Chapter 40

~ BAILEY ~

Something very specific is eating at Nick and I believe it goes well beyond his slip about us resuming a more aggressive sexual relationship once the baby is born.

Yes, I recognize what a huge faux pas he made. It is a thought neither one of us should even dare to entertain. Once I give birth… Our deal is done.

I’ll recover in the lap of luxury. I’ll have my beach house. I’ll have my restaurant.

Nick will have his child.

In my mind, I’ve perfectly compartmentalized all of this. I’m a very reasonable person who weighed all the options and made a brilliant decision to secure my own future.

Hell… In the long run, I get infinitely more out of the arrangement because Nick has gone so very far beyond what was outlined in our contract, regarding what my personal benefits “entail.”

I get more than security—I get an entire life. Complete with a butler who chooses to stay with me and who has been the perfect confidante, caregiver, friend, and father.

The truth is, if I invite his daughter into the guesthouse, or even the main house, I’ll likely end up with a sister too. We enjoy each other’s company that much.

Nick has given me more than words on a stack of papers.

He’s given me a family.

For a girl who never really had one… For someone such as me, who was just barely one-step removed from living on the filthy streets… For someone who always, always did her best to not be left behind… I’m ending up with all the cards stacked in my favor.

With two very glaring exceptions.

In the end…

I don’t get the peanut.

Nor do I get the prince. (Well… The king.)

Tears seep from the corners of my eyes as I lie next to Nick. He’s still working on his phone. He hasn’t left my side.

That speaks volumes—and I hear the message, loud and clear.

He hasn’t pressed me as to whether I intend to stay a day, a week… Or longer.

More accurately, he hasn’t made any sort of insistency that I stay a week… Or longer.

However, there is a vibe coming off him that feels tenuous. More than that, it feels resistant. As though he’s truly holding back a shit-ton he needs to get off his chest.

But here’s the thing. We’re rowing different boats, and we both know it. The only common thread is our child. And five months from now, that’s no longer going to be the case.

Which suddenly has me sitting up and swiping the drops from my cheeks.

His head rolls on the mound of pillows and he gazes at me, with much consternation in his grey-green eyes.

“What is it?” he quietly asks, taking in my obviously distressed state. “You were crying in your sleep?”

“I haven’t been asleep for a while. I’ve been…thinking.”

“Yeah. I can relate.”

I settle a bit more comfortably, so that I can face him more fully.

I have reached a precipice from which I can’t step back. I feel it in my bones. It’s of paramount importance that I just say to him what I have to say to him and…

What happens from there…

Who the hell knows?

But to not say so much of what’s in my heart and what’s clearly lingering between us is no longer an option. I’ve kept a lot inside because it seemed the right thing to do.

Also it was basically a contractual obligation.

We were not meant to be this entangled, emotionally.

Yet I can see from the concern on Nick’s face and from the flicker of urgency in his expression that this has become a watershed moment.

The first thing I have to tell him is, “I don’t know how long I’m staying. I didn’t define that specifically—not with Claire and not with the others.”

“You’re welcome here as long as you want to be here,” he says in his low, soothing voice.

“I understand that. And I appreciate that. And…” I take a deep breath. Hold it for a spell. Then I admit, “I’m not in a hurry to return. Mitch and Gwen are covering for me.”

Of course, mentioning the restaurant casts a dark cloud over us. Damn it.

It’s like this foreboding shadow neither of us can escape.

Worse, the truth is… I don’t want to escape it. I cherish that establishment—and the people who helped me to mold it into something significant.

Conversely, I can see, quite clearly, how it undermines what’s been developing—personally—between Nick and me.

Though there’s more to that scenario than a restaurant.

There’s a kingdom.

“We’re equally torn,” I murmur. Not really intending to have said that aloud, but…there it is.

He nods. And says, “What you want and what I want has served as the antagonist this entire time.”

“Conflict I wish we didn’t keep stumbling over. But neither of us have ever dealt with something like this. We’ve never been in this sort of position before. And regardless of having noble intentions and ideations of taking the high road or doing what’s best for any given predicament we find ourselves in with each other… There’s still so much that we don’t know how to tackle, don’t know how to get right.”

He leans toward me and brushes away a tear with a very faint, feathery whisk of his fingertips.

“Bailey. Honey,” he softly, sweetly says as he stares into my watery eyes. “There is only one thing I can’t grant you. You know that, right?”

No, actually… I don’t.

I’m perplexed on the one thing.

There are a few things I’ll never end up with, where Nick Angelini is concerned. I’ve agreed to all these sacrifices, accepted them mentally, rather than profess them verbally.

Still… I’ll never marry him, never live with him, never raise a child with him.

That triad, in this particular setting, in this particular moment, seems sort of… Incomprehensible to me.

Like, who would pass any of that up?

I’m on the verge of raising my hand, but then I remind myself—these actually aren’t options that have been presented to me.

And really—truly—if they were…

What the hell do I know about a perfect marriage—because that’s what Nick deserves.

What the hell do I know about living in a foreign country? This is the first time I’ve ever been to one.

What the hell do I know about raising a kid I never intend to see, after she comes out of me?

Then again…

What the hell brought me here?

I know the answer to my own question. Or questions.

Of course, I do.

It makes my stomach twist, while contradictorily sending my heart soaring.

It brings more tears to my eyes.

Nick tries to keep up with them, but they’re literally streams, and he has to snag a few tissues.

As he dabs, he tells me, “You’re going to be an incredible mother.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I confess, following my previous theme.

“I beg to differ. With every fiber of my being and with every ounce of certainty I possess, Bailey Storm,” he very seriously contends, “you are literally going to be the best mother for this child.”

One corner of my mouth quivers, in a near-smile.

Except…

My brain latches onto his terminology—for this child.

Not for our child.

For this child.

I gaze at him as more fat drops flood my eyes and crest the rims. As a searing pang seizes my insides and steals my breath.

“Nick—”

“Bailey.” His hands cup my face. His own eyes mist. And he tells me, “I’m not interested in this agreement anymore. I’m not holding you to it. I will legally dissolve it. Tomorrow.”

I legitimately don’t know what to make of this.

We stare at each other. All I can think is… He’s totally changed his mind. Like, the reality of the situation has somehow just slammed into him and it’s—too much.

“Nick, I’m confused,” I say. “You wanted this all along. I don’t understand—”

“I still want the baby, Bailey.” He stares a bit harder into my eyes. “Make no mistake. I still want this baby. To the depths of my soul, I want this baby. Just… Not without you.”

I gasp.

This time, his bombshell does not cause a remorseful reaction in him.

He gently tilts my chin, maintaining the eye contact, and tells me, “I love you. I love our peanut. But, Bailey… I can’t force you to bend to my will. As much as I want to—and for God’s sake… I really, really want to. I won’t do it. That is how much I love you.”

I’m speechless. No surprise there.

First… I’m completely blown away by his words. All of them. Yes, okay, the I love yous are looping in my brain, sticking. But… There’s so much more to what he’s just said.

Such very perplexing iterations, in fact.

“I don’t…think…I understand…” Okay, straight-up, I’m emotional and all that does is make me confused as fuck. The massive waterworks aren’t helping me either. But I can’t control them. “Nick…explain,” I barely manage to squeak out.

“Bailey.” He is more grounded, though no less affected. I have no trouble seeing this. He says, “I could find some way to twist this all around, this trip of yours. I could work an angle, baby. I could convince you that you came here because you had to be here—and I could convince you to stay. Forever.”

I’m stunned into silence.

Because it’s true.

Somehow, though, I manage to whisper, “You would never do that to me.”

“No. I would not.” He tenderly kisses my forehead. And says, “It must be your decision, Bailey. From here on out. All your decision.”

Okay.

Ball’s in my court.

Again.

This time, Nick has truly laid everything at my feet.

In numerous ways, I am so relieved.

Of course, I am.

He’s removed speculation. He’s given me purpose. He’s provided a soft landing for all that’s been soaring and buzzing in my brain, in my subconscious, in my soul.

Hell, if I pause a few seconds more, I’m willing to bet he’s even fully quelled the restlessness in my womb.

That alone is priceless.

But I can’t gloss over other key components of Nick’s big reveal.

He’s not pulling me in his direction.

I know him well enough to comprehend this is a substantial point. He’s not a man who stands back and lets things happen—he makes them happen.

Regardless, when it’s come to me of late, he’s been handing me the reins.

I cannot discount this. Or anything he’s said.

Nick is still hovering close and finally catching up to my tears.

Because I’m not crying anymore.

I’m internalizing—and reaching incredibly valid cornerstones I’m suddenly desperate to address.

I tell him, “We’re on opposite ends of the spectrum. Yet…not.”

His gaze narrows. “Explain, please.”

I nod. And damn it, more fat drops pop up on the rims of my eyes. Because this is a precarious moment. A precipice, even.

I intently hold his gaze and very earnestly say, “I can’t imagine not being able to see my child, after she’s born.”

“That won’t be an issue,” he quietly asserts. “Of course, you’ll have visitation rights. Except…” He lets out a strangled laugh and shakes his head. “That’s going to be the other way around, Bailey. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully, what?”

“Hopefully, you’ll grant me visitation rights. It that’s what this comes to.”

I’m completely at a loss here.

But I backtrack. He said he was planning on dissolving our agreement. He also indicated…

“You want me to stay?” I’m a bit incredulous and my eyes widen.

“Forever,” he murmurs. And grins. The really hot one that makes me sigh and inch a tad closer to him. “You and the peanut. Living right here, at the palace. She’ll have the room I already picked out for her and you… Would sleep here. With me.”

Now he’s being cheeky.

I’d playfully nip at his bottom lip, as I’m craving to do, but this is all a very grave matter. Obviously, he’s trying to lighten the mood, because he’s dropped my somewhat black-and-white house into the middle of colorized Oz. I’m blinded by wonderment and also… Blindsided by his words.

Which are all the right ones, in sooo many ways.

And all the wrong ones in the most glaring aspect of this complex equation.

“Nick, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Just hold that thought for a moment.”

He leans in and his warm lips glide over mine. My stomach flips. My heart flutters. Everything within me instantly feels silvery and airy.

He whispers against my lips, “Spend the day and the evening here, with me. And tell me tomorrow morning if it’s not to your liking.”

Oh, he’s a sly one. My mouth curves against his. “You’re going to seduce me with gorgeous scenery, decadent food, and sexy times.”

“To the very best of my ability.”

I laugh. “You are an expert at the art of seduction.”

“And I don’t think you’ll find anything about palace life to be lacking.”

I instinctively gnaw my lip. Then say, “As much as I’ve come to believe motherhood would be quite rewarding—and a full-time job—there’s something else I’ve created, Nick. Something that also means the world to me.”

“Your restaurant. I know. You don’t have to give it up. You can keep Bailey’s Clambake.”

“I never had any intention of being an absentee owner, Nick. Even you’ve seen what happened to that place when it was neglected.”

“It won’t be neglected. You have stellar staff. You also have transportation at your disposal to fly you to and from California whenever necessary, whenever you want.”

I am overwhelmed. By the opportunities he’s apparently presenting; by all he’s said in general.

I pull slightly away and glance around this sensationally opulent suite. Also consider the view I know lies beyond the wall of closed drapes.

Something rather vicious eats at my conscience. There is a painful reality I must face. He has to face it with me.

My gaze returns to his and I earnestly tell him, “Nick, I was never meant for all of this.”

A palace in Europe is not where I belong.

And we both know it.