Chapter 37

~ NICK ~

“Are you spooked by your second trimester?” I murmur. “Are you worried about something specific?”

Her eyes lock with mine. They’re misty and shimmery. Mesmerizing. I see so much emotion in them. As usual.

Although… Perhaps I’m getting a glimpse at something even more profound.

She does have a concern on her mind, brewing within her.

One that has hurled her into this space where she has traveled out of her “world” to get to mine. To get to me.

So, of course… I’m on edge.

I cup her cheeks. “Bailey. Don’t leave me in suspense for a second longer. You know I’ll spin out of—”

“I promise—completely promise—there is no medical emergency,” she reiterates. And gasps for a breath. Then she shakes her head again. “I hate that I’m terrifying you. I’m so sorry. That’s not the intent.”

“If Dr. Shaw insists everything’s fine, physically, I accept that. So there’s another issue. Tell me what it is.”

I attempt to guide her to a sofa on the mezzanine, but she’s not inclined to budge.

“Nick.”

She puts more effort into regulating her breathing.

Assistant #3 comes forward with a tray, holding two glasses of water.

I accept one and hand it to Bailey. Who takes a sip. Then another. Then drains the glass.

I give her the second one.

“Thanks. Sorry.” She repeats the process.

I’m a bit amused at this point.

She’s not freaking over the baby.

She’s freaking over… Her feelings.

Okay, yes—for the baby.

But… I also believe… For me.

I politely shoosh away Assistant #3.

When we’re alone, I tenderly clasp Bailey’s forearms. She’s trembling. From head to toe. The vibrations are strong and ricochet through my own body.

My head dips again. “What is it?”

She gazes up at me, seemingly finding some of her own inner calm.

I lift a hand and sweep my fingers through her silky curls. I swear, the only thing softer and sexier is her skin. Or maybe her breaths on my flesh.

She more delicately laughs this time. Then says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, Nick. I personally want to be here. But… This wonderfully bizarr-o kid inside me… She’s sending out signals.”

I eye her curiously. “Explain, please.”

She nods. Her expression turns serious. Though… She’s still so alluringly flirtatious. It’s difficult to concentrate on what she’s saying when her eyelashes are fluttering, her irises are still glittery, and the corners of her mouth are quivering.

All I want is to sweep her into my arms, carry her the long distance to my suite and get naked with her.

But that’s not what this current scenario is about.

I know this.

So I close my eyes, briefly.

I breathe.

Then I stare down at her.

“Whatever it is,” I whisper, “you can say it. To me. You know this, Bailey. You came all this way—knowing you can say anything to me.”

Tears pop on the rims of her eyes. I’m not sure she even notices them because she’s gazing so intently at me.

I pull her closer.

“Baby…” I whisk my thumb over her lower lip.

I’m desperate to kiss her, but that would distract her.

Hell, it would distract me.

We’d get caught up in the moment and it might be hours before I discover why she’s come here.

Not that I’d mind, since it’s evident there’s no imminent danger to her or our child.

That thought, of course, spawns the desire—again—to take her off to my bed.

I bite back the combo of a groan and a grin.

Will myself to focus.

“Bailey. Honey. Talk to me.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Her eyes squeeze shut, then open. “I’m being cruel.”

“No,” I assert. “You’ve assured me you’re not in any peril.”

“Not in the least,” she confirms.

“But something compelled you to see me.”

“Yes. Everything’s sort of…changing. Some of its... Surprising. And I just suddenly had the urge to share it all with you. But not over the phone. That’s not right or fair for you. Or for the peanut.”

“The peanut?” I ask as the knot in my gut unravels and my heart swells—not agonizingly. Warmly.

“Well… She’s more than a peanut now. Just take a gander at this belly of mine.”

It’s nicely rounded. Still not very big, but Bailey looks healthy and glowing from the top of her shiny blonde hair to the tips of her designer shoes.

“You never fail to arouse me,” I quietly tell her.

She smiles. Melts into me. Her lips glide over my neck.

Ah… That’s when I truly grasp why she’s here.

I fight a more knowing grin. Even though she doesn’t quite lay at my feet what I’m expecting to hear. What Grayson almost gave away earlier.

Rather, she says, “Nick… You gave me more than I ever believed I could possess. My restaurant is gorgeous and thriving.” She’s elated.

Then she’s… Conflicted.

She more contemplatively adds, “It’s not really just my restaurant.”

This seems to be a new revelation for her.

I say, “Mitch and Gwen and the rest of our team—”

“Are integral. Most definitely. Absolutely. But…”

She nibbles her bottom lip a moment.

I want to be the one doing that.

I stay the course, though. And prompt, “Yes?”

“It’s not just my restaurant, Nick,” she more insistently contends. Her eyes widen—and I practically drown in their depths. “It’s yours and mine. It’s our restaurant. Just like… This baby is… Yours. And mine. Ours.”

I can’t hold her any tighter—or I’ll crush her.

So I force myself to keep a ginger embrace.

However, she snuggles even closer to me, her breasts rubbing just below my pecs. Doesn’t matter that I have a fucking suit on. I can feel her.

Her lips graze my jaw. Then she gazes up at me. “What if I told you the smell of the ocean is making me nauseous? That the sound of the crashing waves is giving me migraines?”

“What?” I hook my finger under her chin, to keep her gaze on me.

“All the things that I’ve always coveted are… Not working for me.”

“Bailey—”

“Nick,” she counters. “Our kid is not a fan of the ocean. She doesn’t like seafood. She doesn’t like being away from you.”

Tears stream down her face.

“She doesn’t like seafood.” Bailey is clearly astonished by this fact. “She is now physically rejecting it. Lobster bisque, even.”

“You love all things lobster,” I insist.

“Yes. But our daughter is vehemently opposed. I literally heaved soup. After only a couple spoonfuls. And maybe this is psychological, I didn’t bother querying Dr. Shaw. It happened—and I believe it happened for a reason.”

“What’s that?” Christ, I can barely breathe again. What this woman does to me—especially when she’s talking about our child (and already has a nickname for her)—makes me shocked I’m even still standing. She can bring me to my knees that easily.

“I get it,” Bailey continues. “I do. Because what she wants is to be somewhere else.” Her eyes are still unwaveringly connected with mine. “What she wants, Nick… Is to be with you.”

Of course, this grabs me by the balls. How could it not?

And the first thing out of my mouth is, “I find it amazing that you’re so attuned to what’s going on inside your body.”

Honestly, I’m in awe.

Bailey, however, is perplexed. Her brow furrows for a split second and uncertainty flashes in her big blue eyes.

She tells me, “I honestly want to believe I am. Naturally, I do. But, really, Nick… Your psyche can play tricks on you in situations such as this. I’m a first-time pregnant person. I could literally be conjuring in my mind ninety-nine-point-nine percent of what I say regarding this baby. I could be speaking strictly in a spiritual sense—with no factual basis to back it up.”

She’s clearly given this notion deep thought. At the same time… I see her resisting the urge to assert she actually does believe in what her body, what her soul might be telling her.

I get that this is a complexity on many levels.

With this pregnancy, Bailey is experiencing more than she’d anticipated, to various degrees and within numerous capacities.

What I adore most about that is she’s so willingly open to each and every experience. Whether convoluted or simple. Whether vexing or pleasing.

Bailey takes it all in stride, to the best of her ability. Sometimes conflictingly, yes. But more often than not, she tries to accept what her intuition is goading her to acknowledge.

I have no doubts she’s onto something poignant because… She’s here.

There is absolutely no way in hell Bailey would have left her restaurant to hop the pond for some arbitrary sensation or inexplicable prompting.

She’d have to significantly be compelled to do so.

Whether her thoughts are “made up” in her subconscious or they’re reality, Bailey capitulates to a higher, more powerful instinct. That is what guides her.

And, thus far, I’ve found her rarely to be off mark.

However, there’s also an overarching theme to take into consideration.

I whisk away a few of her tears with my thumbs, while staring into her eyes.

I say, “I’m impressed by how maternally you respond to the…peanut…” I try out the nickname. Bailey gives a small nod of approval as I adopt her loving moniker. Her eyes shimmer. Though I have to add, “There’s a bit more at play here, sweetheart.”

She draws in a long breath, silently recognizing my truth.

She holds the lungful of air.

As I ask, “What do you want, Bailey?”

This is where another profound sentiment or motivation clearly clicks in her brain. I see the flicker in her irises, the contemplation, the churning in her brain. And… Ultimately… The concession. She’s on the same page with me. It’s just that we’re both walking our normal fine line and it’s a difficult balancing act.

She moves past me and stands at the railing of the open section of the mezzanine, gazing out at the atrium-style foyer. The entire entryway resembles an overly opulent living room, or the lobby of a unicorn, seven-star resort. I can tell it’s overwhelming to her as her shoulders bunch. Yet she’s also taking it all in with notable wonderment—really absorbing the environment; acclimating to it, as she is accustomed to doing with everything surrounding me, involving me.

She hasn’t even seen the back half of the property, from the railing behind her, on the opposite side of the mezzanine. I suspect that’s going to rock her further. It even steals my breath, and I grew up here.

Eventually, she shoots a sideways glance at me.

My heart instantly wrenches.

I want her to love this place. I really and truly do.

I want her to be astounded, but also… At home.

That’s a big ask, even if it’s only a mental one and not something I lay at her feet for her to trip over. I grasp that she’s never fully wrapped her mind around one blaring term: Royalty. And that’s fine. I don’t need her to think of me as such. I would never want there to be any sort of formality between us. I’ve done a damn fine job of obliterating that from the onset.

But there is a driving internal force that brought her here, to me. Regardless of the source, it commanded her—and she answered the call.

I am desperate to believe that it is because, above all else, Bailey wants to be here. With me.

That she needs to be here, with me.

Her smile is a frail one and her eyes glisten again as she says, “I imagine your family has always been fearful of your country being overrun by tourists, it’s so beautiful. And you’d likely have to offer public tours of the palace. That could be extremely disruptive. Invasive.”

“Both issues pop up on meeting agendas throughout the year. Every year.”

She laughs, softly. “There are some advantages to being a best-kept secret.”

“And some disadvantages, as we’ve discussed.”

She’s skirting my question.

I allow a measure of blame on my behalf for that. There are crucial, unsaid things between us.

One unsaid thing in particular.

While I’ve willingly provided explanations as to how I feel about her, I have yet to really divulge my emotions. Not to myself—I know precisely how intensely she stirs my soul.

But I haven’t expressed this to its fullest extent to Bailey.

Obviously, there are key components holding me back—holding us both back.

All this time, physical distance, and separate destinies have been our roadblocks.

However… I can’t deny that, when I’m in California, I am wholly dedicated to her. To her wants, her needs, her desires. Everything.

And now that she’s come to me… I’m interested (more accurately, anxious) to discover what this reversal of roles might yield for us. There is a criticality to this momentous occasion.

Granted, I have no idea how long she intends to stay. Whether it’s just for the day or the evening or the week. I have to live with her decision, whatever it is.

Unfortunately, that means I could potentially only have a limited amount of time with her, which could prove difficult as it relates to her having the opportunity to entirely assimilate to my lifestyle.

I am cognizant that every single second with her counts.

Though she’s appearing a bit weary from traveling and the dramatic change in time zones, in addition to the tremendous adjusting it takes to get used to this place. The first time at the palace can be jarring to the system, I comprehend that.

One more element that might not work in my favor.

Thinking fast, I quietly call Janelle’s name, knowing she lingers nearby. She practices discretion, but during business hours, she’s typically always by my side.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“This is Miss Storm,” I introduce Bailey.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Janelle kindly says. “I’ve heard so much about you. Congratulations on your pregnancy. You’re positively radiant.”

“This is Janelle, one of my assistants,” I expound.

“Very nice to meet you,” Bailey returns the cordial compliment. “And… Thank you.”

To Janelle, I instruct, “Please have Claire arrange a late lunch in the tulip garden for Miss Storm and me. And the others, Claire included.”

“Of course.”

“You can retire to the offices for the rest of the day,” I inform her. “I’ll be in my private residence.”

“Grayson has already taken Miss Storm’s bags to your suites, Your Highness.”

“Very good.”

“Will there be anything else you require of me right now?”

“Not at present.”

Her gaze shifts to Bailey. “Is there anything at all that I can bring you, Miss Storm? A snack or sparkling water, perhaps?”

“Nothing, though I appreciate the offer. And… Bailey is fine, I insist.”

“As you wish. If you’ll both excuse me.”

Before she turns to go, I remember to add, “Tell Claire no seafood for any of the meals while Miss Storm is with us.”

This apparently perplexes Janelle. Fish is a staple around here. But she follows my directive, already on the phone as she’s walking away.

I close the gap between myself and Bailey. And say, “You should take a nap before lunch. I don’t want you jet-lagged.”

“It was a very smooth flight. With lots of legroom and an aisle to pace.” Her smile returns. Now, it’s a knowing one.

“Yes, I do a lot of that.”

She grows more serious as she leans into me, her hand on my chest, her hip pressing against me, her breasts nestling under my pecs. Driving me wild.

The woman makes it almost impossible to concentrate on anything other than the feel of her body melding to mine and her breath on my skin.

She contritely murmurs, “I apologize for commandeering one of your planes. I understand that’s expensive.”

“You’ll always have one available to you. Always. Claire did mention that, yes?”

“She did. Nick, she’s been more than a fabulous assistant—to both of us. Claire is a very good friend. My first one, I think. I like her a lot.”

“It’s mutual—she’s more than happy to help you in any way. And it’s not just about me, Bailey.”

“Well, it’s mostly about you,” she suddenly teases. “Your Majesty.” She lifts her chin and nips at my bottom lip.

Ahhh… There’s the playfulness that unravels my gut and lightens my heart.

I chuckle. And tell her, “You keep that up, baby, and you’re not really going to be napping in my bed…”