Chapter 25

I’m a bit rocked.

And, I think, rightfully confused.

The man must have a gazillion complications in his life. I can’t imagine he’d want to add another complexity—me.

Bringing a child into the world will be difficult enough to contend with. Granted, he has “people.” Lots and lots of people who assist him in his daily routine. Of course, he does. And there will, without doubt, be nannies and tutors and others dedicated strictly to this kid.

So I can believe that he does have that particular aspect under control.

That, however, does not canvas me, per se.

Apparently, he knows this. Because he throws me for another loop when he quietly continues. “What I’m not prepared for, Bailey—and what I should have had a contingency plan in place for—is you.” His intent gaze bores into me. “More specifically… How I feel about you.”

My knees nearly shatter.

For a few brief moments, all thought dissipates.

Holding his gaze, I urge, “Please define that.”

“Bailey…” Something mysterious flickers in his grey-green irises. He seems to have to search for the right words. I die a thousand deaths waiting for him to select them judiciously, wisely, recognizing how precarious this moment is. How crucial, yet also how fragile.

“I knew going into this that I was attracted to you,” he says.

He’d been honest about that on the plane before he’d departed.

“However, I hadn’t been able to predict whether that attraction would be mutual.”

“It is,” I can’t help but confirm. Though how could the man possibly have any hesitation over this?

“Or quite so explosive.”

Given the severity of our conversation, I’m shocked by his sudden grin. Yet there’s a distinct edge to his pleasure. This isn’t going to be an easily delineated scenario.

Sure enough, he says, “We have an agreement, Bailey. I’m currently violating it. Perhaps I’ve done nothing but violate it from the very beginning.”

“Because…?”

I want absolute clarity here. So I don’t misread any intentions or signs. Overstep myself or our boundaries.

“Bailey…” His hands shift from my shoulders and whisk through my hair, pushing the strands from my face. He leans in and whispers against my temple, “I fully grasp what it is that you want from our contract.”

“And I love what I’ve created.”

Oh, my…

There’s a flash of holy shit, think of what you’ve created! that holds me spellbound for a few moments.

Yes, I’ve created my dream restaurant. I’m wildly excited that I’ve done this, that I’ve turned something that had been unattainable in my head into something tangible in real life.

But I’ve also created… A human being.

With Nick.

I diplomatically inquire, “Where are we going with this discussion?”

“To the beach,” he coyly replies. And presses a warm, scintillating kiss to my lips.

He releases my hair, takes my hand, and gently tugs, coaxing me to move with him.

“Nick…” I have no idea what to make of this. He clearly has more going on in his mind than we’re currently covering. I’m desperate to know what it is. But… I don’t dig in my heels.

I let him lead me out the patio door.

We barely pass through and I’m suddenly gazing at white and red rose petals scattered over the pool tiles, forming an aisle toward the steps that descend to the flourlike sand of his private beach, where there are decorative glass and gold-trimmed lanterns lining the winding aisle, with lit candles inside them.

Near the shoreline is a tented gazebo with the panels pinioned to the corners and accented with sheers for a soft, billowy effect. There are literally candles everywhere, of all heights and sizes. Same for floral arrangements.

Set off to the side is a temporary parquet floor. A grand piano has somehow been placed there. The pianist plays a soothing tune. The waves undulate leisurely. A warm breeze ruffles my curls and caresses my skin.

This is a heavenly ambience for me—and Nick knows it.

He’s turned this into an incredibly romantic scene.

Fat drops sit on the rims of my eyes.

He’s no longer trying to tell me I mean something to him. He’s showing me.

Showing me that I’m more than the woman he had steamy sex with and more than just that safe deposit box I’d thought of when he’d proposed I carry his baby.

There’s a table and two chairs in the gazebo and sparkling water in chillers. Both place settings are stylish and ready for us, with domed lids over the food.

I’m well aware of what he’s had specially planned for us. I can smell the succulent lobster and the drawn butter. The filet mignons, Oscar style.

Then I realize… He hasn’t had them made. He’s our chef this evening.

These dishes, and others, are ones he served me the first night I was here.

“You cooked,” I comment, my heart skipping a few beats.

“Yes. But Grayson has kept everything warm… While I collected you. Since that took some time, the filets might be a little less rare than we’d prefer them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I assure him. “That you did all of this is so wonderful.”

I’m awestruck.

Yes, I understand he has people here too, who can help him pull this off. But knowing he’s orchestrated this evening is major. At least, it is in my book.

“I’d serve you champagne,” he informs me, “because you deserve it and you enjoy it. Plus…” Nick’s jaw works vigorously for a moment before he says, “You should be the one celebrating, Bailey. I’m not indicating someone else should be staring through your restaurant window with envy, but you do know what I’m inferring, correct? You’re not ever going to be in that position again. And I do want you to properly commemorate your success, after you’ve had the baby.”

Goddamn the burn in my eyes. And down my throat as I swallow hard.

I give a small nod and tell him, “You really do listen to everything I say.”

“Yes.”

He pulls back a chair. I sit.

He drapes a napkin in my lap and unveils my dinner.

With every fiber of my being screaming for me to do so, I want to ask what he’s getting at with all of this, with all he’s confessed. With this special evening he’s planned. Prepared.

But I think about the fact that he has a country to run. I have a restaurant to run.

He lives in Europe.

I live in California.

He’s a king.

I’m a commoner.

He’s—

“Bailey?” His intimate voice seeps into my ruminations.

“Yes, Nick?” My gaze slides to him.

“If it really is a girl… What would you name her?”

I’m relieved the sparkling water has already been poured for each of us. I instantly reach for my water goblet and take several deep sips.

Unfortunately, they do nothing to quell the jumping of my pulse.

Nick has literally just asked the most lethal question of all time.

And he immediately realizes it.

“Jesus, Bailey,” he says on a low groan. “I am so sorry.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

Meanwhile, my heart constricts. Excruciatingly so.

“I can’t even believe I said that,” he tells me in a tortured voice. “Why the fuck would I?”

I can’t speak.

I want to tell him it’s not his fault, that he was being sweet or chatty or caught up in the moment. Whatever. He’s totally forgiven.

I know this man, and I know he would not be intentionally cruel by asking me something so personal, so shockingly blatant, when I’m not keeping this child.

However, my eyes water and my gut twists. My mind reels. I’m stuck in buffering mode. I can’t even form a coherent thought. I keep hearing that question over and over.

If it really is a girl… What would you name her?

Oh, my God.

Just… Oh. My. God.

We’ve destroyed boundaries previously.

We’re obliterating more of them this evening. Detrimentally so.

And, somehow, I know it’s up to me to rebuild them, fortify them—immediately. Or I truly will be devastated by Nick Angelini.

But this reckoning isn’t just for my sake. Nick requires a rude awakening as well because we have gone much too far with each other.

Much too far.

I set aside my glass as my hand shakes violently and the water sloshes over the rim.

I push back my chair and stand, albeit unsteadily.

“Bailey.” He stares at me with so much remorse and regret, it tears me apart even more. “That was incredibly insensitive of me. You know I didn’t mean it in an inconsiderate or thoughtless manner. Goddamn it. I was just curious and…that’s wrong.”

“We do keep breaching our agreement,” I say on a wisp of air. All I can manage. Not only because I’m so massively rocked, but he’s also legitimately tormented. “We’re both out of line,” I admit. “We’re pretending this is a romantic arrangement, not a professional one. That’s what’s wrong.”

“Bailey, I—”

“I can’t do this, Nick,” I tell him, in all honesty.

His gaze narrows on me. Alarm flits across his strong visage. His jaw clenches.

“The contract, yes—I can fulfill that,” I quickly clarify, reassuring him. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I will do everything I’m supposed to do, you never have to doubt that. But any inquiries you have about the baby, please pose them to Dr. Shaw. She will know every single tiny detail. She’ll send you sonograms. She’ll advise you of my status from here on out. Just… Don’t ask me personal questions, Nick. Don’t make me think too hard about what I’m doing.”

“Bailey, please—”

“I never requested or expected any of this,” I iterate with a sweeping gesture of my hand, to indicate the entire fairy tale scene he’s created. “I’m not fucking Cinderella.”

There. I’ve said it out loud. For the universe to hear and for my heart and my brain to accept.

I whirl around, just as a cyclonic sensation builds deep in my core and threatens to burst forth, inciting an ugly cry I fear I won’t be able to contain—or recover from.

I rush off, thankfully aided by the fact that I don’t have shoes on.

“Bailey!” Nick calls after me.

A horrifically vicious feeling claws at me, shredding my insides.

There’s no happily ever after to be had here. We live in two vastly different worlds. I’ve already reconciled that in my mind. Now I need my heart to grasp the concept.

I race up the stairs to the swimming pool patio and cross the threshold into my suite.

The first thing I do is (carefully) whip off the nightgown and lay it out over the opened box on the bed. It is ridiculously gorgeous and obvious proof that I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and need to climb back out.

Everything about Nick and this house and our pact is temporary. The only tangible piece is the end result, what we both get out of this.

That is the glaring reality that slams into me.

Although… It sparks new thoughts that eat at my psyche.

I snatch up the tank top and capris I was wearing earlier, before Nick had disrobed me, and I yank them on.

I go to the dressing room and just sort of… Fixate on all the clothes and the shoes and the handbags. The jewelry.

I remind myself how I came upon all this grandeur.

I remind myself this is not permanent—it will disappear at the end of our deal. Just like the magical carriage did at midnight.

I pace the large space and try with all my might to disassociate myself, to really, fully absorb and cling to the fact that Nick and I both wanted something, agreed upon it, and… We’re each getting what we’d wished for—I have to concentrate on that, and that alone.

Trouble is…

For all that is holy and inescapable… The most berating, self-possessing, and condemning thoughts strike me.

I’ve sold myself for a restaurant.

I’ve sold my soul… For a restaurant.

I’m selling my child… For a fucking restaurant.

I gasp and drop to my knees.

Oh, this is sooo not supposed to happen.

How can I possibly be so mentally tripped up here?

I’d conscientiously worked through all of this—long before I’d consented to Nick’s proposal.

I’d wanted this.

But now…

I want all of this. With Nick. Right here. Forever.

Oh, Bailey…

I bury my face in my hands. I desperately hold onto the last vestiges of my dignity, but it seems to be slipping through my fingers like the tears seeping through the cracks and dripping onto the floor.

This is all astoundingly conflicting.

I am pregnant.

And I am…

Thrilled.

So very thrilled.

For Nick. Most definitely, I’m happy for him.

I mean… I love the man. Therefore, giving him his heart’s desire is hugely rewarding.

I also made good on my end of the bargain. So that rejuvenated restaurant is now mine, free and clear.

And yet…

I am utterly, painfully, hopelessly lost.

All because I have this unjustifiable “intuition” that the baby I just barely learned about is a girl. And he asked me what I’d name her, thereby making her… So real. While also jolting me with the glaring pragmatism that she is not mine.

I cannot get more emotionally invested than I already am. With either of them. With any of them, Grayson and Claire included.

This is not my world.

I accept that Nick had not done anything tonight out of spite or any sort of malice. He’d queried because he cared what I thought. He cared about what I was feeling. His intent had been to engage me, and that… That was wonderful and amazing.

The inherent issue is that the more wonderful and amazing he is, the guiltier I feel about giving away something so precious; something we’ve created together.

Yes, I know… This child will want for nothing. She (or he) will be cherished and raised properly.

Just… Without me.

That is what I’d never imagined I’d have to reconcile.