Chapter 35

I do, however, feel more than a twinge of regret and sadness when he leaves me.

I try to convince myself not to be affected by this pattern.

But one day, I stand out on the event deck before we open for lunch, and I’m just sort of… Dazed.

The sensation is a strange one.

I’m a little anxious, because it’s been nearly two weeks since Nick has swooped in to immediately take me home, to bed.

I have the insistent urge to tap my toe while the thought where is he? skips through my brain.

I mean, I know where he is. If he’s not calling, he’s texting and keeping me abreast of his further developing position on the throne. Only, he’s not actually sitting—he’s on the move, quite a bit. He’s interviewed a few medical specialists and has flown them in to provide additional aid to his father, whose prognosis doesn’t change, but he’s apparently experiencing more prolonged periods of lucidity and cognizance, even following along a bit better when Nick gives him updates, or just reads to him.

I can tell this both pleases and vexes Nick. Those tiny breakthroughs can be golden nuggets; they can also lead to false hope. And when those hopes are dashed, little by little, it’s incredibly agonizing. I know this first-hand. Likely the reason Nick is so forthcoming about the situation and his feelings, recognizing I will completely understand.

He’s also strategizing what we’d discussed the last time he was here and doing plenty of research on the best conferences to begin building a presence and increasing networking opportunities for his country.

The man has a lot on his plate.

The other gnawing sensation that’s throwing me off-kilter is that I have a very strong desire to help him.

In addition to all these burgeoning intricacies within me, there’s a peculiar craving I can’t seem to satisfy. Lord knows I’ve tried! I started with Belgium dark chocolate and New York cheesecake. Lobster claws dipped in drawn butter—my favorite go-to splurge.

But it’s not decadent food or desserts I’m yearning for.

So I’ve taken more walks along the beach, yet that has done nothing to quell whatever longing it is that’s burning through me.

I can’t put my finger on what’s clawing at me. So I do my best to force myself out of the daze and prep for the lunch crowd.

A couple days later, however…

The smell of brine wafting in through my opened patio doors at the house makes me queasy and I have to shut them.

A day later, it’s the doors to the deck I close because the sound of the crashing waves is giving me a whopper of a headache.

I eat brunch inside, instead.

Which has Grayson raising his brow at me.

I only shrug. I can’t explain how my body is adversely reacting to all the things I’ve loved my entire life.

Then one day…

Oh, one day…

I arrive at the restaurant just as Gwen is finishing a fresh batch of lobster bisque.

The mere thought of the luscious soup sends me into a heavenly space and makes my mouth water.

I go straight to the kitchen. She sees me entering via the pass-through doors and immediately reaches for a bowl. She ladles a decent amount as I’m reaching for the oyster crackers and a spoon. I prop my hip against the metal prep table. Mitch joins us.

“Bar inventory is completed,” he informs me. “Just needs your approval.”

I sweep my spoon along the creamy surface as I tell him, “I don’t think you need my approval. Do you?”

He chuckles. “I have an excellent handle on what our needs are. It’s the dollar amount you normally focus on.”

“And you always come in at budget, so…”

“All right then. I’ll take over the entire process.” He’s thrilled.

“You’ve more than earned your wings,” I assure him. Then add, “Now, no offense, but I’m about to devour this bisque so… No more talking.”

I savor the first taste.

Oh, Lord, how I adore—

My stomach wrenches. Oddly.

I try another sample, a small one.

The scent seems off to me.

And my stomach roils a bit more violently.

Bile rises in my throat.

And suddenly… It’s just like that time with the chef who had the rancid seasonings.

My eyes widen. I set aside the bowl.

I race past Mitch and Gwen.

Thank God, we are not opened yet, so there’s no one other than staff for me to navigate as I make a beeline for the ladies’ room. I barrel into a stall, sink to my knees, and heave.

It’s a simple cleansing. Just the one expulsion and then I sit back on my heels. I wipe my mouth with tissue. Pull in very stable breaths. I haven’t even broken a sweat.

“Bailey, are you all right?” It’s Gwen, deeply concerned.

She helps me to my feet. I still have my purse strap over my shoulder, and I retrieve the toothbrush and paste I always carry with me.

“Just a sec, please,” I tell her. Then I tidy myself up.

When I turn to her, she’s pale. “Bad morning sickness?”

I give a slight shake of my head. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I swear that bisque is fresh,” she asserts. “The lobsters arrived just a couple hours ago.”

I eye her curiously—not skeptically, because I believe her. But I’m starting to piece something together in my mind. My psyche, even. Possibly in my soul.

“Did you change anything?” I ask. “One single ingredient?”

“No, absolutely not. That recipe won three awards last month—I’m not altering anything until I should!”

The pieces click firmly into place.

“This is not that time,” I promise her. “This isn’t about you or the soup or the recipe. This isn’t on you, at all, Gwen,” I reiterate. “Don’t change a thing.”

I leave her to confront Mitch, who’s waiting just outside the door, positively panicked.

“I’m fine,” I equally avow. “Well, not totally, but… Look, I have to take some time off.”

“We have people to cover you—we planned for this.”

“Not quite so early. But this is imperative.”

“Bailey, whatever you need. We discussed this.”

“Thanks.” I give him a quick hug.

Then I dig out my cell from my purse.

Tap a button.

The very second Claire’s on the line, I say, “I need you to send a plane for me.”

“Oh, my God, Bailey!” Claire is instantly stricken—I hear it in her voice. “What has happened?”

“I’m all right—the baby is all right,” I instantly reassure her. “We just… Need to see Nick. Well, it’s a little more engrossed than that. But I don’t want him rushing here—I want to go to him, Claire.” I’m vehement about this. “He can’t always come to me. It’s not fair. And he has a bit more going on in his world than I do in mine.”

“Nothing is more important than yours and the baby’s wellbeing,” she staunchly says.

I disagree. “His father’s wellbeing and that of his country are equally important, Claire. And he needs to be there right now. Also… I need to be there right now. The peanut needs to be there.”

“This is all very fascinating,” she mumbles in her sultry accent. I absently wonder if the entire nation is populated with good-looking people who not only speak intelligently, but also sexily.

Though… That is sooo neither here nor there at present.

I shake my head to clear the thought. And tell her, “Listen, I know this is sudden, but you did say I have transportation at my disposal. I have to call in that favor. But…” Here’s the kicker: “I want this to be a surprise. I don’t want Nick knowing I’m on my way.”

“Bailey Storm!” She tsks me. “You know I can’t keep something like this from him. He’s my boss! He’s the king!”

“You’ve never kept a surprise birthday party or dinner or gift from him?”

“Well, there was that one time when—”

“Exactly. So.” My tone indicates I’ve put my foot down.

She snickers at me. “You’re not the manipulative kind, you know?”

“Of course, I know. Which is why you’ll help me because my motives are genuine.”

She sighs. “That I cannot dispute.”

We make the arrangements.

My stomach is now doing something bizarre again, but not in a tumultuous way.

Given I’m doing something bizarre, I chalk it up to nerves.

This is a spontaneous trip to someplace I’d never even heard of until Nick arrived at the restaurant. And he doesn’t know I’m making the trip to see him.

I can’t say for sure why I’ve decided this is a necessity. It’s just something I feel straight to my bones.

Maybe I sense something significant is about to happen with this kid. Like, perhaps she’s about to start kicking and I want him to experience this with me when it initially occurs.

Yes, that’s a peculiar sentiment under our official terms and conditions, except that if we were a traditional couple, raising our daughter together, I would want him to be there when she took her first step or said her first word. He’d want that as well, I have no doubt.

So, really, if I have some control over picking up on potential “firsts” by way of intuition, and I actually do have the means to get to him, I ought to take advantage of that, right?

Granted, I’ve yet to experience the specific fluttering or even the “gas bubbles” Dr. Shaw has discussed with me. But I am edging that timeframe—and the fact is, I already suspect this kid is going to be an overachiever. So, honestly, my physician has just provided the precursor to something that could, effectively, crop up sooner rather than later.

Speaking of Dr. Shaw…

Not to mention Grayson…

And Bodyguard…

I have an entourage to assemble. Also, all at my disposal.

There is no way in hell Nick will accept me flying over an ocean to get to him without having my people with me.

Convincing them takes zero effort, not surprisingly. They’re all obligated to me, as I’m obviously aware.

I shower and change and pack some clothes. Have chicken noodle soup once again, and a very bland turkey sandwich. Dinner is fairly boring too. I’m placating my stomach, or the tiny human inside me, whatever. I don’t want any internal rioting while in-flight.

We board the plane after midnight. The second flight crew takes over. We are instructed on safety measures and there’s an attendant to cater to our every whim.

I try to sit calmly and sip my water. I don’t even dare for it to be the sparkling variety. I just want to chill as much as possible.

These good intentions last all of a half-hour. We are leveled out and there is no turbulence, so I throw off my seatbelt and start to pace the long aisle.

“Are you feeling any aches, tension, heartburn?” Dr. Shaw asks.

“None of the above,” I promise. “Just stretching my legs.”

She stares at me with a droll look.

I laugh. “Okay, I am hellaciously anxious. I’ve never been on a plane before, but that’s not really the issue.”

I’m literally dropping into Nick’s life.

Is that wise?

Should I have permitted Claire to give him a head’s up? Should I have called him?

I grind over this.

Apparently, it’s incredibly difficult to be impulsive when you’re a pregnant surrogate invading the baby daddy’s homeland, unannounced.

I remind myself I’m a bit more than that.

Still.

Just because I enjoy it when Nick shows up on my doorstep doesn’t mean he’s going to be just as appreciative that I’m now taking the initiative and presenting myself without proper notice.

Fuck and…

Hmm.

Fuck.