“She’s a hoot,” David’s mom Beatrice said with a smile. “David tells me you have a new project. How is that going?”
“Oh, it’s wonderful. Did he tell you what it was?”
“Something about a cathedral?”
I nodded excitedly. “It’s a historic site and the state wants to renovate it to its original glory. Strict historical accuracy as much as possible, so I get to work with stained-glass artisans and stonemasons. Architectural and historical scholars will be reviewing the work and using it as a reference in future projects.”
She raised her brows. “That sounds challenging.”
“It is! It’s exactly the kind of challenge I always wanted to sink my teeth into. It’s going to take time, delicacy, and precision. I’ve done so much research on early American architecture that it’s coming out of my ears.”
“I’m so happy for you, Grace,” Beatrice said with a smile. “You get to use your skills and talent for such meaningful work.”
I was about to respond, but my mother shouted my name and pointed energetically.
Beatrice and I looked, just in time to see Adriana take her first steps across the grass. David lay flat on his stomach on the patio in front of her, holding his arms out to her. One shaky step, then another.
One step at a time, Adriana toddled over to her daddy. As she tumbled into his arms, Beatrice and I cheered.
“Good job, Adi! That’s my girl!” I said.
Adriana beamed at me from her perch in David’s arms.
“She’s so smart. I swear she does something new every day,” I said laughing.
David was by my side a moment later. “The birthday girl wanted Mommy,” he said, smiling warmly.
“Come here, cutie,” I said as I bundled her into my arms. “Oh, you’re squishy! Let’s get you changed.”
“Mama,” she said contentedly.
I kissed her cheek, then tilted my head up to kiss David. Our warm little circle of love felt complete and infinite all at once.
Once we had her changed it was time to serve the food. David’s mom helped me while his father amused Adriana with little hand puppets. My mom was still busy running around snapping a million pictures.
“This is it,” David murmured in my ear as I laid out the sandwiches and tiny finger foods. “This is the family life I always wanted.”
“It is wonderful, isn’t it? I couldn’t imagine a better life.”
“Neither could I, my love. Neither could I.”
As the family gathered at the patio table, my heart expanded in my chest. Adriana sat in a highchair surrounded by people who adored her. She was already so intense, so smart, and so loved. Her life was going to be beautiful, and the world was going to be a little bit more wonderful for having her in it.
Lunch was chaotic and fun, but when Adriana rubbed her eyes, I knew it was almost nap time. I hurried to fetch the cake. My mother followed me into the kitchen.
“I didn’t get a picture of the cake yet! Hold off for just a moment.”
I laughed. “I swear, Mom, I never knew you were so interested in photography or I would have suggested it ages ago.”
“There was nothing to take pictures of before,” she said haughtily as she snapped a picture of my face. “Now I’m thinking I might make a career out of it.”
I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’m not too old to do new things, you know. My neighbor Vic just enrolled in college. He’s a sixty-three-year-old freshman. If he can start something new, why can’t I?”
“You absolutely can,” I said as I hugged her. “Let me know if I can help you at all. If you need me to get another babysitter or—”
“Absolutely not! Unless Beatrice wants a turn some night or other. You can’t get rid of me that easy, girl.”
I laughed, thrilled at her energy. Every day she came alive a little bit more. I didn’t worry about her at all anymore. She was healthier, happier, and filled with purpose. If I’d known what it would do to her, I would have had a billionaire’s baby ages ago.
“What’s so funny?” she asked me sharply.
“Nothing. I just love you, is all.”
“Love you too, kiddo. Let’s get this cake out there before Adriana falls asleep sitting up.”
Adriana’s eyes were big as saucers as I set the two-tiered sparkly pink cake in front of her. She started bouncing in her seat and waving her little fists in the air, trying desperately to grow just enough to reach the icing.
I laughed as I lit the candle. “Everybody ready? One, two, three!”
We sang to her out of sync and slightly off-key, but she didn’t seem to mind. She clapped along and made singing noises until she heard her own name, then she laughed and curled her little hands onto her cheeks.
“Okay, sweetie, blow the candle out!” I mimed it for her.
She caught on immediately and blew as hard as she could, which wasn’t quite hard enough. David ducked around behind her to surreptitiously assist, and she squealed with glee when the candle went out.
The rest of the party was a blur with sticky pink sugar covering her face and hands. Adriana was beginning to fall asleep in her highchair by the time everybody was finished, and I gave David a meaningful look.
He caught on immediately, and addressed the group at large.
“Thank you for coming, everyone. You’ve given Adriana a brilliant first birthday. Grace needs to put her to bed now, but we are so happy that you could share this special day with us.”
I smiled gratefully at him before I carried my daughter upstairs and peeled the sticky, happy Adriana out of her dress. A warm bath and fresh pajamas later, she was thoroughly exhausted.
David joined me upstairs as soon as our parents left. Adriana smiled sleepily at him as he kissed her cheek and rubbed her head. “Happy birthday, baby girl,” he said affectionately.
“Dada,” she said, nuzzling her head against his arm. “Mama.”
I thought my heart would burst with love. I snuggled her against me as David wrapped his arms around us both. I kissed her cheek then tilted my head up to kiss him.
“Yes,” I said followed by a sigh. “This is it. This is the family life I dreamed about.”
“I’m so glad it turned out this way, Grace. I couldn’t imagine being happier.”
“Neither could I. What about you, Adriana? Are you happy?”
Adriana gave me a big, drool-soaked kiss and immediately fell asleep on my shoulder. I rubbed her back and laughed, floating on air and utterly content. I had a home to remodel, an exciting career, a handsome best friend and lover, and my baby girl. Everything I ever wanted and never dared to hope for was right here.
I laid Adriana down in her crib and twisted the music box on her mobile. As the first notes of Fools Rush In tinkled into the air, David caught me around my waist.
“Dance with me?”
“Forever and ever, David.”
His blue eyes crinkled at the corners. He kissed me, then swept me away on a gentle waltz in the middle of the nursery.
Life really couldn’t be any better, and I couldn’t wait to see where it decided to take me. As long as David and Adriana were with me, I would go anywhere.
The End
Prince Baby Daddy
Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner
Copyright 2019 by Layla Valentine & Holly Rayner
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part by any means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the explicit written permission of the author.
All characters depicted in this fictional work are consenting adults, of at least eighteen years of age. Any resemblance to persons living or deceased, particular businesses, events, or exact locations are entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
Christian
August
Light glares off the polished white floors, burning my bloodshot eyes. I blink and close my bedroom door, pressing my forehead against the cool wood. My room is dark and quiet, and I want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and not get out all day. But Mother and Father would have servants pounding on my door within the hour. Probably within the half hour. Mother hates when I’m late for breakfast.
For the life of me, I can’t remember why I agreed to stay in the main palace over the weekend. My private residence is only a few blocks away. There, I have frozen breakfast burritos in the freezer that are perfect for soaking up the last bit of alcohol in my system after a night of particularly rough partying. It’s a trick I learned from a woman I once met during a night out. I don’t remember her name, and I never saw her again, but every time I make one of the burritos, I raise it to her memory.
But this morning there will be no breakfast burritos. Just bowls of fruit and puffy eggs and muffins. All fine fare under normal circumstances, but the thought of it now makes my stomach flip.
I groan and press my cheek against the wood. It’s going to leave an imprint on my face, but I can’t bring myself to care about anything other than the headache pounding in my temples and the nausea rocking through me.
Finally, after several deep, steadying breaths, I peel open the door and propel myself into the hallway quickly. Like ripping off a bandage.
The halls have the familiar scent of lemon cleaning product and dust, though there isn’t a speck of dust in sight. The maids couldn’t sleep if there was even the slightest smudge on the glass-topped tables that line the hallways. The smell of dust is probably from the simple fact that every piece of furniture in the palace is ancient. Like, “keep your mitts off of that—it was a gift from the King of England for your great-great-grandfather’s thirtieth birthday” kind of old.
Growing up here was like living in an art museum. Velvet ropes blocked off the most prized paintings and busts and running, playing, or quick movement of any kind was highly discouraged. Every kid’s dream.
Last night comes back to me in flashes as I take the stairs slowly, clinging to the solid wood railing. Drinks, dancing, more drinks, whispers in back booths, more drinks. Just the memory of the drinks makes me want to lie down. I’ve made a name for myself as being a partier, but clearly I’d gotten a bit drunk last night and then decided to go for a new record. Father won’t be pleased if he finds out. So, he won’t find out.
I pinch my lips together, relaxing my face into a neutral mask, and breathe. I just need to get through one breakfast and then I’ll be done for the day.
Mother called the tailor so I could be fitted for a new suit for some charity event or another I apparently agreed to attend, but other than that, my day is uncharacteristically free. After I eat and stand still for the tailor, hiding my nausea, I can go back to bed and sleep away the last remnants of my regretful evening on the town with no one the wiser.
As soon as I turn into the smaller of our three dining rooms, I realize my plans have been dashed before they can even begin. Father throws a newspaper down over my place setting as soon as I turn the corner, the paper landing on the fine china like a gavel.
“I’m surprised you have the strength to join us this morning,” he says with a rumble.
“Good morning,” I say, smiling first at my three younger brothers, who all snicker under their breath but do not look up at me, at my father, and then my mother.
Father’s face remains stony, but Mother softens as I expected her to. She tilts her face to the side and smiles; her eyebrows pulled together in concern and worry. Whatever Father has in store, it isn’t going to be pleasant.
“Good morning, indeed,” he says, stirring his tea with too much intensity, the silver spoon rattling against the bone china. I see Mother reach underneath the table to touch his leg, to steady him. He drops the spoon and points to the paper, looking up at me. “Care to explain this?”
“Ahh, yes, of course,” I say, grabbing the newspaper as I drop down onto the padded antique dining chair.
The dining set has been in the palace since it was rebuilt in the nineteenth century after a fire destroyed the entire East Wing. Mother reminded me of the origins of the set many times as a child and teenager when I would lean back in the chair, putting undue strain on the back legs.
“Well, this is a newspaper. One of many such sources of local and world news around the world. This one here is The Sigmaran Sun. Not the most prestigious of papers, especially with its oftentimes biased coverage of the royal family that paints the eldest son in a negative light, but it is still a good paper nonetheless.”
Jory snorts, partially chewed bits of berry splattering on his plate, but Niles is too young to fully understand the hilarity of my joke, and Erikson is old enough to know better than to laugh. Despite my own antics, I’ve warned Erik plenty of times to listen to Father and keep his head down. In a year, he’ll be eighteen, finished with school, and free to choose what he does next. Freer than I will be, at least.
Being the first born comes with more responsibility and the crown. Even if I was only a couple years older than Erik rather than almost thirteen years older, our lives would have been very different experiences. As it is, it is almost easy to forget we are brothers at all. It feels more like very close cousins with the difference in how Father treats us.
Father is red-faced and steaming, his eyes narrowing at Jory before landing on me. When he picks up his glass of ice water, I’m surprised I can’t hear his feverish skin hiss at the temperature difference.
“You think making a mockery of this family is something to joke about?”
It has been several months since he last told me I was making a mockery of our name and titles. I was about due for a refresher.
“Absolutely not,” I say. “It is a task I undertake with the utmost sincerity and seriousness.”
Mother sighs and eats a square of melon, chewing it daintily with closed lips. She hates when we fight, which unfortunately for her, is most of the time.
She nudges Niles and points to his bowl of fruit, raising her brows in a gesture for him to eat it. He rolls his eyes but obeys. If only I could respond the same way to my father’s not-so-gentle nudgings.
Before I can say anything else, Father reaches across the table and tears the newspaper out of my hand. Anger radiates off of him like a physical heat. If I hadn’t felt the wrath of it so often in my life, I might have been more cowed.
“I am tired of your carelessness with our reputation. You galavant all over the city, bedding women you do not intend to ever see again—”
Mother winces at this and looks nervously toward my brothers. I’m less nervous about them and more ashamed my mother is present for this speech. Yet again. No one wants their mother to know the details of their sex life, especially as it is laid out by the press.
“—and drinking your way to ruin. In your youth, these things could be more easily forgiven, but you are a man now, Christian. Or, at least, you should be.”
“Ranell,” Mother warns, her eyes pleading.
But Father continues as though she hasn’t spoken.
“Cameras follow you wherever you go, and you act as though you are on some American reality television show. As though you are here to amuse your subjects rather than one day rule them. How are they supposed to respect you when they have seen you photographed like this?” He pauses to glance at the article and then continues once he has the information he needs. “With no less than four different women on your arm in the same evening?”
I cast my eyes toward the ceiling, trying to remember each of the women I’d seen the night before. There was a blonde at the first bar, another blonde at the dance club, and then a dark-haired woman who got in the car with me as I left the club. Everything after that is a blur, though I do not give my father the satisfaction of admitting as much.
“As you have just illustrated, the women will love me, and the men will—”
His fast slams against the table, sending ripples of anger through everyone’s morning beverages like an earthquake.
“I will not allow you to set such a poor example for your younger brothers. You will not speak to me like I am someone of no importance. I am your King.”
“What of my father?” I ask. “Is he around for a chat?”
He sighs, and part of me feels bad for the burdens he carries. The same burdens he will pass on to me. But no matter the burdens, I would never speak to my son this way. With that thought, the pity wilts and fades.
“Your father has attempted to correct your course, and yet you have gone on unchecked and wild. Now, your King is desperate.”
“We both want what is best,” Mother says, tilting her head and nodding. Understanding and empathy are woven into the lines of her face just as annoyance is sewn into my father’s.
I’ve tried on many different occasions to imagine my parents young. To see them in their youth, carefree and in love. But I can’t maneuver around my father’s frustration and my mother’s endless understanding that she extends to him and everyone else.
They make a good match. She can see past the firm hand with which he rules his people and his home, including her on many different occasions, and he disciplines me so she doesn’t have to. But now I cannot picture them any other way. If any scandalous articles were written about either of them, they are not available to me now.
Oh, to be born before the advent of the internet. Such a dark yet freeing time that would be.
Me, on the other hand, I make the papers multiple times per week. Occasionally the articles are complimentary, but usually they are fodder for my father to dump over me at mealtimes.
“You should want what is best for yourself,” my father snaps. “And for your people. No matter how you feel about it, you will be the King when I am gone, and your people will depend on you. I only worry the women and the drink will become a lifelong distraction.”
Scandalous Box Set Page 16
