Chapter 30

“It wasn’t Claire,” I confess. “Grayson told me.”

My intent is not to toss my butler/new friend/hint of a father figure under the bus. I’m pretty sure Nick will easily comprehend that Grayson and I have grown closer and that he cares enough about me to not only share my current existence with me—but to also partake in what my future might look like. He is staying on with me, after all. And while I’m wholly flattered and deeply touched, I recognize, as well, that being near his daughter is equally important to him.

It’s really a win-win for the three of us here in California.

The downside is that the kid I’m going to give birth to won’t have this particularly incredible man at her beck and call, when she’s living in Europe. In some grand palace. With her father.

However, the latter is a huge plus—she will have Nick. That’s significant.

Therefore, in my mind, I’m chalking up Grayson’s decision to hang with me indefinitely as an invaluable, priceless bonus.

Nick cuts into these thoughts, venturing, “So now you’re aware that everything you have right now is yours, henceforth?”

“Yes. And… I’m not totally sure what to say about that.”

“Nothing will be sent back to a store or an art gallery by my staff, Bailey. The house won’t go on the market unless you choose to move. I want you to have it all.”

He doesn’t hit on the fact that one of his most loyal employees has already divulged this information to me—I’m not even sure Grayson consulted with Nick before he dropped this bombshell on me. I just know that Nick wants to confirm it’s true fact.

I’m additionally clueless as to whether Grayson has told Nick he prefers to remain in California, not return to his home country. But I believe that’s between the two of them, so I don’t mention it.

Though I do bring up a key point.

“None of this is what we discussed, Nick,” I remind him. “All I wanted was Bailey’s Clambake. Not—”

That elusive attempt at a fucking fairy tale.

Not surprisingly, all of these words make my stomach twist. Including the unspoken ones.

I shift in the bed, not finding a comfortable position because my emotions are suddenly a complicated pretzel and that makes me restless.

I sit up. Shove a hand through my curls. Sigh with exasperation.

Nick is quiet for several suspended seconds. We are still skating on thin ice with each other. Like…razor-thin ice.

Therefore, he quite carefully queries, “What is it that’s really eating at you, Bailey? I need to know.”

His tone is intimate, as always. Yet also tinged with his own frustration…and confusion.

I am literally torn in half over whether I should just blurt what the hell is going on with me—how I truly feel about Nick—or if I should continue to hold it all inside.

Well… Hold it all inside is a relative term. I’ve let the cat out of the bag with Dr. Shaw, haven’t I? Luckily, she is committed to patient confidentiality for everything involving me that doesn’t technically, for medical purposes, involve the baby. She’s not at liberty to speak randomly about me unless it has to do with a health issue that could create an immediate or future problem with the pregnancy.

Also… Claire is in the know. Grayson too.

Christ, even Mitch suspects I have a thing for Nick.

The bodyguards have to be in on it as well.

Which really means…

Nick must have some semblance of an idea. At the very least, he’s likely deduced by now that I’m deeply infatuated with him. (That’s an understatement, but again… At the very least, he ought to guess this much.)

Trouble is, when we’d arrived at a critical juncture—a remarkably romantic one—I slammed the door in his face.

Potentially, that negates whatever he might assume about me falling for him.

Regardless of how significant my emotions are, I likely made a very pronounced, nail-in-the-coffin declaration about the demise of our personal relationship.

That thought is a nearly unbearable one to process, but… As they say, I made my bed.

And am still having a bitch of a time settling into it. Literally and figuratively.

This shouldn’t be so complex.

There is a baby and there is a contract. There is a restaurant that has instantly become a beaming beacon in the cove—and I did that!

Yes, with help. But it was my vision.

Nick has his three variables to focus on, and my only three should be:

Baby.

Contract.

Restaurant.

Bam. That is it.

And for two fleeting seconds, I convince myself I can concentrate on these core elements.

But then Nick murmurs, “You didn’t change, Bailey. I think you wanted me to believe you did when you found out you were pregnant—as if we immediately shifted into a professional association because of a positive test result. I saw something different in your eyes, though.”

Oh, this is about to get messy…

“I’m sure there was a measure of relief that came with the news,” he ascertains. “I’d already fulfilled the terms of our agreement and perhaps you felt some pressure as to whether or not you could do the same.”

“It occurred to me,” I profess.

“But you did achieve your goal. All your goals,” he amends. “I had no doubt you would. From the beginning I had faith in what you could accomplish. However,” he more specifically pontificates, “I can understand that you are the type of forthright person who would want to prove her integrity in any given situation—including this one.”

“All of that is true,” I admit.

Unfortunately, I do a mental rewind and realize I’ve also just owned up to the fact that I really didn’t change when I directed him to leave.

That was a spontaneous reaction to sensory overload.

Nothing about my feelings for Nick have altered—definitely, not in any sort of diminishing capacity.

If anything… They’ve multiplied. He’s gone above and beyond what he was on the hook for with our deal.

Because he cares about me.

Which is also why he called tonight.

Now, it’s my heart that’s seizing up on me.

“Bailey…” he adds, “you can’t exactly hide or deny the way you’ve always looked at me, the way you’ve always responded to me. In general conversation or over dinner. When I touch you, when I kiss you…”

Warmth floods my veins from a million remembrances.

“When I make love to you,” he seductively continues.

Oh. fuck.

I fall back against the plump pile of pillows. A long-suffering sigh that is drenched in desire and unmistakably echoes every single craving I have for this man tumbles from my lips.

And he…?

Shock of all shocks…

He chuckles. Low and sexy.

“All right, then,” he quietly says. “Sounds to me like we’re on the same page.”

My heart is still painfully constricting, and yet it manages to do an odd little flip. A faint, though sensual one.

Regardless of the silver lining that conflicted organ seems to have found and latched onto, I tell Nick, “We can’t possibly be close in our thinking, or what we might want—”

“Why not?” he persists.

“Because we essentially live on different planets, Nick!” I can’t help but make this proclamation.

We both have to accept the reality of the situation.

There is no compromise to be made here.

So even if by some miracle of miracles he feels for me just a tenth of what I feel for him, there still is no viable solution.

Except, that he more reasonably asserts, “Not different planets—just different continents, Bailey.” He pauses. Sighs contemplatively. Then says, “I do hear you. However… You’ve heard of long-distance dating, correct?”

“Dating?!”

I shoot upright again. Stare into the darkness, toward the tiny bit of luminance from the patio lights and the thin moon rays that are penetrating a hazy sky.

My heart has launched itself into my throat and I can’t say another word.

Apparently, it’s not necessary.

Nick very casually (as though to not spook the skittish) calls attention to the obvious: “We’ve been doing more than just making a baby, Bailey… Don’t you think?”

Crickets chirp on the line. I am cursedly voiceless.

No worries on his end, though—he seems to be content in filling the verbal silence.

“You recognize all the signs for how I respond to you, in turn,” he thoughtfully muses. “And my truth is… I want to have this baby with you. With you, Bailey.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I can’t even delve into that!

My head is earnestly about to explode.

And breathing is just… So fucking difficult.

I want to wrap my arms around his beautiful sentiments—oh, you know I do!

But…

“Nick, that’s neither the plan, nor a possibility.” It’s a wonder I can expel words from my mouth. Yet they spew forth with no real reckoning from my mind. Other than the obvious, the inevitable. “I’m not relocating. Neither are you.”

“No, I’m not,” he honestly discloses. “I can’t, Bailey, not even for you. Given my position and my responsibilities, it is one-thousand percent not an option.”

He says this with notable regret and remorse.

However, he’s not at fault here.

“Nick, I know. I understand. It’s a non-negotiable. For both of us.”

That is a horrific statement to make—and now I’m agonizing over why the hell we’re even having this disastrously illogical discussion!

  I tell him, straight-out, “I would never ask you to make concessions for me. So.”

“And this is why you pushed me away,” he astutely contends.

“You recall the world in which I live, yes? Maybe all the pumpkins aren’t going to disappear once I give birth, Nick. But the glass slipper…” I give a slight shake of my head, despite him not being able to see my dismay—and the clear stance I’m taking. A fresh tear pops on the rim of my eye. I ignore it. And somehow manage to tell him, with scarcely a breath in my body, “It’ll never fit my foot, Nick.”

~ * * * ~

There are flowers on the breakfast bar in the morning.

Actually… There are numerous arrangements scattered about the house. All vibrant and spectacularly gorgeous.

I narrow my gaze on Grayson as I settle in on the deck and he serves eggs Benedict, which has become a favorite of mine at my designated “brunch” time.

Grayson knows precisely what I’m thinking—the conclusion I’ve drawn. He tells me, “I didn’t order the bouquets.”

I whip out my phone and call Claire. It’s late-dinner hour there and she really is in the middle of a meal. I can hear her setting a heavy fork onto a delicate plate.

“Are you all right?” she instantly demands.

“Of course, I am,” I assure her. “Please don’t worry so much about me.”

“I do, because you’re my friend, Bailey. Also… It is my job.”

“So is sending all the mammoth floral arrangements that are just… Too stunning for words.”

“I’m sorry… The what?”

“The flowers. I—”

“Whoa, wait! There are no flowers!” She makes more noise in the background, then says, “I’m looking at my tablet right this very minute. No request for sending you flowers. No flowers ordered. No flowers confirmed as being delivered. No flowers, Bailey!”

“I—”

“Naturally, I had inquired of the king if we were to purchase them for your reopening,” she hastily asserts. “And, of course, to congratulate you. But he said… Oh. Ooohhhh!”

She heaves a breath that is curiously laced with joy.

“Ummm… What just happened in your brain?” I ask.

“He said no,” she completes her previous sentence. But something else has occurred to her. “So I didn’t send anything. It wasn’t me, Bailey. Nor was it any of his other assistants. If you have mysterious arrangements… Nick ordered them himself.”

I gape.

She suddenly quips, “I wasn’t even aware he knew how to do that. I have his credit cards.”

Her tone is filled with awe—as though she’s particularly proud of Nick’s resourcefulness.

Meanwhile… I’m practically melting off my chair.

I can hear her tapping some more on her tablet as she mumbles, “Hmm,” and “ah,” and “okay, yes… I see.”

Then she gleefully informs me, “All arrangements were charged to an auxiliary card he carries and reserves for emergency purposes only. Around noon.”

I sink back into my plush chair.

Try to catch my breath.

Holy hell.

He got off the phone with me and immediately bought me flowers?

We hadn’t even resolved anything, but…

“He just can’t resist,” I whisper. And my stomach flutters.

“Clearly, he can’t.” Claire sounds dreamy. “He’s just so proud of you for what you’ve accomplished, Bailey. All of it.”

I’m getting weepy. And swipe at a drop on my cheek.

Truly, Nick Angelini is a gem.

Why the hell does he have to be a king—the ruler of an entire country!—in Europe?

Because he’s just too extraordinary to be an ordinary man in an ordinary job in an ordinary setting.

Of course.

The urge to speak with him again claws at me.

I want to thank him for his generous and overly grand gesture. And for not further pressuring me last night about the long-distance dating concept.

It’s just not one I can reconcile in my mind.

First, I would obsess endlessly that women fawn over him with every step he takes.

Second, it sincerely is not a smart scenario for two people in a binding contract, particularly one involving a baby.

Third, he is—indeed—the ruler of an entire fucking country.

Plus, he has his father’s illness to deal with—and everything that entails now and for his future…reign.

Also, eventually, there will be a child to look after.

Nick needs another distraction like he needs another proverbial sucker punch to the gut from me.

And I can’t fathom adding pining for the sexier-than-hell king to my plate.

 Even, though, yeah… That’s going to happen no matter what.

Claire is still in awe over Nick personally sending me the flowers and all I can do is mutter, “He is incredible.”

“And he’s in a much better mood today,” she wants me to know. “I’m guessing you have something to do with that?”

“Don’t go over-speculating,” I begrudgingly warn her. “Don’t think there’s more here than there really is. It’s too impossible, Claire. Even though we did start down a path last night regarding long-distance dating—”

“Bailey, that’s fantastic!”

I cringe inwardly. And burst her bubble. “The discussion curved into a cul-de-sac, Claire. We’re driving in circles. We might have established, in a roundabout way, that we…like…each other. However—”

“Like?” she haughtily prompts.

“Fine.” I sigh. “We’re hot for each other.”

“And is that all?” she prods a bit more.

I smile as heat seeps through me. “I think it’s more than that,” I confess. “For me, certainly. You know that. But he’s… Maybe more than just a little into me, in return.”

“As I thought!” She is positively giddy.

I think…so am I.

He did tell me he wants to have this baby with me. And while I can’t thoroughly decipher the extent to what he’s referring, the previous fluttering turns into a full flurry of butterflies as they take to flight over the mere thought of us co-parenting. My endlessly tormented heart soars. My spirits are totally in the clouds.

Conversely—and dismally—my feet are on solid ground. Where they belong.

My highs and lows suddenly make me queasy. I groan.

“Bailey, you can’t just give up on this,” she insists.

“I can’t simply cave either, Claire,” I regretfully inform her. “Not only for my sake, but for Nick’s as well. And for the baby’s. Christ, we can’t complicate her existence!”

That’s a bottom-line notion I must remember.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Claire comments. “I realize this is quite precarious.”

“Kind of the ultimate in precarious,” I concur.

“But… You did make some headway,” she more optimistically adds. “In that you actually acknowledged you share affection for each other.”

“Yeah… Well.” I’m curiously experiencing a dire need to get off the phone, ASAP. “Hey, my bladder seems to be shrinking—and I just drained two glasses of OJ. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“And leave me hanging with no juicy details?” she scoffs in her exotic accent.

“There are none at present. Though… Yes, I do want to talk some more. Just…not now.”

“Have a good day, Bailey. Don’t work too hard—or is that bit of advice going to bounce right off you?”

“Already did. Gotta go! Totally now!” I laugh and damn… That’s not in my favor because I feel a hint of leakage.

I disconnect, drop the phone onto the table and scoot back the chair.

I jump to my feet and am about to pass through the opened doors when Grayson appears.

And pales.

As in… He’s instantly stricken.

“What the—?” I start to ask him.

But then there’s a peculiar wrenching in my stomach.

A sharp pain radiates throughout me.

I gasp for a breath.

Grayson tosses aside the tray he’s holding and the metal clamors to the ground, the glass of milk he’s brought me shattering, away from our feet.

He reaches for me just as another piercing sensation lances my insides.

I scream and am about to double over in agony, but he grabs me. Turns me around and points to where I was standing mere seconds ago.

“Look.”

I stare at the tiny splatter of blood. Glance down at my legs, bared by my sundress. And see the slow, faint trickle along my inner thighs.

“No…” I eek out on a wisp of air.

Tears flood my eyes. My hand finds Grayson’s forearm in my attempt to steady myself. And for emotional support.

“This can’t happen,” I say. “This can’t happen to Nick. This can’t happen to me. This can’t happen to the peanut.”

Oh, God…

This seriously can’t happen!

“Call Dr. Shaw!” I cry. “Now!”