Chapter 43

~ NICK ~

No doubt, there’s excitement in my eyes as I consider what I felt under my hand.

She more leisurely sits up, actually not surprised.

She informs me, “Likely not what you think, Nick. Although…”

Her gorgeous blue irises glow so hypnotically, I’m held spellbound.

She says, “I did wonder if I’d feel her kick while I was here. But chances are slim you’d feel it too. Not this early.”

I’m immediately enrapt. “Are you telling me… That might have been—”

“Probably gas bubbles,” she hastily explains, then gives a self-deprecating laugh. “Potentially grumbles because I really should eat.” She holds up her hand, angles it, squishes her forefinger and thumb together as a sign of a mere measurement, and adds, “Teeny-tiny possibility it’s baby movement.”

Regardless… She returns to her prone position. Reaches for my hand and flattens the palm to her belly again.

“What’d you feel?” I ask.

“Flutters. Like popcorn popping. Only a few kernels, though.”

She waits, as though anticipating another round, no matter how faint.

I fucking hold my breath.

She glances at me. “I just can’t imagine it’s anything strong enough for you to feel.”

“I swear I felt something,” I fervently insist.

And maybe I don’t really care if it was the real deal or her tummy crying out for food.

There is nothing…nothing…that compares to the first sonogram. The first kick. The first…everything.

I want to experience all of this with Bailey.

But, again… That means convincing her to stay.

That’s going to take some serious effort on my part.

~ BAILEY ~

If I had the wherewithal to get out of bed, I’d jump for joy.

But I’m presently lying as still as possible and willing another flutter. Mostly for Nick’s sake.

I know I’m going to be feeling these growth adjustments routinely in the coming weeks and for the remainder of my pregnancy. But he won’t get to experience them along with me. Because he won’t always be around.

I don’t want to wallow in that thought, though, get mired in the complicated minutia.

I just want to see if I had some internal burpage… Or if I have a saucy pants inside me who wants to ensure her presence is known.

This, of course, makes me ridiculously happy. But I force myself not to do so much as twitch.

A minute or two slips by.

I’m almost resigned to telling Nick we have no reason for getting worked up when…

Damn her if she doesn’t squirm again.

The “quickening” is fleeting and if we weren’t really concentrating on feeling something, I’m certain we would have missed it.

When it subsides a mere breath later, I quip, “What the hell? Am I growing a basketball player inside me and she’s sprouting at the speed of light?”

“My guess is, she’s carrying on the overachiever gene.”

“Genes,” I emphasize. “You are a king, after all.”

“Speaking of…” he mumbles. “Much as I’d like to spend the next several hours right here, we really do need to have dinner, sooner rather than later. I’ve already scheduled us to meet with my father this evening and he demands punctuality.”

I gape. Force myself to recover quickly. But blurt, “We are visiting your father?”

Nick grins. So casually, thank you very much.

He kisses me, then says, “It’ll be fine. Plus, we have a fun story to regale him with.”

“First of all…” My brow crooks. “Regale?”

He simply shrugs.

“Second…” I fight the blanching coming on. “What are we supposed to say? I was lying in your bed with no clothes on and you felt the baby kick?”

I could do some wigging over that one.

Nick slips away, takes my hands in his, and hauls me to my feet. Because I’m reluctant to proceed at this point.

He knows it.

His fingers sweep through my loose strands, lifting the curls off my shoulders and away from my temples.

“Baby.” He kisses the tip of my nose. A gesture I love. “We do have an agenda. Dinner. Father visit. More naked time under the covers. Let’s get moving.”

“How you conveniently dismiss my—”

“I’m not dismissing anything. Trust me, I will be perfectly couth,” he avows. “However…”

Jesus, he’s basically supercharged, and I’m absolutely loathed to crush his spirits with the more realistic conclusion that he probably only felt rumblings, not true baby movement.

Then again, I’m sort of hooked on the notion of baby movement, so… What the fuck?

I’ll play along.

“Let me get dressed,” I tell him.

“The nightgown’s acceptable for the evening.”

Knowing I’ll be mostly covered up—and understanding the significance of the gown—I don’t quibble over this.

The only real hang up I have is meeting Nick’s father.

Major. Gulp.

As I dress, I can’t help but wonder what he’ll be like.

Warm and paternal, such as Grayson? Or staunch and stern as a king father stereotypically is?

Though, admittedly, just because Nick said he demands punctuality doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be brash. Grayson requires it as well. So perhaps staunch and stern are not descriptors I should fall back on, not a mental picture I should paint. Rather, I really ought to erase all preconceived notions from my mind and start this particular part of my journey with a clean slate.

That helps to settle my nerves a bit.

Just a bit.

Must remain calm. Do not make this more traumatic than it already is.

Nick’s admiring gaze when I emerge from the en suite after freshening up, following slipping into the nightgown, provides an additional ounce of highly necessary composure—I mean, I’m going to be meeting his father under the introduction of my official title of “surrogate,” so I have to demonstrate a respectable degree of confidence and a hell of a lot of decorum and poise. A notable level of sophistication. An air of self-awareness that conveys I’m perfectly attuned to the delicate situation at hand, to the complexity of the premise behind my visit, to the very real fact that Nick’s father will likely pick up on how Nick and I respond to each other and how he’s protective of me, as much as he is the baby.

Not to mention, how attracted he is to me.

Because, without doubt, there’s no missing the shimmer in Nick’s grey-green eyes.

His gaze starts at my sparkly sandaled feet and rises to my belly. Stays there. For several suspended seconds.

Eventually, he continues onward and upward, his irises smoldering as he takes in my plumped-up breasts that fill the V-neck of the gown. Much more fully than they had previously.

His jaw works slightly and he emits that raw intensity that tells me precisely what he’s thinking. Flames of desire tickle my inner thighs, spreading higher, to the apex of my legs. There’s a clenching deep in my core and I know it’s centered on the way he looks at me, the very blatant lust that radiates from him, the appreciation of my assets—of me, in general—and the sizzle that naturally arcs between us.

When he finally lifts his gaze further, he studies my face and my glossy lips. My smoky eyes. My beachy waves that are pulled up on the sides, away from my temples and which tumble down my bare back. Earlier in the dressing room, I’d discovered glittery chandelier earrings to go with the ensemble and I honestly do feel about as regal as any woman possibly could.

Nick reaches for my hand, raises it to his mouth, and gently kisses the top of it. So elegantly. Though when he peers at me, his grin is sexy, seductive. Causing my heart to flutter and my stomach to flip.

He roguishly reiterates, “We have an itinerary this evening and that is so very unfortunate.”

I smile. “We can muddle through… As long as there’s a blank space for the end of the night.”

“I know what I’ll be penciling in,” he informs me with a wink.

“I don’t think we have to resort to comparing notes.”

“Had a feeling you’d be on the same page.”

The way his gaze literally burns, I could swoon and melt at his feet.

I could also skip the meal and the meet-and-greet altogether. Hold off on both until tomorrow.

In theory.

In reality, there’s another light rumble through my belly and I sigh, clearly recognizing the sensation for what it is this time.

I tell him, “We need dinner.”

His grin deepens, crinkling the faint lines around his eyes. He nods and says, “I don’t doubt there’s a little proverbial toe-tapping going on inside you.”

“She’s not shy with her signals.”

He chuckles. “Then it’ll please her that we’re dining on my terrace. Just right out those doors.” He indicates the partially peeled back wood-trimmed glass doors at the opposite end of the enormous living room where we’ve convened.

 He releases my hand but offers his arm. He’s wearing a black suit with a silver shirt and matching silk tie. Quite commanding. And devilishly handsome.

I’m all but floating next to him as he leads us outside. It’s a gorgeous evening with a sky full of stars and, as I’d suspected, the grounds are lit up spectacularly. Not too brightly. This is a subtly sensational landscape with glowing soft white and amber ambience accenting the fountains and edging the event lawns, the pavilions, and the ponds.

I imagine this might be what a theme park looks like when night falls. Certainly, if it boasts a castle. The exterior of this palace is as opulent as the interior and I’m mindful to keep my jaw intact. Particularly as my gaze fixates on the scene right before me. Right beneath me, even.

There are rose petals scattered on the marbled balcony. Twinkle lights are perfectly arranged in the potted trees, and lanterns are filled with pillar candles that flicker in the sultry breeze. There is a string trio in the corner, straight out of pre-catastrophic Titanic, and they begin to play delicate, haunting chords.

Gorgeous bouquets are everywhere, with breathtaking sprays of flowers, the scented blooms mixing with whatever sinful aroma is coming from under the stately golden domes with the family insignia stamped on the tops. They cover our plates, keeping the food warm at a table so majestically set, it would put to shame every over-the-top wedding reception I’ve ever viewed on online pinboards.

There is so much glamour and grandeur, I’m at a loss for words.

I thought I’d already OD’d on beauty with the rest of the palace and courtyards. Most definitely Nick’s apartment. But this is exactly how I imagine kings and queens should dine—even their green smoothies should be served in this splendid setting—and that churns my stomach for a different reason.

For a moment… I question whether I could get used to this. You know, without fighting the gasp at every turn. Without the nervous giggle welling in my throat. Without the quickening of my pulse.

Nick is one-thousand percent in sync with me, though, completely comprehending I’m floundering again.

But the thing of it is… I just want to absorb the magnificence of it all. Revel in it, the way I’ve been doing.

Not that this will make the stunning atmosphere any less mind blowing. That could never happen. Hell, I still walk into my restaurant and take a minute or two to stare in awe and wonderment before I get my day underway.

Perhaps that’s due to me only ever having gazed upon scenes such as Bailey’s Clambake and now this entire extravagant experience as something someone else would partake in, would have the prestigious opportunity to enjoy.

Honestly, the prices for my dishes aren’t for the faint of heart. They mirror the expensive décor, the fancy wine cellar, the premium liquor, the high-end menu that are all offered. They’re also on par with the yacht club and suitable to the clientele we’re pulling in.

The palace is miles above and beyond both establishments.

That’s a daunting revelation.

But this is Nick’s lifestyle and I’m accepting of everything about him, so I assure myself I’m not going to wig over this latest magical moment.

Too much.

He’s very specific (aka alpha) about being the one to hold out a chair for me and I sit. He does, however, permit his private butler to place the linen napkin in my lap as Nick slides into the seat opposite me.

I like that we can stare across the table at each other once the tall, slender centerpiece is removed and a long and low floral one with lit votives replaces it, for romantic effect.

The domes are whisked away, and I’m treated to rack of lamb with three different pairing sauces and steamed veggies.

It looks as divine as it smells. Nick has requested a fabulous substitution while I’m in the midst of bypassing seafood.

I smile sweetly at him.

“The peanut is sufficiently appeased.”

He chuckles. It is such a rich, delicious sound. More decadent than the succulent lamb and what I know will be a mouthwatering dessert, later on.

A server pours sparkling and still water for us. I accept lime slices in mine. Nick prefers cucumbers.

I tell him, “I don’t mind if you have champagne or wine. Doesn’t bother me.”

Kind of a humorous admission, since I’d first considered that I wasn’t certain I’d survive giving up Tuesday tequila and all the other sips I’d liked to take at the end of the day, in lieu of pregnancy. Now, it’s rarely a thought. I’m hyperaware of staying hydrated in a healthy way.

Nick says, “I might have scotch as a nightcap.” He touches the gold-trimmed rim of his cut-crystal goblet to mine and we both drink.

That’s sort of the limit to my polite, delicate table manners.

“I’m starving,” I whisper, as the hunger pangs suddenly shoot through me.

He laughs again. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“Yeah, separating your girls from a meal is never in anyone’s best interests.”

His eyes take on that seductive glow that always does me in. But he’s not flirting with me. He’s amused and enticed by my precarious choice of words.

We’re playing a dangerous game, as usual.

He could fall into the trap of this being an intimate familial scenario that could be permanent, if only he could convince me of such.

I don’t want to lead him on in that respect.

Conversely… I find this all so cozy and heartwarming and peaceful.

And I begin to wonder…

How, exactly, am I going to extract myself from this increasingly perfect portrait?