Chapter 42

~ BAILEY ~

The interior of the palace is stunning. Every single square foot of it.

Of which, there are many.

Too much territory to cover, of course. As we make our way from Nick’s suites—basically a spacious home within the palace walls—to a courtyard where lunch is setup for our small party, I am completely blown away by the opulence and how each corner we turn is more beautiful than the last. Even when it seems that’s impossible, that we’ve reached the pinnacle of “spectacular,” and I’ve hit my threshold for glamour, I’m confronted by yet another breath-stealing vision.

I imagine this is what Paris is like. From the postcards my mother has sent over the years, I suspect I’m spot-on. I’ll just never know, personally, because I’ll never visit. She’s ruined it for me.

And, honestly, I really don’t have to travel to Paris when I can overdose on indulgence right here. With Nick.

The lush lawns, the colorful flowers, and the full trees are a sensational addition to the ponds, the fountains, and the lake beyond. The mountain range in the distance. There are patios and alcoves, all elegantly furnished. Outdoor fireplaces and chandeliers. I can’t wait to see the grounds lit up at night. No doubt, one more thing to make my jaw drop.

As it is, I’m having considerable trouble keeping it off the floor—the gorgeous, tiled floor that appears to be polished hourly. Truly, the palace elves deserve huge props. A speck of dust would die a lonely death here, and yet, I don’t see anyone tending to the manor, as it were.

I snicker a little. Leave it to me to be fixated on the details of cleaning and daily chores.

I momentarily contend that Cinderella likely would have been curious about these things as well because, yes, we do share some inherent similarities. Ones I never would have given thought to had I not been dropped into my own pumpkin patch.

As we approach the impromptu luncheon, I’m also intrigued by the notion of whom my fairy god-person truly is.

Nick? (For all the obvious reasons.)

Claire? (Given the great lengths she’ll go to in order to help me and to ensure I have as much access to Nick as possible.)

Or Grayson? (My other shadow.)

He’s immediately in place to pull out a chair for me. I give him a smile and—very unexpectedly—a kiss on the cheek.

He’s as taken aback as I am, but we both sort of chuckle and move on. I sit.

Nick doesn’t bother hiding a grin.

Yes, I’m sure he’s pleased I get along with all the staff he’s assigned to me. But I know Grayson is particularly special to him (vice versa, obviously) and that means the relationship I have with Grayson is significant to Nick. Certainly, to me too.

Bodyguard and Dr. Shaw are with us, and they chat amiably, her asking questions about the estate and him quite proudly explaining features and lauding this or that. There’s definitely plenty to praise.

From the corner of my eye, I can practically see Nick’s chest puffing out a bit as I take an interest in the convo. I know he wants me to love it here, to cherish his country. I also believe he’s still working through his mind how we’re going to find a reasonable resolution to our problem.

What I’ve come to realize is that neither of us wants to be away from the other.

That’s the whole issue in a nutshell.

Difficult to reconcile when you live on separate planets. (Okay, to Nick’s point, separate continents. Still.)

Regardless, I’m feeling oddly optimistic. Wildly so.

I am more than willing to put my trust and faith in Nick.

Christ, am I actually blushing?

The heat creeps up my neck. I resist the urge to bite one of my freshly manicured nails. I’d given up that bad habit some time ago, long before I was getting gel finishes.

It’s wild that I can totally fall down rabbit holes just thinking of Nick.

I’m even overwhelmingly compelled to lace my fingers with his and squeeze his hand under the table as he’s adjusting the linen napkin a server has draped in his lap.

And then I shift our hands to my lap and let them rest there. Close to my belly.

Really, I’m all kinds of bizarre preggers. And it’s making me giddy as hell.

I squirm a little in my seat and Nick leans in close. He whispers in my ear, “Something going on over there that I should know about?”

He has just the right amount of sexiness to his tone that I have to force myself to not flirt back, along the lines of just wondering why we bothered to leave your bed.

But I’m pretty sure he can see the entire sentiment in my eyes.

Confirmed when he softly laughs.

My only saving grace, to keep from melting into him, is that lunch is delivered. An incredibly aromatic plate of duck breast, zucchini and tomato salad, and apple cider-glazed carrots.

“This smells succulent,” I muse as I inhale the fabulous aroma.

There’s a ripple through my stomach—and I swear it’s not hunger pangs. I’d devoured breakfast.

I stare curiously at the plate. My gaze narrows. I smirk.

“And yet… Something’s wrong…” This from Claire, instantly concerned that I’m not diving in. “His Majesty specifically requested no seafood. But duck should be all right with—”

I raise a hand. Take a second to compose myself because I’m almost salivating.

Then I say, “The duck is a perfect alternative. Mini Bailey concurs. We’re over the moon,” I assure Claire, and inadvertently, Nick. “Adapting nicely, in fact.”

I’m quite serene. The scenery and the company have a very pleasant, calming effect on me. And the baby.

More educational discussions regarding Nick’s estate and ancestry ensue and I soak it all in, hoping to learn as much as I can while I’m here.

After lunch, Nick and I take a stroll through a fragrant tulip garden edging a pond with a fountain in the center. He tells me about the progress he’s made with his plans for sending representatives to attend global summits, but he’s still in need of pursuing other marketing avenues. I find myself wholly intrigued by this. The wheels in my brain spin. Not that I really know enough about this initiative of his to impart any pearls of wisdom, but it is one more thing I absorb and let percolate in my mind.

It’s kind of similar to where I started with the restaurant, when it officially became mine and I really had to mull over the décor, the menu, the name. Nick’s right in that I had to create an identity for Bailey’s Clambake, and that’s what he’s also in need of in order to shine a spotlight on his country.

I’m more than happy to listen intently as we walk, hand-in-hand. And that sparks a different level of contentment.

Later, we relax in the jetted tub and then step into his dressing room to change for dinner, which is to be a romantic affair on his terrace, just the two of us.

Grayson has laid out the nightgown Nick had made for me, with the gorgeous diamond insignia. Naturally, Nick asked him to do so.

My fingers graze the satiny sapphire material as Nick busies himself slipping into black pants and a black button-down shirt. Quite devilish. I’m momentarily distracted. But then my fingers are skimming along the bodice of the nightgown and over one shoulder, carefully. All the diamonds twinkle under the soft illumination in the room. They are beyond dazzling.

Yet I know the back of the gown is even more amazing. I think about that evening Nick presented it to me and how I’d felt branded, in a sense, when he’d explained the intricate design at the dip, near my tailbone, is his family’s crest.

At that particular juncture in our “relationship,” I’d surmised that was as close as I’d ever come to feeling as though I belonged to him. Because my subconscious had already decreed it was temporary; not a real and lasting scenario. And perhaps that’d been a contributing factor to me blowing us up that night.

I’m experiencing something a bit different now that I’m in his personal residence, in his private space. The significance of this stunning garment and the crest that’s been included is magnified, inciting a wave of emotion through me.

It’s dissimilar to when we were at the beach house. Then, it’d been so obvious, so glaring that this gift couldn’t truly hold weight. We were not at a place with each other where we could freely or logically express ourselves.

Granted, I’d recognized that Nick having this garment specifically made for me was a substantial statement long before we’d admitted our feelings for each other.

However, now… It means so much more.

I have no doubt he’s perfectly attuned to my thoughts as he finishes dressing and joins me at the bureau. Standing behind me, he slips his arms around my belly and murmurs, “Let me help you.”

He unties the sash on my robe. It falls open.

His hands tenderly glide over my skin, eliciting a ribbon of delight through me.

As he kisses my neck, I warn him, “Keep that up and we’re going to miss dinner.”

“That’s the convenient thing about dining in my apartment. They don’t serve until I’m ready.”

“Mm, yes, that is a very lovely advantage,” I mutter as he locates that delicate spot just below my ear and kisses it. Flutters his tongue over the erogenous zone. Suckles, his teeth gently scraping.

“Did you enjoy the duck at lunch?”

I know where he’s going with this. I sigh, languorously. “It was fantastic. I ate all my veggies too.”

He chuckles, his warm breath wisping over my damp flesh, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

He very playfully says, “Then you’ll survive another half hour?”

I turn in his loose embrace. Twine my arms around his neck, pressing my bare chest to his. I kiss him. Then I whisper against his lips, “You never take just a half an hour, Nick. And thank God for it.”

He grins. Scoops me into his arms.

And carries me off to bed.

~ NICK ~

This is something I’d not expected experiencing with Bailey.

Theoretically, subconsciously, yes, I’d wanted from the beginning to believe we might share more than just the clinical sperm-and-egg-donor connection, despite the fact we didn’t actually take the clinical route.

What I’d anticipated was for us to have a surrogate relationship that ensured I was fully in the loop regarding her medical status. What I’d hoped for was a stronger bond than that; a personal association. What I’d desired was precisely the point at which we’ve finally arrived. (Well… Almost arrived. I don’t have all of my hopes and desires fulfilled just yet.)

Point being, the reality of the situation from the onset hadn’t necessarily indicated any of this would be possible to achieve. And I’d tried to retain a sense of realism for her sake as much as for mine.

Therefore, having her naked in my bed while she’s pregnant and I’m free to lightly trail my fingertips over her rounded belly and slowly, teasingly swirl the pads around the rim of her navel as she makes soft mewling sounds that drive me wild and warm my heart is, in a sense, a dream come true.

A dream I’d wanted to pursue, fiercely. But I’d quickly learned that Bailey Storm is not a woman to conquer. She’s one to partner with. As such, I’ve had to keep my inherent nature to dominate any given circumstance on a more even keel. Never an easy feat, especially when I want something this much.

Yet here she is, her fingers tenderly coiled around my forearm, not guiding me, but following along as I draw lazy circles on her stomach and marvel over how silky her skin feels, how her flesh quivers under my touch and faintly flushes.

I am wholly fascinated by her.

And literally astounded that she’s come to me. Although I wished it was because she was desperate to see me, I don’t fool myself into believing she fabricated the excuse that brought her here. I’m confident in her ability to read, understand, and accept everything going on inside her body.

Admittedly, I am grateful she didn’t ignore or discount a single sign.

“Thank you for this,” I murmur. And kiss her forehead as I lay on my side next to her.

“We haven’t done anything yet,” she flirtatiously reminds me. “You’re still dressed.”

“I’m really quite content just staring at you, listening to your breaths and those occasional noises you make that tell me you’re content as well.”

Her lush blonde curls are fanned out on the mound of pillows. She has a dreamy expression on her beautiful face. Her blue eyes sparkle. Her tempting mouth curves slightly upward.

It occurs to me that I could stay with her, just like this, for hours. Yes, there are pressing business matters that need to be attended to and I would like to feed the woman again. Plus, there’s the issue of how my already molten blood is thickening by the second, gradually turning to magma. I’d be thrilled as hell to get naked with her and slide into her tight, wet depths.

I’d also like to continue exploring every inch of her with my fingers, my hands. My mouth. Which grazes her temple.

I whisper, “You even smell like heaven.”

“Aren’t you just the sweetest?”

Her free hand ceases twining strands of hair around her finger and covers mine at her belly. Stilling it as my palm now splays over the mound.

“I find it incredibly remarkable how you evoke a calmness within me,” she quietly says. “I mean… Sure, the sparks fly, make no mistake.”

I chuckle.

“But liquid tranquility seeps through me when you’re near,” she continues. “Or even just when we’re on the phone.”

“Tell me again that the baby likes my voice.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Bailey assures me. Her head rolls on the pillow so she can gaze at me. “You’ll be reading to her endlessly, just letting you know. Even if it’s mostly recordings, it won’t mat—”

She instantly clams up. Sighs. Rolls her head away, so she’s back to staring up at the domed and gilt-accented ceiling.

“Hey.” I quietly, though vehemently say, “Don’t censor yourself. We haven’t worked out any details, this is all relatively new for us. There’s no pressure, Bailey. Just go with the flow right now. Whatever comes to mind is acceptable to say. We’ll deal with it all.”

A tear pops on the rim of her eye. But I don’t think it’s one of sheer agony. Especially as she smiles. Bats her lashes. Sighs once more.

And says, “You really are quite amazing.”

My other arm is draped along the top of the pillows and I’m able to swipe away her tear with my thumb, without having to move my hand from her stomach.

Then I comb my fingers through her hair and simply tell her, “I feel the same about you.”

Her smile remains.

Neither of us speaks. In fact, we’re perfectly motionless, just luxuriating in the long, languid moments that stretch out between us.

Naturally, I want to make love to her. The thought essentially clogs my brain.

But for some reason, lying here together as though we have all the time in the world soothes my soul.

I’m fine with us just relaxing together.

Then…

Another unexpected “something” happens. Within Bailey.

“Holy fuck,” I suddenly, incredulously, say. I unravel from her and sit bolt upright. “What the hell was that?”