Chapter 28

On my way to the main house, I pull out my cell and call Mitch.

He doesn’t know I’ve been trying to conceive. Hell, all he really knows is that I came into a substantial sum of money and turned the restaurant around. That I have a bodyguard, due to said substantial sum. And, also, a financial advisor. That’s how I conveniently refer to Nick in my professional world—even if Mitch has noted lingering gazes and palpable chemistry between us.

I don’t plan on sharing with him my baby news until I feel stable about it. Some women wait until the second trimester for a reveal, when they feel everything’s moving along exactly as it should and they can make an official announcement. This makes sense to me.

Unless I experience debilitating morning sickness or other side effects, I figure I can keep my condition under wraps for a few months. That gives me time to evaluate our entire operation and the staff. Determine what additional resources we need as I start to slow down, and certainly following the delivery, when I’ll require a little recovery time. Obviously, I won’t take a true maternity leave. The baby will be under someone else’s care at that point. All of which will be difficult to explain, but I don’t really want to think about that right now. I have enough errant thoughts churning inside my brain.

I absolutely will consult with Mitch at some rational period—he deserves to be looped in, appropriately. I also want him to know I believe I can count on him. At the moment, however, I just can’t deal with anything heavy.

Rather, I tell him when he connects, “We’ve been going full throttle for weeks and since we have time before the soft launch, I think we should take two days off and recharge our batteries.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I could use a haircut and some surfing to chill.”

“Excellent. I don’t want anyone feeling overwhelmed by the extensive training and all the changes we’ve implemented—and then be slammed by a packed dining room, night after night.”

“I’ll let everyone know,” he assures me.

“Thank you. They’re still getting paid. And if you choose to spend a couple days in Huntington Beach or somewhere else, I’ll cover that as a bonus. Just send me the bill.”

“Wow, Bailey… That’s generous of you.”

“It’s a drop in the bucket for what I owe you, Mitch. For hanging in there with me and trusting we could ascend to a higher level than a dreary crab shack.”

He laughs. “You were way too committed to revamping the place for me to not take the leap of faith with you. And I’m damn glad I did, Bailey. It all came together and I’m proud to be managing back of house there.”

“I’m relieved it’s you,” I admit. “We make a good team—with Gwen too.”

“Yeah, good call on hiring her. So. I’ll see you soon.”

“Enjoy.”

I enter the house and Grayson has chamomile tea waiting for me. I slide into an upholstered stool at the tiered end of the kitchen island that serves as a breakfast bar—for eight.

I announce, “I’m taking some time off from work.”

This catches him by surprise. “Are you feeling ill? Already?”

“Not ill,” I avow. “And yeah, I know… Those previous words aren’t ones you’d expect to hear from me. But… There’s really nothing more I can do at this juncture with Bailey’s Clambake, other than sit on the deck and admire mine and my people’s creation. Only problem is,” I sip and sigh. And say, “I don’t quite know what to do with myself. I mean, other than stay on top of the social media. I don’t have any hobbies and, uh… I’m in a pretty tumultuous frame of mind to start one.” While I pine for Nick. While I adjust to being pregnant. While I tap my toe for a grand reopening I know will rock that cove.

Grayson comes to the rescue, as usual. “We can cook,” he offers. “And make crème brulee.”

“That has potential.” I perk up a tiny bit.

He stares at me for a spell, then suggests, “What if you layout on the patio? Walk along the beach? Get into the pool? The ocean, the sun, the sand… All your elements. Perhaps they’ll soothe you.”

“Yeah, perhaps,” I muse. Without much enthusiasm.

I polish off my hot tea while he bustles about. Then I change into a bikini and settle into a chaise lounge chair by the pool. That lasts all of an hour. I move to the deck and the ocean view. But I’m restless. So I put clothes back on and wander into the theater room. I sink into a killer leather sofa with a reclining seat and all the bells and whistles. Agatha finds me a suspense film—no sappy romantic comedies for this girl.

One movie turns into two and then three. I even eat dinner here, using the fancy little tray that pops into the arm of the sofa and the cup holders on the fold-down console of the seat next to me. It also boasts a wireless charger for my phone, not that I’m anticipating any calls. Still… In the back of my brain, I convince myself to be prepared if Nick should text me.

He doesn’t.

Grayson has to prompt me to actually go to bed as midnight approaches. I’m not thrilled with that prospect—of being in that bed alone. So I’m back to sleeping on the couch in my sitting room.

This is precisely how I spend my mini-vacay. Action flicks. Tea. Sleep. Some sun.

I’m moping and all I can think is…

You only have yourself to blame for this, girlfriend.

Truer words have never been spoken. Even if only inside my head.

Interestingly, I get a call from Claire. This piques my curiosity.

“Congrats!” she exuberantly blurts. “I heard the restaurant is done and reopening soon and that you’re pregnant. Oh, my God, Bailey. You’re pregnant! How incredible!”

“Yes,” is all I mumble.

It is incredible.

Yet I am miserable.

So.

Apparently, I’m not the only one, because she instantly tells me, “The king is sufficiently distracted.” Her voice turns conspiratorial. “Also…moody as hell. He’s quite pleased about the baby—his eyes lit up when he told me. But he returned from the States earlier than he’d planned and he’s biting off heads. Then apologizing. Then snapping like a turtle again.”

“Do turtles snap?”

“Ours do. Don’t yours?”

I give this some thought. Then shrug. “I don’t actually know anything about turtles. Hmm.” Maybe I should do some Internet research to occupy myself.

“Point being,” she says, “he was going to stay longer in California. But now he’s home. Is everything all right?”

Oh, dear Lord.

Tears instantly spring to my eyes.

“I really can’t talk about it, Claire,” I insist, my voice suddenly edged with emotion.

“Oh, no,” she murmurs. “Did you two quarrel?”

Her accent and the delicate—and eloquent—way in which she poses this query makes me feel as though I’m the proverbial “ugly American.” After all, Nick went back to his country because I banished him from mine.

Seriously, kill me now.

I don’t want to get into this, not even with Claire.

Except, she’s due an explanation. She’s aware of mine and Nick’s arrangement and she’s been an absolute godsend for me this past month or so. I can’t just turn a cold shoulder on her when she’s become a friend.

I’m just not certain how much I can reveal without breaking down and sobbing. I’m on the verge every minute of the day and know it’s only a matter of one trigger that will have me weeping like someone just stole my dog.

You know, if I had one…

Anyway, sticking with that analogy, I must throw Claire a bone, especially since she’s going to continue being on this baby ride with me.

I semi-confide in her. “I asked Nick to go so that I can assimilate to my ‘altered condition.’ Also because I have the restaurant’s relaunch coming up and it requires my sole concentration at present. Dr. Shaw examined me and all’s well. I’m following her instructions. So everything’s fine and I just need some space to keep up my momentum.”

I have no idea how this sounds to her ears.

And she’s much too couth to pry any further. For which I am grateful.

Still, she mutters, “He’s just not himself lately.”

Oh, gee, thanks!

My heart twists. As though I really need to feel any more horrific over having pushed Nick away!

“Claire,” I start to say. And only manage, “It’s complicated.”

“It’s none of my business, Bailey. I shouldn’t have even mentioned this.”

I’m regretting it myself.

But the sentiment has already been laid on the table.

Nick has turned into a snapping turtle. Because of me.

I’m not exactly sure what to make of this—and I sure as hell don’t know what compels me to confess, “We got more involved with each other than we should have. So I pulled back on the reins. We have a binding, legal agreement. That’s…that’s…”

That’s all.

Those are the words I am supposed to utter.

I can’t get the statement out, though.

And, oh, Christ… I sniffle!

“Bailey!” she quietly, though emphatically exclaims.

“Just, please… Keep this to yourself, Claire. Give him the week to right his axis. It was just a shock to him that I acted the way I did—and he’s got the Baby Daddy news to contend with and we all need to get through this pregnancy together. Then life will be the way we all envisioned it, the way it’s meant to be.”

My voice cracks.

For the love of God.

“Bailey,” she whispers. “I have no right to ask this, but… I can’t help myself.”

Jesus, I know what’s coming next.

“Are you in love with Nick?”

Fuck, fuck, and… Fuck!

At this rapid rate, the whole damn world will know by morning!

Now, what?

I can’t find it in my soul to deny the truth.

I also can’t bring myself to confirm the truth.

All that comes out of my mouth is, “Again… It’s complicated.”

“Why?” Claire cautiously, tentatively asks. “Is there something in the agreement that forbids you from falling in love? Is it one of the terms and conditions?”

“Of course not,” I say. “Because it was never a consideration. On his part. Obviously, the potential existed for me. You have seen the man.”

“Mm, yes. Though, I’m hopelessly devoted to someone else, so I don’t stare…too hard.”

She’s an absolute peach for attempting to lighten the mood with a joke.

But my emotions are a tangled mess, all coiled and taut and uncomfortable.

I figure that’s probably not good for the baby. Then I roll my eyes because it’s still just a peanut. Then I sigh because… It’s so much more than a peanut. It’s alive. And it has a spirit and, thus, it has senses and can likely absorb the vibes I internalize.

Naturally, I’m making these concepts up as I go. And instantly vow to consult with Dr. Shaw on baby books I should read that are more psychological and spiritual in nature, not just regarding physiology. Not that I’m going to have time to read. Perhaps she can verbally relay the highlights, so I get the gist of what’s growing inside me.

Unfortunately, that will only make me more aware of what’s growing inside me—and how can I not form a serious attachment to something I become so familiar with in that vein?

Wow. I can run in circles with these thoughts.

Therefore, not only is mine and Nick’s attraction to each other hugely problematic, so too is my sudden curiosity over the tiny human’s development.

Honestly, I’d convinced myself that Dr. Shaw would deal with all things Baby. Like, I’m just the casing and she’s the one who will discern what’s happening in my womb and I won’t have to think twice about it.

But that’s turned out to be an unrealistic notion.

What’s mostly eating away at me is that Nick and I created this itty-bitty dot on a sonogram and I’m already feeling…oddly…protective…of it. Plus, I’m still certain “it” is a her.

Given my lengthy silence, Claire gently prods, “What’s so bad about falling for a king, Bailey? And what makes you think it couldn’t be mutual?”

“You’ve hit upon the primary reason. He is, indeed, a king.” Still so surreal. “You also nailed it with how amazingly gorgeous he is.”

“I didn’t say that,” she quickly contends.

“It was inferred. Rest assured, that is not a betrayal to the lucky person you’re hopelessly devoted to, Claire.”

“So what’s so complex about this situation?” she more firmly presses. “He’s not interested in any other woman. I can fully attest to that—I set his social calendar. He’s committed to three things, Bailey, and three things only. His country, his father, and… You. Well, I mean, he believes in God, but we’ll leave that out of the equation.”

“I get your point.” I pace the extremely long hallway, passing that grand piano I’d once wondered if I’d ever have a chance to learn how to play and realize… I probably could have been doing that instead of watching shit blow up onscreen. Perhaps I didn’t jump on the opportunity because…it’s mine now. I can have lessons whenever the hell I want.

My imagination takes over from here and I stare at the bench.

What do I see? Me, teaching a blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl how to play.

Pain burns up my throat.

This is going to be the most torturous pregnancy of all.

I’m resigned to requesting of Claire, “Will you please make me an appointment with the therapist Dr. Shaw recommended as part of the team? I’m going to need some counseling to get through these next several months.”

“Sure. But… You know you can also talk to me, right? I’ll hold everything personal in the strictest of confidence, Bailey. The only issues I can’t keep from the king are if you’re ill or there’s something amiss with the baby.”

“Understood. And appreciated. Except, I don’t think I can discuss some of this with you, Claire. I’d never want to put you in a compromising position.”

“Understood. And appreciated,” she repeats. “However, if it’s about your emotions, that’s not compromising me. Additionally…what if I can help to validate them?”

I plop down on the bench.

Holy. Hell.

She wants to be our matchmaker.

Probably because she has some ideal that since we’ve conceived together, we should be together. That’s not what Nick and I intended, though.

Yet…

“Claire, he had no cause for being so romantic. Especially this last time.”

“Not per your legal arrangement, no. So ask yourself why he was, Bailey.”

I think about what he’d said on the plane. He found me appealing before he’d even met me.

But us being into each other, physically, does not a relationship make.

And now that I’ve invoked that particular word, I have to voice the inevitable. “Claire, it all comes down to what I’ve already addressed and accepted. Even if Nick is feeling a hint of what I’m feeling, we are a million miles apart, in so many ways. And I really just have to do my duty, complete my portion of the contract—and after I give birth, we’ll sever the ties.”

She’s silent for endless moments. Then murmurs, “That’s so tragic.”

“Yeah.” A tear tumbles down my cheek. I don’t even bother swiping it away. It’ll have company any second now. “I have to go,” I tell her, before I breakdown and cry buckets while I’m on the phone with her.

“Bailey… If he’s feeling something for you, and you’re feeling something for him… Why not share those feelings and see where they take both of you?”