Chapter 46

~ NICK ~

I know Bailey is even more conflicted as we leave my father’s apartment.

At the same time… There’s a sense of relief that seems to emit from her.

Her breathing is a bit odd, though, as I tuck her under my arm and place my hand at the dip of her waist, keeping her close.

Her breaths slow. Then speed up.

“Is it the baby?” I quietly ask, keeping the alarm from my voice, so as to not further agitate her.

“She’s all settled,” Bailey assures me. “Snug as a bug in a rug, as my dad would say.”

Ah, there’s the golden nugget.

“You’re making the direct correlation between my ailing father and yours. I’m sorry about that.”

“There’s absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about, Nick. This is life. It comes with twists and turns. Some harsh realities. Bittersweet moments. Though… It’s not without its enjoyments.”

She smiles up at me. Softly. Her eyes are still glistening with unshed tears. She holds onto them and that tugs at my heart. She doesn’t purposely want to make a scene—or make me feel bad for the position I’ve put her in by introducing her to my father. I wouldn’t have done it if I hadn’t believed it to be necessary, for all the aforenoted reasons.

I murmur, “Try to take it all in stride.”

“I’d love to,” she admits. Her gaze turns more compelling as she adds, “I’m facing the precise scenario with your father as I did with mine, though… Not in the exact frame. However, my dad left this world fully unaware of what my end result might be—or, you know, what clear and relevant path I might choose. That precise thing holds true for your father, at present. I understand how ill he is.”

“I was pleased he was up for a visit from us this evening.”

“Agreed. Though despite him having a decent half-hour or so with us with minimal coughing—and he was certainly lucid—it was easy to tell it was a strain for him to maintain all of the above. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it drained him. Physically as much as emotionally. I feel bad about that.”

“You worry too much about others…” I tell her.

She gives a small shake of her head.

“You do,” I reiterate, before she can comment.

She sighs. “Suffice it to say, I know a brave face when I see one. My dad did everything in his power to wear his, every single day.”

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him,” I earnestly say.

“He’d have liked you.” Tears now form on the rims of her eyes. “Definitely, he’d approve. And he wouldn’t have worried about me, once he’d met you. He might not have lived to experience the outcome of all this, but he would have died knowing I was okay, existing in a much better world. He’d also be happy to know that, regardless of where we end up, our baby’s never going to have the same struggles I did. I think that’s important, but… I can’t change the past, so…”

She sniffles. Blots her cheeks with her tissue.

And valiantly continues. “The challenge with your father is that he actually does know there’s a child involved. His grandchild. And if he were to pass tonight, God forbid, he’ll be unaware of decisions you and I ultimately make.”

“But he will know, Bailey, that you and I are talking this out. That means something. Something substantial.”

“I suppose…” There’s a hint of despair, hopelessness in her tone.

Jesus, I’m dying my own slow death.

“Bailey…” My arm tightens around her as we make our way to my apartment. “You need to not bear so much of this on your shoulders.” This concerns me, greatly. She can shred me with her tears, yet knowing she’s harboring guilt and all this responsibility that is not fully hers has my gut coiled and my muscles bunched.

What I want is a resolution, sure. We’re not there currently. And I must see that for what it is—part of our journey. Would I prefer this to be easy, cut-and-dried? Hell, yes.

It’s not, though.

So I remind her, “You made it succinctly evident that you want what’s right for everyone. You also pointed out the obvious, Bailey. There might not be a perfect solution, all the way around. There are roadblocks. You are absolutely right about that. We can’t simply snap our fingers and find ourselves in utopia. I get that.”

She rallies another smile. “I know you do, Nick. That’s why I’m staying. For a while,” she commits. “A few more days, at least. I can’t just pop in and pop out and somehow come to any sort of solid conclusion. Or discount you and your father and your legacy. A legacy this kid inside me is attached to, heritage-wise. Emotionally, as well, is my guess.”

Bailey is emotional herself, yet completely on-point.

In fact, she further contends, “I have a fiduciary obligation to our child. I don’t doubt your father acknowledges and accepts this. Additionally, I feel as though he comprehends that all I never had when growing up are things I latch onto now—and cherish.”

“Your restaurant.”

I do not say this arbitrarily or with malice. Because, yes… I do get her.

She doesn’t have to mention the nose pressed against the windows recollections of her youth. Those memories of hers were painful enough for me to listen to the first time around. They are instances I cannot erase or correct.

Or bulldoze through.

That’s frustrating for me. But just as she noted, I can’t change the past either.

Bailey and I do not come from similar backgrounds.

But we can find the correct answers for the future.

“You’ve had your first absorption of this strange new world,” I lightly jest, to ease the tension. “Let it all sink in. Don’t obsess. Don’t overanalyze. Don’t agonize over pros and cons. Just… Keep breathing, baby. Keep existing in the moment.”

She snickers. Quite mischievously.

Which is a huge relief to me.

She says, “It’s bizarre that all of this began with a contract. It was straightforward and we were both completely amenable to the terms.”

“Yes, well… We’ve moved beyond that.”

To the extreme.

“Though,” I further offer, “I’ve come to realize that I subconsciously wished for a true match between us.”

“So intuitive, you are,” she flirtatiously says.

I chuckle.

That we can at least share a laugh over the predicament we’ve painted ourselves into is its own shining beacon, so I toss off the strain for now.

Once inside my apartment, I let her freshen up from her melancholy. I’d love to pour her a glass of wine and let her relax in front of a fireplace, but the former is not an option, because Bailey’s not even taking a sip here and there these days.

The latter has potential, except… She emerges from the dressing room in nothing but a curve-hugging, skimpy, lacy nightie that shows off her baby bump quite sexily. Her breasts are plumped up to the point of nearly spilling over the scalloped edges of the demi-bra bodice, and I’m instantly distracted from my previous notion.

Yet I have the distinct thought that no matter what inner turmoil we suffer, no matter how we toil over our situation, there is absolutely no denying we are spectacularly drawn to each other—and that is what I cling to, what gives me hope that we will arrive at a proper place that suits us.

The fireplaces all have low blazes in the hearths, and I let Bailey wander about, from room to room, seeking a spot to curl into, cuddle up in.

What I’ve failed to consider is that by giving her free reign of the suites, she’s about to happen upon one she might not be expecting…

~ BAILEY ~

There’s something to be said for Pandora’s Box...

Nick wants me to acclimate myself to his apartment, to the layout of the entire palace and the grounds. This could take months, not mere days.

However, a girl has to start somewhere.

I either chose the perfect room to begin my exploration—or the worst.

Only time will tell which one is more accurate…and if I’m a cat that curiosity killed.

At the moment, I’m most interested in finding my breath so that I don’t pass out.

And schooling my facial expression into one that’s more natural, where my eyes aren’t bulging, and my jaw isn’t damn close to smacking the floor.

My heart is doing something that I’ve never truly experienced before. Some sort of happy dance, but it keeps tripping over its own two left feet. The beats are stuttering, echoing my pulse.

My stomach is equally confused. It’d been knotted when we’d left Nick’s father. Then more settled as we’d walked and talked. Now it is twisted again, but for varying reasons. Primarily being that I have no fucking clue as to what to do with what I’ve stumbled upon.

Therefore, my first inclination is to simply close the lid of the box—or rather, the door—and pretend I never peeked inside.

But I don’t think that’s ever worked out for someone with prying eyes.

What’s been seen can’t really be unseen, can it?

Not to mention… What I’m gazing at is so fantastically mind blowing, I literally can’t stop myself from pushing the tall door further open.

I cross the threshold. Step inside the room.

Gape some more, if that’s even possible.

Despite the peculiar sensations running rampant within me, I can latch onto one vibrant feeling that can’t be denied.

I’m in heaven.

Or in a haven, really.

It is the ultimate nursery.

The walls above the striking wainscoting are painted with softly edged, soothing, mute-toned murals that replicate the stunning courtyards of the estate, complete with the lawns, roses, trees, ponds, fountains, the full gamut—so she’s going to become quite familiar with the grounds, I suspect. For a hint of whimsy, there are unicorns with rainbowed horns added into the scenery. All gorgeously artistic, with a touch of glitter to fascinate tiny human eyes.

There is a huge fireplace to the right—an electric one with a sticker stating the glass is cool to the touch, for safety precautions—and accented with alabaster marble. A cream-colored loveseat and chairs sit before it, all plump and pristine, inviting one to get comfy and stay a while. There is also an oversized, upholstered rocking chair that appears to likely be a recliner, as well.

A unicorn stands in the nearest corner. Life-sized… You know, if unicorns actually existed. At its feet is an entire village, forest, and zoo of plush, stuffed animals and prettily dressed dolls. Also a toy chest.

The knickknacks are pastel balloons and puffs of cotton candy and more rainbows.

The mural on the far wall, opposite where I’m standing, represents the awe-inspiring visual of the front of the palace. There is a crib positioned here. Not just any crib, of course. It is regal-looking, with mauve, velvety-tufted enhancements, made even more ostentatious because of the shimmery sheer-and-damask canopy flowing from a mounted light on the wall in the 3D-shape of a bejeweled crown. The bedding is lux and there are more playful animals and extra, folded, ecru satin-quilted blankets.

I have no doubt there is a wired sound and surveillance system for tranquil music and 24/7 monitoring. I also spy a flat screen for playing movies and videos. Nick has probably even ordered a gaming platform, regardless of this being a nursery. He’ll be several steps ahead of and well-prepared for an overachiever.

The waterworks return. How could they not? Nick has every detail nailed, including built in bookshelves that are stocked with children’s books in multiple languages. A dresser, a mirrored-door armoire, a diaper-changing station—all matching the style of the royal crib.

There is carpeting instead of marble on the floor, and it is also immaculate—and thick, cushy. As though he anticipates our daughter ending up on her bottom a lot when she attempts to walk for the first numerous times.

I don’t know much about baby proofing, but I’m sure everything exceeds international standards.

A sparkling chandelier hangs overhead. It’s spectacular.

All of it.

Everything I hadn’t even dreamed up myself.

Everything befitting of… A princess.