Chapter 44

~ BAILEY ~

Turns out… It’s not me, Bailey Storm, who jacks the whole program.

While dinner is exceptionally tasty and I am about as content as any pregnant woman can be, particularly when she’s dining with a king, there’s much more on the evening’s docket to fringe my satisfaction with a tinge of anticipation.

I can only draw out the end of the meal for so long.

I mean, a crème brulee and a thick slice of carrot cake are notably excessive.

Though Nick doesn’t raise his brow. He knows I’m stalling.

We have somewhere to be, shortly. And despite me claiming I didn’t mind him having a cocktail when I can’t, I realize my scarfing down decadent desserts is essentially the equivalent of draining a couple of glasses of champagne before I head toward the guillotine.

Overly dramatic, sure. However…

Here’s something even wilder about all this.

I have no idea why I feel this way, but there is a gnawing sensation within me that is telling me I have much more at stake here than I’d considered when I’d called Claire to send a plane for me and my entourage.

I’d had the compelling need to see Nick, yes. My motivation was driven by the anxiety within me and by my subconscious desire to seek a resolution to that dangling strand we had, the one we’d finally wrapped up a bit tighter, a bit tidier—our feelings for each other. 

I grasped our individual confessions provided its own peril, in numerous ways. The obvious ones were damn glaring, without doubt.

The not-so-obvious one was that I was ceremoniously being introduced around, everyone saw my round belly, everyone easily deduced I was the baby mama and, well, hell… There was no disguising what existed between Nick and I went far beyond an arrangement we’d made on paper. A contract Nick intended to shred so that I—the girl who once had nothing—got everything.

Which circles my thoughts back to the critical subject at hand. Meeting his father.

The point of my rumination is that it is no mystery whatsoever that there is a romance between the now-king and his surrogate. That means there’s a kid on the line. And something tells me the king father is not going to let this child slip through Nick’s fingers, lose out on its heritage, be anything less than the royal granddaughter she’s destined to be and… Oh, yeah…

Let’s not forget her truest, grandest calling.

Princess.

Heir to the throne.

You can visualize the moment my panic attack started, yes?

Regardless of Nick’s incredibly generous “offer,” I guess you’d call it, I find it very difficult to believe anyone who might have a say in the matter would permit him to follow through with giving the girl who once had nothing, everything.

Including, specifically, the heir to the throne.

Thus… I’m about to request another slab of carrot cake.

But Nick is eyeing me with mounting curiosity; I know I’m only operating on borrowed time here.

And he knows I know.

He grins, stealing my breath.

Leans toward me, making my heart stutter.

Whispers, “You’re much too radiant for me to keep you all to myself.” Setting my pulse pounding.

Not just because my personal hourglass has run out, but because of the way he looks at me.

He has the most beautiful eyes. I’m aware he’d say the same about me, with a wishful dash of hope that our daughter has the same blue irises I do.

That, of course, is its own complication, given that if/when she’s with Nick, he’ll have the twenty-four-seven reminder of me.

That wayward thought has me significantly wondering if I’m not fully convinced he has the sole power to tear up our agreement. As I’d considered, there might be a greater influence(r) at play here.

Which makes me even more nervous to meet the former king, thank you very much.

But Nick is still grinning sexily and he’s murmuring sweet words and his hand is resting on my stomach and… Really, the sugar high morphs into a more distinct sizzle through my veins and sparks a pulsating beat between my legs. Deep in my core.

I’m swayed by his rich, intimate voice and his gentle, yet searing touch. The flicker of desire in his eyes and the hint of longing etched on his devilishly handsome face.

True fact, there’s no hiding our attraction, our affection, our deepest emotions.

That puts me on display in an entirely different light.

For a moment, I ponder how worried I should be over the precarious position I’ve put myself in. Coming here could be my ultimate mistake. A huge issue with never-ending consequences.

But Nick’s presence is comforting and commanding, as always. He oozes reassurance and so I smile at him. And say, “I think it’s time the peanut meets her grandfather.”

His lips whisk delicately over my cheek. He murmurs in my ear, “In addition to all your other stellar qualities, you’re extremely gracious.”

“Suck up,” I tease. And snicker.

He kisses my neck. Then says, “Don’t think for a second I don’t understand the pressure you feel. That I don’t comprehend the microscope you’re under. It’s real. But, Bailey…”

His gaze connects with mine—and his is steady and sincere.

He tells me, “The bond we’ve created is also real. Substantial. It could never be discounted. I would never allow it to be discredited in any way. I won’t let a situation that’s not wholly ideal be demeaned or condemned. Not all relationships are perfectly seamless, not all familial arrangements are cookie-cutter. Hell… Most aren’t these days, right?”

His indiscernible accent is highly arousing. I know this is serious business we’re discussing, but I’m captivated. Riveted. Swept away.

He continues. “So we have some adjustments to make. Some fine-tuning. That’s for us to work on, for us to decide. Only us.”

It’s a crystal-clear warning he’s issuing.

He’s already anticipating push-back from a higher authority. A denial that we’ll be able to pull off this clusterfuck of a situation.

Strange thing about all that… I’m legit not going to balk at the sentiment of this being a clusterfuck.

He’s correct in that nothing about us is ideal.

I’m okay with that.

Because, in the end, I trust Nick.

He’s going to do what’s right for us, for our child.

That is where I will place my bet, time and time again.

So I say to hell with my anxiety. And tell him, “We’ve overcome every adverse obstacle, every setback. If we happen to encounter another one, I know we can hurdle it.”

“One of the many, many things I love about you.”

My heartrate surges.

I kiss him, softly. Against his lips, I say, “Perhaps you’ll get around to telling me all the things you love about me.”

There is an intriguing flip in my tummy, and I know it’s because Nick and I are both now freely able to use the “L” word… And it’s liberating.

He mutters, “The list is lengthy. We’ll need to carve out some time for that.”

I smirk. “How much time will be relegated for telling and how much will be for showing?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

We stare at each other a few moments more… Or minutes.

Until there is a very discreet, “A-hem,” from Grayson, who’s just appeared.

Nick scowls with regret. Shifts in his chair, straightening. He collects his napkin from his lap and drops the linen on the table.

His head tips toward me and he quietly announces, “Priority number two is on deck…”

I’m reluctant to leave this little haven of ours. The stars are twinkling and there’s a balmy breeze that’s light and airy. Flirty. All the flames from the candles are dancing and casting shadows on the stunning terrace. The fragrant blooms are enticing. The strategically illuminated grounds, ponds, and fountains are a gorgeous backdrop.

I really could stay right here, in this very spot, for hours. With Nick and the peanut.

But, alas… Duty calls.

I want to be excited about meeting Nick’s father.

However, my intuition has always served me well and, in this instance, it might be a bit too hyperaware, too hypersensitive. There is a foreboding thread twining around my heart now.

Definitely, I’d prefer to ignore it. But the chances of that happening are zero to none.

I have no choice but to let Nick stand, scoot back my chair, and hold his palm out to me.

I place mine in his.

It’s rather symbolic.

I can put my faith in only a handful of things/people.

The irony therein is not lost on me. Through machinations that aren’t his own, I do have a proverbial obstacle course to scale.

My biggest hope is that Nick is a couple steps ahead of me, ready to field the impediments tossed our way.

Naturally, I’m also praying that my instinct is horrifically out of whack, and I really have nothing to fear when it comes to meeting Nick’s dad.

At present, all I can do is cross my fingers.

Unfortunately, that is only a hypothetical saving grace.

Not an actual one.

A reality that will be proven this evening…

~ * * * ~

Nick’s father’s residence is in the same wing of the palace, but on a different floor. And the staircases and corridors seem to go on forever and ever in this enormous place.

Thankfully, I have low-heeled sparkly silver sandals on with the gown so that my feet won’t be screaming at me in another ten minutes as we continue to walk.

I’m desperate for anything to occupy my mind and suddenly I’m envisioning the peanut racing through these vast hallways when she’s old enough. Hell, she could roller skate through them. She could ride a bike through them!

Though, I’m pretty sure that will be highly frowned upon, given these are gorgeous Italian marble floors and all the accent tables, vases, statues, and mirrors are likely outrageously expensive and difficult to replace.

Plus, I imagine there’s some sort of royal advisor who will mentor her on how she is and is not supposed to act within the palace walls, on the grounds, in public.

The funny thing about that is certain protocols are a natural given. Yet as my gaze slides to Nick and I study his strong profile, his thick neck, his set shoulders, I can see past all the customs and procedures he is required to follow and easily deduce that he’s probably thought the exact same thing I’m currently thinking. What a riot it would be to have a kid scooting her way from this room to that, from the kitchen to the study to the living room. One of the many, many, many living rooms. All styled uniquely, individually, and apparently, all designated for specific purposes. As are the dining rooms.

How anyone could ever keep track of the rhyme or reason is beyond me. But clearly, they do.

I also consider that Nick won’t mind in the least if the peanut takes a liking to a particular suite, say one specified for high tea, and that’s where she, instead, wants to color or sketch or do her homework. He’ll allow it. I have no doubt.

A curious sensation sweeps through me as I’m contemplating all of this.

While the beach house would be a fun environment for her to grow up in, this palace, the entire country, would present an endless world of opportunity, a wealth of education, an all-inclusive domain of experience that would, in a word, be priceless.

That is a golden nugget I must hold in my hand and treat appropriately.

Not that I have any clue what I’m going to do with it.

Still.

I’m cognizant of what might be best for mine and Nick’s child.

And that might not be me.

I realize this is not an inherent insecurity, a weakness I’m feeling as I’m about to meet someone who might find me significantly lacking in all social and economic graces.

Rather, it’s a moment wrapped in realism. A parental moment. Because at the heart of it all, doing right by your offspring is of utmost importance. Regardless of whether it crushes your own spirit. This is where absolute selflessness and humility comes into play in a person’s life.

Nick has already reached this point. As usual, he truly is a few steps ahead of me. He’s willing to do what he thinks is right—that’s keeping his daughter with her mother.

And so I am back to weighing a very critical sacrifice of my own.

Nick is willing to make a huge one for me.

Am I willing to do the same for the peanut?

Tears mist my eyes. Because it is yet one more question I already have the answer to. At least… In theory.

Execution is something altogether sole and separate.

Especially as we approach the regal double doors of his father’s apartment.

A hint of panic slithers down my spine.

Anxiety swirls within me.

I try to breathe deeply, in a discreet manner.

Hardly possible, but I don’t want Nick worrying over how freaked I suddenly am.

However… He astutely knows. He senses it.

He grins down at me and flattens his palm to the bared small of my back. It is a familiar, intimate, protective gesture. A reassuring one.

He’s not overly displaying affection. He’s also not leaving me out on my own island.

We’re in this together.

So I smile sweetly. Bat my lashes.

He chuckles, low and rich.

His head dips and he murmurs, “You’re endearing even when you don’t say a word.”

We shall see… Right?

The double doors are opened outwardly by valets on our side of the suites. There are also guards strategically placed about the exterior corridor.

This is where I must acknowledge an alternate universe. Security is paramount here. And that means the peanut will be swarmed by bodyguards.

Okay, maybe not swarmed. I’m guessing they’ll be good at blending into the woodwork when she’s on the premises.

But when she’s out and about, elsewhere?

She’s going to be surrounded by men in black suits with combat/martial arts skills and guns.

Flashes of Lady Diana’s entire existence, and tragic demise, make me instantly ill at ease.

I never delved this much into the details when I deliberated over, and consequently signed, Nick’s agreement. They weren’t details to concern me at that point. Because this baby was never supposed to be mine—in any sense beyond egg and vessel.

Now, I have a bigger picture to examine.

Though… First things first, right?