she looks away. I recognize it because it matches my own.

  “I know,” she says quietly.

  I close the gap between us before I can think. My knee slides between hers, the slit in her dress opening to let me in, and my hand wraps around her neck, drawing her near to me.

  “What are you doing?” she breathes. Her eyes are wide, but she doesn’t resist me. Instead, her hands rest on my shoulders and then slide down across my chest.

  “What I should have done months ago.” I lean in until I’m too close to see anything but her eyes and the pink of her lips. They part, and I take it as an invitation.

  Kissing her feels exactly like I remember. It is so
ft and warm and urgent. I grab fistfuls of her hair and tip her head back so I can have more of her. All of her.

  Her fingers tangle in the hair at the back of my neck, and her legs open to let me in. Our bodies are pressed together, and I want to look out the window to see how close we are to home. How much longer we have before the window separating us from Gunner comes down, and my driver sees more of me than I’m certain he has ever wanted to, but I can’t bring myself to end this kiss. If I do, I’m afraid it won’t happen again.

  Jane-Ann and I are in a bubble. Perfectly insulated from everything, but the oxygen is limited, and eventually, it will burst. Soon, in fact. But I plan to use up every last breath of it. Because being with her feels good and natural and more right than anything I’ve ever experienced. I know because I’ve thought about what would have happened if one of the random hookups I’ve had over the years had gotten pregnant.

  I’m ashamed to admit that I would have done what royalty have done for ages. I would have paid her for her silence and swept them under the rug. It would have been a distraction. But when I found out about Jane-Ann and Tyler, it became the only thing that matters. But they aren’t. My brothers, my country, my duty—that all matters, too. But right now, there’s only the two of us.

  She sighs against my mouth, and I run my hands down her back, pulling her close to me. There are too many layers between us. I search from her hip and across her ribs for a zipper but don’t feel one. Then, my fingers find the neckline of her dress, and I follow it down, lower across her chest. She is breathing heavily, her breasts straining against the fabric, and when I swipe my finger across her hot skin, I feel goosebumps.

  “What are we doing?” Jane-Ann presses her palms on my chest and leans away, looking up at me.

  “You already asked that,” I say, swirling my finger across her skin, enjoying the feeling of her.

  “And you didn’t answer,” she says. “Not really. This is a bad idea.”

  I know she’s right, but the moment is slipping away from me, and I just need to say something to keep her here with me. So, I tell the truth. “I want you, Jane-Ann.”

  She tilts her face to the side, her lips pulled down in a sad frown. “I want you, too.”

  I haul her against me with the arm wrapped around her waist, my other hand now pinched between our bodies. Her fingers brush across my jawline and my cheekbones. There is longing in her touch, but then her fingers are gone.

  And she pushes me away.

  When I open my eyes, Jane-Ann is shaking her head, her lower lip trembling. “Wanting you isn’t a good enough reason to put myself through this.”

  “Isn’t it?” I ask, desperate.

  “No,” she says firmly, swiping at her eyes.

  The car comes to a stop, and I know we only have seconds before the door opens and the bubble bursts, but I don’t have anything to say.

  “I can play the aristocrat for a while,” she says, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders. Her eyes are red and her lips are swollen. She looks like a mess, but Gunner will just assume we’ve been kissing. Which is true. Though, not the whole story. “I can pretend to be your fiancée for your sake. And Tyler’s. But this can’t be real, and you know it. Pretending otherwise is too painful.”

  As soon as the door opens, Jane-Ann swings her legs out and marches away from the car. She cuts a beautiful figure in the gown, the hemline trailing a little behind her as she mounts the steps to my house. I hate that she looks so good walking away. I hate that she’s walking away at all.

  It feels like I’m carrying an anvil behind me as I mount the stairs. My body is heavy with disappointment and dread—for tomorrow, for my future. A future that won’t include Jane-Ann. Not in the way I want it, too.

  I fall asleep with the ghost of her lips against mine, a reminder of what could have been but will never be.

  Chapter 27

  Christian

  My father is waiting for me in the receiving room when I arrive. I left a note for Jane-Ann to meet me there at the main palace in an hour. When I knocked, there was no answer. Either she did not want to see me or she was still in the bath, so I slipped it under the door.

  “You’re early,” he says, checking the clock on the wall against his wristwatch. “This is a first. Maybe Lady Ann is doing some good for you.”

  I don’t have the energy to play along or defend myself, pointing out that I’m never late for official events or meetings, so I just smile and nod.

  “I didn’t receive a write-up of the announcement you plan to make today,” the King says.

  I recognize the sentence as a question. Where is it? Why have you not sought out my approval?

  “Correct,” I say simply.

  A servant walks in carrying a tray of tea and leaves it on the small table between us. Father prefers to host official press events from the comfort of a tall-backed armchair. Today, there are two of them, one for him and one for me. As soon as the servant pours us each a cup of tea, bows, and disappears through the double doors, Father takes a sip from the steaming cup and turns to me.

  “What are you going to say?” he asks.

  “And ruin the surprise?” I tease, trying to sound natural. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and my nerves are fried.

  “Christian—” he starts.

  “I will rule this country one day,” I say, interrupting him. “If you cannot trust me to offer an official update on our continuing relationship with Sweden despite the fallout with Lady Freyja, then how can you ever trust me to run the country?”

  “I will be dead when you become King,” he says sharply. “I will not be capable of trust.”

  My father is older, though not old. He has many years of leadership ahead of him, and I will be middle-aged before I can even think about inheriting his title. My brothers will be young, though. In many respects, it makes more sense for Erikson to inherit the crown. He could serve the people of Sigmaran longer than I could and provide long-term stability. But the rules of succession point to me.

  “Then allow me to help you utilize the ability while you still can,” I say, straightening my tie. “You will hear my news when the rest of the country does.”

  There is a long silence where I expect to be smacked across the face with the back of my father’s teacup, but instead, he chuckles. The sound is so alarming that I turn to him, eyes narrowed.

  “Lady Callister has given you courage,” he says as way of explanation. “She is good for you, and she will be good for this country.”

  When I say nothing, my father tilts his chin down and looks at me from beneath his bushy brows. “That is your news, is it not? That you intend to marry Lady Ann?”

  My father is happy. Even though he isn’t smiling, I can tell. He is looking at me the way I’d always hoped he would. He is looking at me with pride in his eyes. Proud of me for putting my partying days behind me and finding a suitable blue blood to marry. It is everything I’d ever wanted from him, but it is bullshit.

  Not only am I deceiving my father and am about to deceive my people, but I’m hurting Jane-Ann. She ran from the car last night and refused to open her door this morning.

  I know when she leaves Sigmaran, we won’t stay in touch. It will go back to the way things were the last two months—a picture of Tyler and a paragraph about his day. And as Tyler gets old enough to talk on the phone, even that will stop. She won’t have any reason to talk with me. And that idea kills me because I’m falling for Jane-Ann.

  I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself before because it was futile. And it still is, but the feeling didn’t go away when I ignored it. Instead, my affection for Jane-Ann has intensified, making it impossible for me to push my feelings down and lock them away.

  “You do not have to tell me,” my father says finally when I still don’t respond. “You still have the ring your mother gave you, don’t you? It will suit Lady Ann well.”

  This might be the most pleasant conversation I’ve ever had with my
father. I smile at him and decide to enjoy it while it lasts.

  Chapter 28

  Jane-Ann

  When Christian knocked on my door this morning, I froze. I was sitting on the edge of my bed getting ready to pump, and I stopped breathing and waited for him to leave. Even when the note slid under my door, I didn’t move for fear he would hear my footsteps and open the door. I wouldn’t have the power to resist him again, so it was better if we weren’t alone together. When his footsteps faded to silence, I got up and read the note.

  “Meet me at the palace in one hour. Gunner will drive you.”

  It wasn’t an apology or a love note. Disappointment and relief mingled together and left me feeling confused, replaying the events of the previous night in my head over and over again as I slipped into a navy-blue gown that I knew was meant for this occasion.

  As opposed to all the other cleavage-bearing outfits in my closet, this one barely reveals my collarbone, and the cap sleeves give it an air of innocence and class. I pair it with a nude heel and a low bun gathered at the base of my neck, hoping if I keep my looks understated enough, I can somehow manage to blend into the scenery.

  Gunner is waiting in front of Christian’s house when I come outside. If he noticed anything strange about my flee from the car the night before, it doesn’t show. I wonder briefly how many women he has seen Christian with. How many times he has rolled down the window dividing the front and back seats and caught Christian in a similar position to the one we were in last night.

  I push the thought from my mind as I get into the back seat and the car takes off down the drive. There have been countless women, I’m sure, and there will be more after I am gone, but I will not think of them. Not now, at least. Not when I’m going to have to stand in front of a wall of cameras and pretend we have a future together.

  Cameras flash as soon as my car door opens, and I keep my knees together as I climb out of the car to be sure no one will be able to sell an upskirt shot of me to a local tabloid. One of the family handlers, a man with a gray mustache and a lined face who I’ve rarely seen separated from the King, comes out, white-gloved, to lead me inside. He makes idle chitchat about what a circus the palace becomes on press release days, and even though I know he’s being nice, I can’t manage more than a paper-thin smile. After several uncomfortable pauses, he stops talking and focuses on keeping me from falling over.