Chapter 53

~ BAILEY ~

We’re trapped in some bizarre time warp where our eyes are locked and there’s an electrical current arcing between us and every second that slips by is laced with anticipation.

It’s Grayson who finally breaks the ice, discreetly clearing his throat. And quietly announcing, “The limo is ready.”

“Thank you, Grayson.” Nick manages to speak.

He raises a hand again and his thumb skims over his bottom lip.

I resist the urge to bite mine, his absent gesture being so subtly sensual. Yet I remind myself not to ruin my lipstick.

He takes a couple of wide strides toward me and my breath catches. He hears it. Sees it. And there’s a spark in his grey-green irises because of it.

“You picked the most striking dress of all,” he tells me.

Miraculously, I’m able to reply. Albeit breathily. Like, full-on Marilyn Monroe. “It’d probably look a lot better if I wasn’t pregnant.” Not that I regret being pregnant. That’s a total no-brainer.

He comprehends my unspoken sentiment and gives another shake of his head, saying, “No. It’s stunning. You’re stunning. Hell, that’s not even a sufficient enough descriptor. I’ve just… I’ve never… Damn, Bailey…” He chuckles, self-deprecatingly. “I’m at a loss…”

He’s nearly closed the gap between us. He reaches out to touch my cheek—but falls short. He won’t spoil my painstakingly applied cosmetics, so his fingertips only very delicately graze my neck, down to my collarbone, where a rather large diamond necklace is perfectly placed.

His fingertips further skim over the tops of my breasts and then his hand drifts away, completely. 

The sheer awe in his expression incites a fresh round of stinging emotion within me, and he has to pivot toward Grayson to accept a tissue from the man who is ever vigilant and always at the ready when I’m confronted by a tear-jerking moment. Regardless of Nick’s earlier restraint not to touch my face, he has to this time. He faintly dabs at some moisture around my eyes, so very careful not to muss my makeup.

“Forgive me,” I whisper of the tears. “I never went to the prom—or any dance. I have some saved up emo, I guess.”

He knows the former is true and the latter is mostly a lie. I’m not emotional over this being my first formal outing. I’m emotional because I’m with him and he is to die for and I’m so fucking lucky to be the woman who will be on his arm this evening. Also, I’m so decked out, it’s almost a sin. Bonus? I’ve one-thousand percent enthralled Nick.

The corners of my mouth tremble from the taunting of a smile as much as from my reactions to his reactions to me.

I say, “To hell with prom. I can’t think of a single event that could ever compare to this—and we’re not even there yet. I just…” I blow out a fragile breath. “I don’t understand how you’re such the be-all, end-all on an everyday basis and then tonight… You’re even more so.”

His head dips and he murmurs, “If only I could find one fucking adjective to describe you. But not a single one of them does you justice, Bailey Storm.”

Oh, the waterworks that threaten my eyes now.

“More tissues,” I say.

Nick’s on it, again, with Grayson’s help.

As Nick so gingerly whisks away falling drops before they actually hit, he asks, “You do know you’re more spectacular than anything I can possibly fathom, right?”

He seems more enamored with me than I am with him and that’s…totally wild.

I smirk and say, “You have reflective surfaces in your dressing room, right?”

“It’s just a tux,” he passively muses. “Whereas this dress. Wow.”

He swallows down what I’m guessing is a very hard lump, comprised of both excitement and sentimentality.

I want to lean into him. I want to twine my arms around his neck. I want to press every inch of myself against him.

I muster all the willpower I possess to stay where I am.

It should no longer take me by surprise how much/how easily I get swept away by all the scintillating feelings and the searing sensations when I’m with this man. Yet it does. And tonight is no exception. Hell, I’m literally hypnotized because there is a rawness exuding from him that is enticing and alluring. Even somewhat decadent, it’s so dark and edgy. As though he can’t quite fully process what’s standing before him. And he’s decidedly uncertain as to what to do with me.

This is where my smile cracks wide open. I let out a small laugh and say, “I really can’t be blowing your mind that much.”

“And then some,” he assures me.

I’m more than flattered. Of course, I am.

Also… I’m a little worried.

How the hell we’re going to keep our hands off each other and not make a public display of ourselves at the gala is wayyy beyond me. 

And even though I’m looking forward to this social engagement… Really, all I want is to skip over the entire extravagant soiree and get right to the private moments. With Nick. In his bed.

~ NICK ~

I know Bailey is apprehensive about the evening ahead of us. For her, this isn’t simply a matter of attending a fundraising event with her boyfriend. And while it is a fundraiser for some private initiatives, resources, and services I fully support, I’m not merely a guest. I’m representing my country in an official capacity tonight. No, we’re not riding in with banners flying. But there is a significant amount of formality that I adhere to—and I’ve also ordered additional security measures to be in place, because the woman I love will be on my arm, and she’s carrying our child.

I’m accustomed to all the protocols and procedures. She is not. I recognize how overwhelming this could be for her, for all the obvious reasons. In addition to her being a fish out of water—in her mind—she’s not used to the sort of pomp and circumstance that will ensue once we’ve reached the gala. She’s been educated on what to expect, but that doesn’t mean this will be easy-breezy for her. This is basically our public debut.

There’s some inner conflict within me as to what that entails. I would never purposely put Bailey in a compromising position, whether she was pregnant with my heir or not. I do believe, however, that I have thus far taken substantial actions to ensure her safety, pretty much from the day I met her—and even more so than she’s fully aware of. Henceforth, those precautions will triple. Particularly when she returns to America.

Though, I have this incredibly strong gut feeling that a return might only be a rudimentary visit to tie up some loose ends. I sense she’s leaning more toward staying here, with me. Permanently. She’s gone to the extreme to seek out clues and information regarding my family’s—and my nation’s—past and present. She’s posed endless questions about the future of the latter, as well. Not to mention, she’s taken it upon herself to have a standing appointment on my father’s otherwise fairly sparse calendar, not even missing her reading date with him today, when there were so many other crucial things on her plate. That unto itself moves me beyond all belief.

Also, she hasn’t retracted her statement that she truly thinks this is the ideal environment in which to raise our daughter. The compounding anchor here is that I know Bailey Storm well enough to know that where her child is, she will also be.

So even though I will one-hundred percent honor my declaration that I’m leaving that decision up to her, I’m of the mind that were she not interested in a potential arrangement between us within palace walls, she wouldn’t be subjecting herself to so much she’ll have to extract herself from.

That’s the key.

Perhaps she doesn’t realize how she’s weaving herself into the fabric of my life. At least, not consciously.

Subconsciously… She might be saying yes to certain things—this gala, for instance—because she’s too adventurous to not investigate all possibilities. Particularly of late. I will staunchly contend that Bailey’s eyes are wide open these days; as such, she won’t discount opportunities that might be golden.

Not that she moves quickly on them. That’s a given.

I snicker inwardly. True fact, it takes some patience on my part, and a hell of a lot of restraint, to step back and let her work her way through all prospects, adequately analyzing them. Certainly, I know better than to push her uphill. And I can let her process at her own pace because she does it soundly and judiciously. Reasonably.

Therefore, I’m confident she already ran all variables of tonight’s event through the wringer before she conceded to attend.

That makes me slightly more comfortable, so that what really has me on edge is something completely different—and it’s a totally different kind of edge.

She is fantastically breathtaking.

It’s not even quantifiable. I’ve been amazed and bedazzled by her on so many occasions that it comes as no surprise she’s holding me spellbound yet again. This is to the nth degree, though.

I am literally awestruck. And once again employing willpower to keep from announcing I’m the king and therefore I can arrive anytime I so choose, no matter how late I happen to be, and take her straight to the bedroom.

From the flash of desire in her glimmering irises, I can see she’s contemplating the same thing.

But then Grayson goes and discreetly clears his throat, the way he’s prone to do when I’m lost in Bailey and need to be reminded there’s somewhere we ought to be.

I sigh. Dejectedly.

She smiles, knowingly. And murmurs, “So I’m not the only one.”

“Not by half.”

I offer her my arm. She’s careful to only gingerly twine hers with mine, mimicking my rigidity—she’s clearly, recently been taught this. It’s a more regal gesture vs. the way she normally snuggles up next to me. I prefer the snuggling, of course. But we’re both highly cognizant of not only the image we must project, but also the fact that it would be all too easy for me to get her out of this gown and between the sheets, were we to get too tangled up with each other just by walking toward the door.

“Not so much fun being on our best behavior, hmm?” she quietly quips.

“Well, there is something to be said about me not destroying this spectacular visual you make.”

“I feel quite elegant,” she concurs. “Not a strand out of place, and I’m praying it stays that way. Oh, Nick!” she suddenly gasps and gazes up at me. “One hair out of place and you must tell me—immediately!!”

I grin down at her and earnestly say, “You are picture perfect.”

“That’s because several someones have painstakingly seen to that, and I don’t want anything to mar their effort. Really, everyone’s been extraordinary.”

“You’re extraordinary,” I assure her.

Her smile turns dreamy, and she mutters, “From the mouth of a king.”

Ah. This is something I latch onto. Is she finally making peace with my station in life? Is it finally sinking in, so that she can fully accept I’m royalty—a concept that has been tripping her up this whole time?

She seems fantastically pleased with us as we exit the apartment and travel the corridor. Bodyguards fall into step, and we’re directed to the hidden service elevator that will lead to a secured lobby below, from which we’ll depart.

“Secret passages,” she whispers. “Intriguing.”

“Lots of live surveillance as well, so don’t go getting frisky with me,” I tease.

She laughs, luxuriously. “Oh, you soo want me to get frisky with you. Regardless of who’s watching.”

“You’ve got me on that one.”

Her dark, velvety eyelash extensions flutter.

As usual, I wonder how she can be even more alluring than she typically is. But at every turn, Bailey entrances me.

I suddenly recognize a complication I’m going to have tonight—keeping my eyes off her. While I have every intention of holding her respectfully close, it will be damn difficult to divide my attention between her and anyone else.

Though, I suspect that, as soon as we arrive, everyone who catches so much as a glimpse of Bailey Storm in this magnificent gown will instantly forgive me if I forget my own name. And theirs.

~ BAILEY ~

I’m often amazed by how easily I have to fight for a decent breath when I’m in Nick’s presence. This evening, the affliction has reached epic heights. There is a yum factor to him that’s burning a hole through my brain. And the way he gazes at me with such lust and adoration has my stomach flipping and my pulse jumping.

The absolute need to keep ourselves in check only serves to add a mysterious, fascinating forbidden element to our predicament as we settle in the back of the limo. There is a sliver of space between us, so that we’re not actually touching. We’ve never achieved even this miniscule bit of distance when given the opportunity to be glued to each other’s side. But we’re doing our best to follow all the rules.

They suck, I have to say.

On the other hand, I’m beyond excited.

Especially when we eventually pull up to a marvelous building that is as dramatic as an opera house, as reverent as a cathedral, and as extravagant as an elusive seven-star hotel.

I’m still attempting to digest the phenomenal exterior and the brilliant uplighting as Nick offers his hand to me and we’re met by his brand of paparazzi and an enthusiastically screaming and applauding crowd that’s contained behind barriers.

Mouth closed, Bailey.

Mouth. Closed.

Somehow, I manage to maintain an intact jaw.

But I might pass out as we ascend the red-carpeted steps and there are people actually bowing. Bowing.

Oh, fucking fuck.

Nick is a king.

And as the tall, enormous, mind-bogglingly ornate double doors are grandly swept open and emotion rips through me, I grasp this is so much more than a gala.

This, my friends, is a fucking ball.