Chapter 47

~ BAILEY ~

Regardless of that word only rambling through my head, not falling from my lips, it chokes me up.

I press a hand to my quivering mouth as tears crest and tumble.

This is not the sort of room I had to put thought into before I came here.

Nick hadn’t even been aware I was on my way for a visit—or that I ever would be. And yet… He’s already tackled this huge undertaking. Amazingly so.

Emotion skitters through me, causing my still-scarce breaths to skip, like stones over placid water. There is a definite ripple effect.

I hear Nick behind me, propping himself against the doorframe. Not fully entering and not crowding me.

As if that could really happen. This space is vast, though truly, so inviting. So lovely. A creamy, fluffy wonderland.

I could spend hours upon hours upon hours in here…

Not exactly the most sensible thought to have, right?

However, it’s an inescapable one. So there it is.

Nick is the first to speak. Quietly, unobtrusively. “Will she like it?”

I cry a little, with my hand still covering my mouth. I nod, despite not sparing a glance at him. I can’t just yet.

I also can’t say what’s more endearing to me—that he did all this, that he planned so far ahead, that he totally slayed it, or… That he decorated for a girl.

The fact that he trusts in some sort of peculiar intuition I suddenly developed when I got pregnant and he neither questions it, nor me, is phenomenally significant.

Can he have all the feminine accents changed-up with a snap of his fingers? Sure. That’s a given. If I’m wrong about the baby’s gender, this room will be flipped in an instant to suit a masculine heir to the throne.

That’s not really the point, though.

The point is, Nick could have gone absolutely neutral. It’s the logical choice when I’ve decided not to have Dr. Shaw reveal the sex of the baby, currently. If ever—till she comes out of me.

Gender neutrality is en vogue. Also, it’s quite smart when trying to decorate for a child whose sex you’re unaware of. It would have been understandable, and maybe even expected, for him to walk the rational line.

He didn’t take that safe route, though.

He took a gamble on my personal perception. That niggling tick in the back of my brain—and deep within my soul—that convinced me the peanut growing inside me would be a Bailey 2.0.

Chances are damn good that I’d gripped that theory with both hands because of the sentiment I’d once shared with Nick of wanting a “do-over” of my childhood. Since that was an impossibility, I could easily have manifested the thought I’m carrying a little girl, due to my desire to give one a fresh start. A stellar fresh start.

As that ideation blossoms in my brain, I turn to Nick.

My hand falls from my mouth and I tell him, albeit in a shaky voice, “I think I might have signed your contract for a higher purpose than a restaurant. And even for a reason that goes well beyond me—or even you.”

A shocking realization, yes.

He shoves away from the doorframe and joins me in the center of the room.

“Explain that, please,” he carefully requests.

“All that conversation about our fathers—what they do/don’t, or will/won’t know about the future version of us or their grandkid… Maybe I’m desperate for a mulligan with my earlier life, for more than just a ‘better retelling’ of my childhood.”

“I’m listening.” His tone is low and compelling. 

I continue. “You subconsciously wished for something more out of a surrogacy contract—with me. What if I signed that contract not only because it would give you a baby, and me one as well—i.e., the restaurant. But also… It gives my dad a sense of peace, if there really is a heaven. And I think there is, because that was the first thing that hit me when I walked in here. So if he’s watching down on me, watching over me, whatever… He gets to experience my daughter being provided everything he would have given me, if only he’d had the means in which to do so. Therefore…”

I finally take a deep breath. A big one.

And add, “All this worry about him not knowing my outcome… Shouldn’t I take a more optimistic approach and say that he does see the outcome? Every day?”

Nick grins. Adoringly, so that it reflects in his grey-green eyes.

I’m momentarily sidetracked. But find my way back to the topic at hand. “Somehow,” I further contend, “I knew this whole concept in my soul. And when you presented me with a contract, you did more than offer me a restaurant. You offered the do-over.”

“I—”

“Wait.” I gently press two fingers to his lips. “Just wait.”

“Okay,” he mumbles around them.

I laugh and drop my hand, once again.

“I don’t mean to sound all New Age or outer limits. Or cheesily psychological, when I have no basis of comparison or experience here and am essentially arm-chairing it. I’m merely saying that I had my present to consider, as well as my future. I also had a past that couldn’t be reconciled because it can’t be changed.”

“I’m not finding any of this ‘cheesily psychological,’” he assures me.

“Thank you. So… Now, there’s this new component of our fathers not being able to see for themselves how their children, and their children’s children, turn out. I don’t believe I would have had a baby without this particular agreement. I never considered it, not even for years down the road. Also… To be not-so-PC-honest, I probably would have gone straight to the ‘get it taken care of the next morning’ solution the very second I was faced with the potential of having gotten pregnant.”

I shudder.

Which is yet another telling sign that Nick was right when he said we were fated. I believe it’s true. Even if just to this extent. I do believe in the kismet of how we reached this juncture together.

Because the notion of terminating a pregnancy could never, ever take root in my head when it comes to this man.

In fact… If we had a perfect-world scenario, I could allow myself to envision us having more than one kid.

But since we’re currently wrapped in a complex predicament with Peanut #1, I’ll let that imagining fall to the wayside.

Plus, I’m a bit emotional and don’t need to add any fuel to the fire.

I say to Nick, “I’ll boil it down to this. Subconsciously, similar to you, what I wanted from this arrangement was more than a restaurant and more than my chance to have an offspring that was provided a better life, from Day One. As in, Day One being conception. The truth is, I think I signed on the dotted line for my dad too.”

Nick requires all of a second to process this. He tells me, “You want to prove to him that there’s an opportunity for your daughter, his granddaughter, to have—”

“Everything he couldn’t give me.”

I say this at the exact same time Nick says: “Everything he wished he could give you.”

“Precisely,” I murmur.

My gaze sweeps the room once more. I raise my arms, encompassing the cavernous area.

I tell him, “I wasn’t the one destined for the fairy tale. She is. She’s the one.” I lovingly pat my belly. “Within the walls of a palace, there’s a palace. Manicured lawns. Unicorns. More toys than you can shake a stick at. Snow White and Jasmine and Belle are jealous-AF of this setting.”

He snickers. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Nick…” I’m gravely serious as I say, “It’s all fabulously indicative of our daughter’s station in life—but also…” And this is even more important to me, “how much she means to you. And you haven’t even met her yet.”

There.

How’s that for a zinger?

The emotion roils through me again and more fat drops trickle along my cheeks.

But I’m happily emotional.

Yes, I’m conflicted as well. That is the dark side of having gotten personally involved with Nick Angelini, well beyond a paper agreement.

No romance is without its ups and downs, though. Like anybody, we have as many mountains to conquer as we do molehills.

This notion I’ve placed on the table, however, is one we have to balance with all the other elements.

Because it means I’m acknowledging a faith I’d not put an infinite amount of thought into prior to this evening.

In addition, it means I must confront the inevitable.

Yes, our child would grow up wonderfully in the house in California.

But this is where she belongs.

She’s Cinderella.

I swipe at some tears. They keep falling as I tell Nick, “I’m pretty sure it wasn’t an objection to lobster bisque and crashing waves that brought me here. I needed to come. So that I’d make the right decision.”

Now it’s his fingers that lightly press to my lips. “Shh… Don’t say anything more. That was a difficult meeting with my father, and it also put a spotlight on your dad’s passing. It was painful for you, Bailey.”

His hand lowers and he twines his fingers with mine, tugging me to him. His free hand whisks away a few drops on my cheek before combing into my curls at my temple.

His head dips and his lips are warm against my skin as he sexily mutters, “Let’s sleep on this.”

I toy with a button on his shirt. Peer up at him from under my lashes. And seductively counter with, “You really think we’re going to get much sleep tonight?”

As we leave the nursery and enter Nick’s suite, I have one more contemplation.

“Have you already picked out her name?” I ask.

He stares down at me. Lets out a lengthy and somewhat guilt-ridden breath. And gives me a sort of comical you already know the answer to that look.

“Ah.” I nod.

Sure, he thinks I’m going to be a bit overwhelmed by this revelation.

And I wait for that sensation to hit me.

It doesn’t.

Frankly… I’m intrigued.

He hastily adds, “Subject to change, of course.”

“In case I’m wrong.”

“It’s quite evident I have faith in your intuition.”

Certainly, something I can’t dispute.

Still…

“Perhaps we should have Dr. Shaw confirm,” I offer. It might be for the best, all the way around.

I mean, sure it’s a little late in the day for this discussion. But the longer we wait to have it, the more attached we’ll be to the notion that we’re having a daughter. And I don’t know… Will that jar us substantially if I’ve gotten my maternal-instinct wires crossed?

Nick seems to know the direction in which my thoughts now run.

Naturally, he does.

He’s that perceptive of all things Bailey Storm.

Which makes me smile.

So does the fact that he gives a slight shrug of one impressively broad shoulder—calmly, nonchalantly. Apparently, he’s not wrapped up or otherwise mired in any sort of gender debate, dilemma, concern.

Proven when he casually informs me, “I don’t mind being surprised. Either way, boy or girl, we’re both going to love this kid, so…”

Topic closed.

He moves behind me as we stand alongside the bed. One of his fingers slips under the thin strap of the nightie I’d changed into when we’d returned from visiting his father. His other hand is on my hip.

His nearness is enough to make me swoon. I love the scent of him and the heat he emits. As usual, I’m easily lost in his very presence.

As his skin brushes mine while he slowly peels away the strand on my shoulder, he whispers in my ear, “Brielle-Chantal Angelini.”

I gasp. Turn toward him.

Okay, topic not closed.

“Nick, that’s beautiful,” I say, completely in awe of how regal it sounds, how smart, and yet… So personable.

He takes this a step further, explaining, “I figured Brie, for short, is Americanized. Chantal was my mother’s name—she was French. And Angelini is Italian, like my father. Obviously.”

“All totally indicative of your country’s melting pot,” I muse.

“Well, we don’t have that many United States ex-pats residing within our borders, but since her mother is American… I had to make the distinction.”

“That’s very gracious of you.” My lips graze his. Softly. “And it honestly is a gorgeous name.”

A royal one.

His eyes twinkle, impishly. “I’m glad you approve.”

“Very much so.”

Now it’s his lips that are tangling with mine. Deliciously. Seductively.

I’m almost one-hundred percent distracted.

Almost.

Another thought occurs to me, though. “Have you told your father?”

“Not yet.”

“Nick. You absolutely should before—”

“Hey… Let’s not dwell on this for the rest of the night. Remember?”

“Right.” We’d made an agreement. “Sleep on it all.”

“Eventually.” He winks. And asks, “Have I mentioned this nightie that’s barely covering you is driving me wild?”

“You’ve failed to point that out to me.”

“My bad.” He drags the other strap down my arm.

I laugh. “And it’s definitely not staying on me.”

“No, it is not.”

“Who am I to complain?”

“Yet another thing I love about you,” he tells me. And eases the lacy material further down my body.

The flimsy bodice collapses, and his gaze fixates on my breasts. He basically abandons undressing me and, instead, palms the full mounds, kneads them gently. Sensuously. So that I feel ripples through my belly, along my inner thighs, straight to my toes.

He kisses my throat, nips lightly. Then very delicately swirls his tongue against my skin. Truly, he can hypnotize me with his touch and his warm breaths and his flirtatious kisses.

My fingers curl into his biceps and the sinew flexes. But I want much more than this. I want him naked.

I’m still mesmerized, however, and so I let him continue what he’s doing—setting every inch of me on fire. Making me wetter for him. Especially as his lips trail south, over my collarbone and to the tops of my breasts. He presses them together, delves his tongue into the crease, teasing the plumped swells as his thumbs whisk over my taut nipples.

“Nick…” I murmur. And sigh. Languorously. 

I love how he can be possessive and even dominating at times. Then so wonderfully tender with his slow burn. Like he needs to cover all the territory, worshipping me as he gradually exposes me, his hands now sliding behind the lace gathered at my ribs and pushing it toward my waist, over my hips, until it’s free to drop to the floor.

His mouth returns to my neck as his fingertips glide over my flesh, lightly, tantalizingly.

He’s drawing me in deeper. Not just with the promise of hot sex, but with the lure of all that “could be.”

The temptation is there, I won’t lie. In so many ways.

But we’ve agreed not to travel any complicated paths for the rest of the night, so I just let him work his magic on me as he guides me onto the bed. I settle into the mound nestled at the elaborate headboard. Nick and I are both pillow people. His valet knows that. As does Grayson. Whichever one of them turned down the covers did it fantastically, though I don’t crawl under them just yet.

First, Nick shifts a bit so that he can alleviate me of my panties. Then he unbuttons his shirt and discards it, tossing the material toward the long sofa placed at the foot of the bed, not caring whether he hits his intended target because he’s already moved on to toeing off his shoes and divesting himself of the rest of his clothing.

Now I slip between the sateen sheets that are a sublime thread-count. They’re like butter.

Nick joins me and he rolls onto his back, bringing me with him.

He’s already hard and that works fabulously for me.

He’s propped against the pillows. I straddle his lap, sinking onto his shaft, gasping as he fills me.

My hands splay over his ripped abs. He is so magnificently built, I take a few seconds to simply… Admire him.

This makes him chuckle.

“Enjoy me all you want, baby,” he merely mutters.

My manicured nails faintly scrape the grooves of his stomach and I love how the muscles bunch tighter, jumping at my touch. Even his pecs twitch and so, of course, I can’t resist leaning into him and fluttering my tongue against a tiny, beaded nipple.

He clasps my hips and holds me steady as he thrusts up into me.

I give up on us taking this slow.

My arms encircle his neck and I press my chest to his.

And whisper in his ear, “Fuck me.”

~ NICK ~

I’d never deny her anything.

Though, I am quite careful with her.

Still, when Bailey’s pussy is sheathing me and her inner walls are contracting and then releasing, then contracting more firmly, it literally tests all the restraint I possess.

Add to that the way she tauntingly speaks in her breathy voice, telling me how much she likes how I feel and that she just wants more and more, and it’s all I can do to stay focused on the fact that, regardless of wanting to pump into her hard and fast, I’m cognizant of being more controlled.

I lead her into a smooth rhythm and her pelvis rolls.

Her grinding against me is its own distraction, its own enticement.

So that I can’t help but skim my hands to her ass and cup the cheeks, squeezing them.

“Like that,” she murmurs as she clenches me again and then flicks my earlobe with her tongue. “Keep doing that.”

I stick to some semblance of willpower and let her take over.

Her nipples graze my skin and her wisps of air tease my temple.

She increases the cadence as she rides me in a languid and yet somehow insistent manner. Seeking her own satisfaction while sending me barreling toward mine.

We move together in sync, and I know the very moment when her body is going to tense, when she’s going to clutch me fiercely. When she’s going to shatter.

I rub her G-spot with the head of my cock, and she moans.

There it is…

“Yes…” she whispers. “Oh, God, yes…”

She falls over the edge.

And takes me with her.