Scandalous Box Set

by Layla Valentine

  She shakes my hand. “And you are?”

  “Leon Knight,” I say, tipping my head slightly. “Sorry. I forgot my manners.”

  “Leon, you said?” She is squinting at me, even though I know the sun isn’t in her eyes because it’s in mine.

  I nod, wondering if maybe she’s heard of me because of FutureTrust. “That’s me. And I assume you are Grace’s mother?”

  She hums in the affirmative and then points past the house towards the rows of apple trees. “You’ll find her out there.”

  Before I can say anything else, she turns and walks back into the house, leaving me stunned. A random man in the diner and Grace’s aunt had more trepidation about me coming to see Grace than her own mother. Either that means her mother thinks she can handle herself or she knows who I am. As I walk across the field and down into the orchard, I’m not sure which option is worse.

  I walk up and down the rows for what feels like forever, and since they are all identical, I think I even make a few circles on accident. But just when I’m about to give up and go back to the house, I hear a faint humming. Like a sailor after a siren, I follow it until the sound grows, and I begin to recognize the voice singing.

  I see Grace before she sees me. She has a small step ladder in one hand and a basket in the other. She’s walking barefoot in the dirt, head tilted back to look up at the trees, and humming all the while. She has on a worn pair of jean shorts with the hems rolled up and a cropped white knit sweater, her hair twisted into a messy knot on top of her head. She is a literal dream, and I’d be happy to stand there and watch her forever. But then, she turns around.

  “Shit.” She drops the ladder and her basket and jumps backward, hand pressed first to her stomach and then her heart.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I rush forward to grab the apples rolling across the ground, and Grace just stands there. She watches me while I refill the basket, and I feel her eyes on me. I can practically hear what she’s thinking. What is he doing here? Why did he come here? What does he want with me?

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say, picking up the basket and holding it out to her.

  Grace takes it and sets it on the ground by her bare feet. “What are you doing here, Leon?”

  The sound of my name on her lips is like music. I wasn’t sure I’d ever hear it again.

  “I needed to see you.”

  “Now isn’t the best time. I came here to—”

  “I was at your wedding,” I interrupt, not wanting to give her the chance to dismiss me.

  Her pouty lips press into a flat line, and she looks down at the ground.

  I continue, “It was beautiful. Shame you couldn’t make it.”

  My heart doubles in size when her mouth twitches up in an almost smile.

  “Was Sebastian mad?”

  I shrug. I don’t care about Sebastian. I don’t want to talk about Sebastian. He doesn’t matter anymore.

  “He walked out. His best man made the announcement.”

  She nods slowly several times, still not looking at me. “I figured Sebastian would be the one to race out here and find me. I didn’t expect you.”

  And why would she? I didn’t exactly give her the impression that I cared.

  “But I’m glad you’re here,” she says.

  Finally, she looks up at me, her green eyes the same color as the leaves around us, her hair as rich and fertile as the soil, and I realize for the first time how vibrant she looks here. When I met her at the wedding she was beautiful, but she didn’t glow the way she is now. Looking at her now, among the orchards where she grew up, Grace is radiant.

  I almost can’t believe her. I haven’t groveled yet. Haven’t explained myself. How could she be happy to see me?

  “You are?”

  She bites her lower lip between her teeth and points one of her toes into the dirt. “I was going to get in touch with you soon. I have some…things I need to say.”

  Things. Like, that she wants to be with me the way I want to be with her?

  Part of me wants to rush forward and confess everything, tell her how I feel and ask her to be with me, but another part of me—the same part that blew everything up the morning after we slept together—wants to be cautious.

  “Why didn’t you go through with it? Why didn’t you marry Sebastian?”

  Grace’s eyes fill with tears, and my heart begins to sink.

  In my mind, Grace skipping the wedding is the best news imaginable. But if she’s crying, what does that mean? My thoughts go to the worst place. She loves Sebastian and couldn’t marry him because their arrangement was fake and it would hurt her too much.

  “I just couldn’t,” she says, not doing anything to pull my thoughts in a happier direction.

  “What changed?” I ask. “Something must have happened for you to back out at the last minute. Right? Did he hurt you?”

  “No, nothing like that,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist.

  “Then what, Grace? Please. I’m dying here. I came here to tell you that I screwed up and I want to be with you, but if you’re in love with Sebastian or someone else, for that matter, then please tell me before I make a fool out of—”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  The two words shut me up. I look at her again as if I might have missed her big pregnant belly when I walked up. She doesn’t look any different to my eyes, but I know that doesn’t mean anything.

  “Is it Sebastian’s?”

  Grace’s eyes fly open, and she gives me a face that could melt an iceberg.

  “Oh, sorry.” I step backward at the fierceness of her expression, scratching the back of my head on a low-hanging branch.

  “Of course the baby isn’t Sebastian’s. I told you it was only a business arrangement.”

  “Right,” I say, rubbing the back of my head until realization begins to sink over me.

  Grace’s mom knew who I was. Grace had planned to talk to me soon. She called off her wedding with Sebastian at the last minute.

  Because of me.

  “I’m the father.”

  It isn’t a question, but Grace nods anyway.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  My legs begin to wobble, and I decide to sit down in the dirt before I collapse.

  “I didn’t sleep at all last night, and now I’m pretty sure this is a dream,” I say, not realizing the words are coming out of my mouth instead of swirling in my head.

  Grace kneels down beside me, one hand on my shoulder. “I had the same thought all of yesterday, but nope. I took another test this morning. Definitely pregnant.”

  “But we used a condom.” I point my finger at her as if the information is a break in the case.

  She shrugs. “I’ve always heard they aren’t one-hundred-percent effective. I guess I have to believe it now.”

  “I guess I do, too,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Who all knows?”

  “Everyone, I think. It’s printed on the box.”

  “About the pregnancy,” I interrupt, laughing despite everything.

  Grace smirks and holds up her hand, counting off people one by one. “You, me, obviously, Myla, my mom, and my dad.”

  “You haven’t told Sebastian?”

  She shakes her head. “He hasn’t even tried to get in touch with me since the wedding. I’m not sure he wants to talk to me right now. I embarrassed him in front of his entire family.”

  “The wedding’s off for good?” I ask.

  “Yeah. It’s off for good,” she says, shifting from her knees to sitting down across from me.

  The apple trees cast a spider web of shadows across the ground and our skin. A soft breeze blows down the row, the trees funneling the air towards us.

  “If Sebastian and I got married, everyone would assume the baby was his, and that lie was too much for me,” Grace says. “Plus, there is no way Sebastian would have wanted me to be his wife if he knew I was pregnant. He might be upset about the wedding now, but he�
�ll be happy once he sees me in a few months. He wanted a fake wife to avoid having a family.”

  “He’s an asshole,” I say as if it is a matter of fact.

  Grace raises an eyebrow in surprise at my outburst, and I shake my head.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s true. Having a baby is a pretty extreme way to get yourself out of the situation, but I’m glad you are. Out of the situation, I mean.”

  She twists her lips to the corner of her mouth, and I notice, for the first time, she isn’t wearing bright red lipstick. Actually, she doesn’t seem to have any makeup on at all. Now that it is full summer, her freckles are darker than the last time I saw her, and her skin is tanned gold. She’s gorgeous.

  “You don’t have to be glad,” she says quickly, the words tumbling out of her like she doesn’t want to say them but feels like she has to. “I understand more than anyone what a surprise this all must be, but I felt like you had a right to know the truth. I didn’t want to run into you on the subway or at another wedding and have you find out I was pregnant that way. But just because you know doesn’t mean you need to be excited about it. I totally understand—”

  “I am excited.” I don’t realize how true the words are until I’ve said them. Until they’re hanging in the air between us. “I can’t lie and say I’m not completely floored, but I came here to see you because I care about you, Grace. When you didn’t show up at the wedding today, I knew I had to come find you.”

  She draws a circle in the dirt with her finger and then smudges it out with her thumb.

  “I thought you were only with me to get back at Sebastian,” she says softly. “Honestly, when I found out I was pregnant, that was one of the first things I thought. ‘Leon really got back at him now.’”

  The words are like a knife to the stomach, and I reach across the gap between us and grab her hand, rubbing my thumb over her smooth skin.

  “I’m sorry I screwed everything up,” I say. “I was scared, and I took it out on you.”

  “Scared of what?” she implores. “I was ready to end my deal with Sebastian and take my chances cold-calling companies for a job until you said that. I was going to choose you.”

  I shake my head, trying to dispel thoughts of what could have been had I not been so stupid. “I’m sorry, Grace. I’ve just…I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I know that sounds like a line, but it’s the truth.”

  “It is a line,” she says, rolling her eyes. Then, she looks at me from beneath her brows, her lips turning up into a small smile. “But it’s a really good one.”

  I kneel in front of her in the dirt and take both of her hands in mine, barely able to believe this is really happening. I never allowed myself to get this far, to imagine the best-case scenario. But this is it. Pregnancy and all, this is the best possible outcome.

  “I won’t push you away again. I might be an idiot again,” I say, eliciting a laugh from Grace. “But I will be there for you. And the baby. Whatever happens between the two of us, I promise you I won’t walk away from our child.”

  Her hand moves absentmindedly to her stomach, and for the first time, I realize there is a tiny little bump there. “How far along are you?”

  “I’m only a little over six weeks,” she says, smiling. “All the baby hormones are making me bloat.”

  “You look wonderful,” I say, brushing my thumbs along the back of her hands.

  Grace looks at me, her eyes a brilliant green in the sun, and just when I think the moment is right and we might kiss, she pushes herself up to a standing position and offers me a hand.

  “We better get up to the house before my dad comes looking for us.”

  I stand up and brush the dirt from the back of my jeans. “You want me to stay?”

  “We’re having a baby,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “If we are going to raise a child, we should probably spend some more time together, and there is no time like the present. Unless, of course, you have somewhere else you have to be?”

  I shake my head adamantly. “There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.”

  She rolls her eyes and walks ahead of me down the row. “That’s another line.”

  “It’s the truth,” I argue, following along behind her.

  “Doesn’t make it not a line.”

  When she smiles at me over her shoulder, apple trees going on forever in the background, I think it might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  Chapter 17

  Grace

  The days pass quickly, each one packed with activities—from baking apple pies with Mom to antique shopping with Aunt Angie to fending off yet another interrogation attempt from dad. And maybe it’s the pregnancy, or maybe we are just that busy, but I flop into my old bed at the end of every night exhausted and sleep like the dead.

  Based on the growing circles under his eyes, I don’t think Leon is faring as well on the living room sofa, but he doesn’t complain, which mom says is an admirable quality. She insisted the father of my baby should stay in the house with us. So they can get to know him better and all.

  Really, Leon fits into small-town life better than I would have thought. He also fits into blue jeans better than seems fair. He wears them like they were made for him.

  I was hesitant to trust him at first. Yes, he seemed genuine out in the orchards. And with the months and years ahead of me, it would be incredible to have someone who cares about my child as much as I do be there to help me when things get tough. At the same time, I do not want to get burned again. Twice I lowered my guard and let Leon in, and twice I ended up with dashed hopes and a bruised ego. Not again. This time, he’s going to have to earn it.

  On the third morning Leon has been staying with us, I go downstairs to wake him up to find him not on the couch and his blankets folded neatly on the arm of the sofa. I follow the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon and find Leon in the kitchen, surrounded by eggshells, sticks of butter, empty packets of bacon, and too many plates to count. He looks like a street performer balancing plates on each of his limbs. Except, instead of wowing the crowd, he’s making a complete mess.

  “Do you need a hand?” I ask from the kitchen door, my nose wrinkled at the amount of cleanup required.

  He whips around, eyes wide, and tries to spread his arms out like he can hide the entire kitchen behind his body. “You aren’t supposed to be awake yet.

  “I woke up early,” I say, rubbing my eyes.

  “Go back to bed.” He points to the doorway and then spins around and flips bacon with tongs, cursing when the grease splatters on his hand.

  “So you can burn the house down in a grease fire?” I tease, walking up behind him and lowering the heat. “No, thank you. I’d rather stay down here and help. What do you need?”

  “I’m not really sure,” he says, looking around the room like he is lost.

  “Okay,” I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You have bacon going, which is great. How about eggs?”

  He points to a large mixing bowl on the table filled almost to the brim with cracked eggs.

  “How many people are you expecting for breakfast?” I ask, noting the two empty cartons next to the bowl.

  “Is that too many?” he runs a nervous hand through his hair, somehow smearing butter across his forehead. “I told you before, I don’t eat breakfast. And I certainly don’t cook it. Ever. This is my first time.”

  I told you before. Before, meaning, the night after we slept together.

  We both pause for a moment, acknowledging our history together, and then we move past it.

  “No, it’s fine,” I say, grabbing a whisk from the utensil drawer and moving towards the eggs cautiously. Even the slightest jostling of the table might send the mixture overflowing to the floor. “We can always refrigerate the leftovers.”

  I’ve never had reheated scrambled eggs before, but there is a first time for everything.

  Over the next fifteen minutes, we make some sense of the chao
s Leon had been calling breakfast. I put him on toast duty, which seems like the safest option, while I scramble the entire bowl of eggs, which requires three skillets. By the time my parents come downstairs, the mess is put away and breakfast is on the table.

  “But I’m the host,” Mom argues, pulling out her chair and reaching for a slice of pre-buttered toast. “I should be the one making breakfast.”

  “Leon just wanted to say thank you for your hospitality,” I say.

  Leon nods in agreement. “Yes, you’ve both been so welcoming to me, and the circumstances of our meeting have been strange, but you’ve made me feel right at home here.”

  Mom places her hand over her heart and smiles at him, but even with Mom kicking him under the table, Dad won’t give more than a grunt of acknowledgment.

  After breakfast, I tell Leon to put on his boots and meet me in the driveway.

  “Where are we going?” he asks for the third time in as many minutes.

  “You’re as impatient as a child,” I say, nudging him in the elbow. “Just wait.”

  I take him to a hiking trail I know like the back of my hand. He’s new at this, but with how physically fit he is, he’s a natural.

  He pulls back a long branch sticking out over the hiking trail so I can pass, and when I go to thank him, I get sucked into his blue eyes. They really are like pools. If I’m not careful, I could drown.

  “You said this is your favorite place?”

  “One of them. I came up here all the time when I was a kid.”

  “I can’t imagine growing up in a place like this,” Leon says, reaching out to pluck a leaf from a tree. “The city is fun, but this is like a storybook childhood.”

  “A storybook childhood to go with fairy-tale parents,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  Leon slides closer to me, his pace matching my own. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear this, but your parents really do seem like they are straight out of a fairy tale.”

  I groan.

  “I saw them holding hands in their rocking chairs last night,” he continues, whispering as if he saw them doing something dirtier. “Holding hands. In rockers.”