Royal Baby_His Unplanned Heir

by Layla Valentine

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  Chapter One

  The Bahamian sun was just beginning to sink over the edge of the horizon, and it was putting on one hell of a show. It painted the sky burnt orange and peach pink as it descended into the sea, making me pause to watch, even though I should have been finishing packing up for the day.

  “Hey, space cadet.”

  Startled, I turned to see Allison Bernard, the makeup and hair assistant, grinning up at me. She was barely over five feet tall to my five nine, so talking to her always made me feel like a giant. Still, she was the friendliest person I worked with, and I adored her.

  “Staring out into the abyss again?” She came up beside me and we both turned to look at the vanishing sun.

  I had a habit of zoning out at work, especially if we were shooting somewhere beautiful. And where was more beautiful than the Bahamas? Besides, part of being an assistant set designer was that I was meant to appreciate the set.

  “I'll never get tired of this sunset,” I said wistfully.

  “There's an even better view behind you.” Allison elbowed me playfully in the ribs. At least, it was meant for my ribs. She hit me in the stomach instead.

  I turned to see what she meant, only to immediately spin around again, my face flushing with heat. “I hope to God he didn't hear you,” I hissed.

  Allison chuckled and craned her neck to look at the tall, handsome man in the well-cut suit behind us. I bit the inside of my cheek so I wouldn't tell her not to be so obvious, but she was a grown woman and could check out whomever she pleased. Just because I got all awkward around Joel Lockhart didn't mean she had to follow my lead. Doctor Joel Lockhart, I reminded myself. As if I needed another reason to swoon over him.

  Allison turned away and sighed. “I hope that our next project needs a medical consultant on set. I could get used to having eye-candy like him around.”

  “Allison,” I said reproachfully. “He's not here for you to ogle.” I crossed my arms. “Besides, it's not like we're starved for good looking men around here. I mean, Damien is nothing to shake a stick at.”

  Allison flipped her long, dark braid over her shoulder as she turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised. “Damien? Ew. He's hot as hell, but couldn't be more a tool if he had a metal head. At least the good doctor is a nice person, as well as being easy on the eyes.”

  “Wouldn't know.” I shrugged. “I've never talked to either of them about anything other than work.”

  She prodded me again. “And that's exactly why you need to get out there more often. Come to the after-party tonight. The doc never shows up to any of them, but you can have a go at Damien if you're really that keen.”

  “Can't tonight,” I said, although my answer probably would have been the same even if I wasn't actually busy. I loved my job and I loved the people I worked with, but I liked to spend my evenings quietly, unwinding in my hotel room. Especially when we were shooting in exotic locations that afforded me beach access to use at my leisure. “I've got to go pick up my sister from the airport.”

  “What? Really?” Allison frowned. “I didn't even know you had a sister.”

  I laughed. “A twin, actually. We don't see each other as often as we'd like. She lives in San Diego.”

  Allison turned to me with a look of disbelief. “Twin? Identical twin?”

  I nodded.

  “That's so cool! I have to meet her.”

  “Maybe another time,” I said with an apologetic smile, looking at my watch. “I should be heading out, or I'll be late.”

  Allison waved goodbye as I started picking my way up the beach towards the road.

  Today's location was one of my favorites so far. We were near the end of our six weeks of filming, and we only had one location left to film in, so it was probably safe to say this would take the cake for the best spot.

  I loved the beach. Any beach and every beach. When my department head told me that our next project would be a thriller shot partially in Nassau, it was like finding out I'd won the lottery without even having to buy a ticket. Maybe that was why Chelsea had decided to visit me. She'd always loved the beach, too, something that had vexed our mother to no end while we were growing up. Our auburn hair and fair skin made our love of soaking in the sun problematic, to say the least, but I had a cache of sunscreen back in my hotel room that would have made any dermatologist proud.

  Even though the air was slightly cooler than it had been during the day, it was still a relief to get into my rental car and turn on the air conditioning. Even if the temperature was similar, it was much more humid here than it was in L.A. I was still getting used to feeling constantly sticky, but I appreciated that the hot days led into balmy, warm nights.

  I couldn't wait to show Chelsea the island. I had a day off coming up, and I looked forward to taking her on a drive along the winding coast. Though our personalities clashed in many ways, I could always rely on our shared love of nature and anything involving sunshine and adventure to help re-establish our connection.

  I turned on the stereo and cheery pop tunes bopped through my speakers as I headed towards the airport. I didn't get a chance to drive around much when I was at home, plus, L.A. traffic was a nightmare at the best of times, so this was a welcome little journey. I still had no idea what had brought Chelsea out to see me, especially since she had never visited me on location before, but I was excited that she was coming. When was the last time I'd seen her? It was probably only about a month or so ago, but it felt like ages. San Diego wasn't exactly millions of miles away from L.A., but sometimes it felt like it.

  The airport was quiet and peaceful, just like the rest of the island. I loved that about the Bahamas. Even though the tourist beaches and attractions were often bustling with people, most places were mellow and serene. Nobody was in a hurry to get anywhere, even in the airport.

  I watched the arrivals screen and waited for her flight details to show up. Delayed. A fact which didn't surprise me. Even though I doubted Chelsea had anything to do with the lateness of her plane, it was characteristically her. She would probably be late to her own funeral.

  When the glass sliding doors finally whooshed open and my sister walked through, I beamed ecstatically and strode toward her with outstretched arms. She hooted with joy and sprang at me, nearly tackling me in a flying hug.

  “I'm so excited to see you!” she cooed. “How are you? How's work? How's your love life? Seeing any hot actors? Could you introduce me?”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding her at arm's length. “One question at a time, if you wouldn't mind. I've had a long day.”

  She pulled a face. “Yikes. You're having job problems too?”

  “Job problems? Of course not.” I waved her off. “I love my job. It's just a lot of work.” I went to grab the rolling carry-on suitcase at her side and she swatted my hand away.

  “I can carry my own bags, Jeeves.”

  I shook my head, amused. “If you say so. I was just trying to help.”

  “You can help by telling me you bought the biggest bottle of wine in the whole country in anticipation of my arrival,” Chelsea declared, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “We've got so much to catch up on. I feel like I haven't seen you in forever.”

  We started walking toward the exit, and I was already fumbling in my purse for my keys.

  “Wait, you're having job problems?” I asked. “Is that why you're here?”

  “Oh, no, no,” she said quickly. “Nothing serious. I shouldn't have said anything at all. Don't worry about it.” We stepped out of the terminal and Chelsea released a deep sigh. “Is it always this hot? I sure hope so. I need to work on my tan.”

  I gave her a skeptical look; tanning had only ever achieved one outcome for both of us—more freckles. Sometimes I felt like I had a star map superimposed on my face, but for some reason, the same freckles on my twin looked cute and charming.

  We looked almost exactly the same, except for a couple of minu
te differences here and there—the way we parted our hair, the faint scar below Chelsea's lower lip from when she'd pierced it herself at sixteen. Our parents had lost their minds when they’d found out. Chelsea had lost her mind a week later when the piercing got infected and she’d had to take it out, leaving the tiniest imperfection on her otherwise perfect skin. I doubted anybody but Chelsea or I ever noticed it. Hell, Chelsea probably didn't even notice it. The only reason I did was because it was the only reminder I had sometimes that the girl staring back at me wasn't my own reflection.

  I opened up the trunk of the rental car, and Chelsea hesitated for just a moment before sliding her suitcase into it. Her mouth tightened when I closed the lid, which I found odd. But then she perked right back up again and slid into the passenger seat, already chatting my ear off about the plane ride over.

  “You should have seen the weirdo I sat beside. Or smelled her, more like. She had the smelliest feet. I'm going to need like ten showers before I get her smell out of my nose! Do you have a spare bedroom in your place, or are we going to have to share a bed? Not a problem, of course, but I'm just wondering if I'll have somewhere to store my things.”

  “I've got a couch,” I told her. “It's a one-bedroom suite, which you would have known if you'd called me more than ten minutes before getting on your plane.”

  Chelsea pouted at me over the center console. “Is it a crime to have the sudden urge to go see your estranged sister?”

  “We are not estranged,” I replied in a flat tone.

  “Feels like it sometimes.” She started fiddling with the radio, listening to a few seconds of one song before twisting the dial to find another. She knew that I hated it when she did that. “Does your hotel have a pool? And do you have a spare swimsuit? I'd kill just to submerge myself in cool water right now.”

  I raised my eyebrows incredulously. “You didn't bring a swimsuit? To the Bahamas?”

  Chelsea merely shrugged, shifting her cornflower blue gaze to the road ahead. “I figured I could just borrow one of yours or buy one when I got here. Mine are all ratty.”

  Ratty? Seriously? Last summer I'd seen her in a different swimsuit in almost every social media post. She had a penchant for bright colors and could hardly walk past a pretty bikini without being overcome with the urge to possess it.

  “I only brought one,” I said.

  “So boring!” she groaned. “I guess I'll go down to the market and grab one tomorrow. You’ll have to show me the best stalls!”

  So far, having Chelsea here was just as exhausting as every other time I had seen her. As per usual, her timing was terrible, and the coming week would be one of the busiest of the shoot. We would be wrapping up filming soon, so it was all hands on deck to make sure we were on schedule. That meant everyone was in overdrive, even though we were already running on empty. Being away from home for so long was draining.

  Being away from home with Chelsea looked likely to be more draining than anything else.

  I pulled into the hotel parking lot and led Chelsea up to my sixth floor suite.

  She chatted excitedly the whole way up about how thrilled she was to be there and how much she'd missed me. It was a bit over the top, even for her. What was up with her today?

  If something was on her mind, I figured she'd tell me, in time. Either that, or I'd figure it out. Being twins had its advantages and disadvantages, and one of the items that took up both categories was the uncanny ability Chelsea and I had for figuring out what was on each others' minds. It was great when I needed to know what was going through her head, but frustrating when I wanted to keep her out of mine.

  “So, this is it,” I said, swinging open the door to my suite to let her in. “It's small, but it's home for now. We can always get you another room if you don't want to live the couch life.”

  Chelsea waved me off. “God, no. This will do just fine.” She sat down on the couch, still holding the handle of her suitcase.

  “Do you want me to clear out some of my drawers for you?” I asked. “I've got a whole closet so—”

  “No, that's fine.” She smiled, but it was a strained smile. “How about that wine?” I narrowed my eyes at her. Now I was really curious about what her problem was.

  I walked to the little kitchenette and opened the fridge, revealing that I'd bought more than one bottle in anticipation of Chelsea's arrival. She smiled approvingly and I cracked open the first bottle, pouring out two glasses of white. I handed one glass to her before sinking down next to her on the couch.

  “Just like old times,” I said, raising my glass to clink against hers.

  Her smile seemed mechanical; she was making an obvious effort, which made me even more suspicious “Yep. Just like old times.”

  We both drank, but she drank a little longer and deeper. Finally, I'd had enough.

  “Is something bothering you, Chels?” I asked.

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “God, no! I'm in the Bahamas with the twin sister I never get to see. What could possibly be wrong?”

  I didn't entirely believe her, but now wasn't the right time to pull it out of her. For now, we would drink, reminisce, and have a good time. Chelsea turned our conversation to my job. As always, she wanted to know all the juicy set gossip. As always, I had nothing to offer her.

  “I wish you'd be a little snoopier,” Chelsea said grumpily. “What's the point of having a sister in the movie industry if I can't even get my celebrity gossip fix from you?”

  I chuckled. “What's the point of having a sister who's an accountant if I can't even get her to do my taxes?”

  “I don't do personal taxes,” she fired back.

  “And I don't snoop!” There was a moment of silence, and I could tell that Chelsea was running out of rope in terms of conversation topics.

  When we’d lived together after high school, we'd never ran out of things to say, even though we spent nearly every second together. Ever since we'd moved to different cities, it seemed like we'd started drifting apart. Something felt off between us, and I didn't know what it was, or how I could fix it. Would we ever be as close again as we were then? Or was it always going to be a little awkward, now that we had discovered what it was like to be independent?

  We killed the first bottle of wine and half of the second before I declared that it was high time for me to stagger off to bed.

  “Nooo,” Chelsea complained. “Stay up with me for a little longer. It'll be fun, like a sleepover.”

  There was something urgent in her eyes, even as they drunkenly swayed over my form.

  “I've gotta be up early,” I told her. “I'm not on vacation with you, remember? Some of us still have to work!”

  Chelsea sighed and reluctantly agreed; I grabbed her a spare pillow and a thin blanket while she stretched out on the couch and made herself comfortable. Then, I headed off to bed.

  As I drifted off to sleep, I worried that maybe our separation had become permanent. Now, the fissure of space between us wasn't just physical, but emotional, too. I was glad she was here, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering Chelsea, and I was determined to figure out what it was.

  Chapter Two

  My alarm beeped. No, not beeped—screamed.

  I groaned in frustration and reached out for my phone, tapping anxiously at the screen until the screaming stopped.

  I hadn't had a hangover in a long time, and I didn't really have one now, but damn, I was tired. I would have given anything to stay in bed just a little longer. Just another five minutes... Maybe ten... I needed the sleep...

  It felt like seconds later when I awoke again, but some internal clock told me things weren't right. The light had shifted in my bedroom, and I was feeling better rested. That could only mean one thing.

  “Crap! I'm late!” I hissed, looking down at my phone. My alarm had gone off almost an hour ago. “Crap, crap, crap, crap...”

  I flung the blankets to the floor and launched myself out of bed. I was suppo
sed to have left for work three minutes ago. There was no way I was going to make it there on time. I ran haphazardly around my room, shoving a toothbrush in my mouth and my hair into a bun as I texted my boss and told him I was going to be a little bit late. I hadn't been late before, so I hoped it wouldn't be a big deal. The last thing I wanted to do was screw up this opportunity.

  Being an assistant set designer didn't pay great, but I'd worked hard to get where I was, and I loved what I did. There was more room for advancement, but I was happy where I was, quietly in the background of the movie set. I finally felt like I'd found my niche in life, and I didn't want to do anything that might ruin that.

  I quickly bustled out into the living room, where Chelsea was still asleep on the couch with her arm over her head. I swooped down to pick up her empty wineglass to put by the sink on my way out, and my foot connected with something hard as I turned. I swore under my breath. The suitcase! In the dim lighting, I hadn't seen it, but how was I supposed to know it was there in the first place? Why couldn't she have tucked the damn thing beside the couch instead of leaving it out for me to trip over?

  Chelsea stirred, but definitely wasn't awake. I decided to move the suitcase now, before she woke up and did the same thing. The hard black case was lying on its side; I grabbed the top handle and pulled it up. As I did, the zipper gaped, and its contents spilled out onto the floor.

  Except it wasn't clothes or toiletries that fell out.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  I rubbed my hands over my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating, all thoughts of rushing to work lost. I wasn't seeing things. The cash was real. It was secured in fat bundles with thick elastics, all in fifty and hundred-dollar bills. Some of the wads were on the floor, but I cracked open the suitcase to see that there were even more inside.