HIS: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (Part One)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “What do you want, Ana? You’re a surrogate. Our contract outlined your involvement in the child’s life.”

  “Aurora promised me visitation.”

  “And I’ll honor that.”

  “But only if I come with you.”

  “Yes. You come to L.A. of your own free will and you stay with me at my house—”

  “Your house?” I looked over at him. “Why your house?”

  “I don’t trust you. You ran once already. You didn’t even tell me you were pregnant. I had to find out from a private detective.” His eyes—those expressive eyes—narrowed again. “Do you know what that was like?”

  Of course I didn’t. But I could imagine.

  He was quiet for a long minute. “What happened last night…?”

  I shook my head. “You can consider last night a lapse in judgment that won’t happen again.” I stood up and went to my dresser, dragging out a pair of jeans and random t-shirt. “You should go so I can dress.”

  “I have an errand to run,” he said as he backed up. “Be here when I get back.”

  The moment he closed the door and disappeared I sank back down on the bed and began to cry. I couldn’t believe this was happening. But it was and there nothing I could do about it.

  I pulled myself together and quickly dressed, throwing the bulk of my belongings into two duffle bags. I was too depressed to contemplate what it meant to be able to fit most of my belonging into two duffle bags. And then I got my laptop out of the living room and wrote an email to the flight attendant from whom I was subletting this apartment. I felt bad walking out on my six-month lease with her, but Nicolas wasn’t leaving me many options. I promised to make good on the rent if she couldn’t find someone else on such short notice. It was the least I could do. Then I sent Kelly an email, aware that she wouldn’t see it immediately. I didn’t want to talk to her just now. But later…I knew I would need her.

  I didn’t say a word when Nicolas came back twenty minutes later with two men—presumably the bodyguards he’d threatened me with earlier. They picked up my luggage and led the way downstairs, directing us into a black Cadillac Escalade that was parked at the curb. I could feel eyes on me. Cars like this were not common in this neighborhood. I felt like everyone knew what was happening—and that caused shame to settle on my shoulders like boulders, like I’d done something wrong that my Catholic mom would come back and haunt me for.

  Or maybe she already had. Maybe that’s how Nicolas found me.

  The thing was, my mom didn’t know what I’d agreed to do. I didn’t tell her. I thought I would wait until I was actually pregnant before I told her I was a surrogate. I thought then it might not be such a shock to her. As a Catholic, my mother would be horribly shocked to know that I wasn’t a virgin, let alone that I was pregnant. I thought, maybe, if I told her I was giving life to a child that might otherwise never have had the chance, it would be easier for her to swallow. But I never had the chance.

  Tears welled in my throat. I missed my mom.

  I curled up in the car seat and pressed my hands to my belly. I stared out the window and watched the scenery speed by so fast that I couldn’t tell a light pole from a street sign. I felt like I was being sent off to a death sentence. A little dramatic, but it fit.

  Death with a man I thought I could love.

  How wrong had I been….

  Chapter 9

  We flew to L.A. on a private jet. Nicolas sat on the opposite side of the aisle from me, talking into his smartphone most of the flight. Like in the car, I stared out the window most of the time. It was funny…my first time on a plane and I was too depressed to enjoy it.

  When we landed, Nicolas suddenly remembered I existed. He slipped into the chair beside me and leaned close to me.

  “There will likely be paparazzi outside the airport gates and outside the gates of my house. They’ve been hounding me almost constantly since Aurora’s…well, since everything exploded. It would be great if you’d keep your head down and not encourage any sort of interaction.”

  “What are you afraid I’d do? Tell them what a great guy you are?”

  Nicolas just shook his head. “This is my reputation you’re playing with here, Ana. If you think I’m an asshole now, wait until you do something to hurt my career.”

  I believed him. I just nodded, chewing on my lip so roughly that I tasted blood.

  The flight attendant opened the cabin door. Nicolas stood and grabbed me under my upper arm, leading me to the door. I could hear the paparazzi before I saw them, their voices raised in question like a swarm of bumblebees swarming a hive. Another group of bodyguards were waiting beside another black SUV, this one a Ford Explorer. I climbed into the backseat as I heard one particularly loud paparazzi ask who I was.

  “That your new girlfriend?” the voice asked. “You getting married again, Nicolas?”

  Talking to him like they were buddies, sitting around a poker table. It was offensive, even to me, and I wasn’t really the target of their questions.

  “Let’s go,” Nicolas barked to the bodyguard who climbed behind the wheel.

  The moment we drove through the gates of the private airport, several cars pulled into traffic behind us, causing something of a commotion as they cut off two other cars that were already on the road. I looked behind us, outside the back windshield, and was shocked at the insane way a few of the paparazzi were hanging out the windows in order to get pictures of the car. They couldn’t even see Nicolas, yet they were willing to put their lives at risk.

  “Turn around,” Nicolas said. “There’s no point in watching them. It only encourages them if they see you.”

  I settled back down in my seat. Nicolas was next to me, reading something on his smartphone.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is this what it was like for Aurora?”

  He glanced at me and I caught a glimpse of grief in his eyes. “It was.”

  “You don’t think—?”

  “Being constantly in the public life is difficult for everyone. Some handle it better than others. Aurora…I thought she was stronger than she was.”

  I nodded, thinking again of the excited woman I met nearly six months ago. I remember the way she looked over her shoulder from time to time when we met at her country club and that one public restaurant. I thought at the time she was looking for the waiter. Now, I thought she might have been looking to see who was watching.

  It couldn’t be all that great to be watched all the time.

  I crossed my legs and looked out the window. I’d lived in L.A. almost all my life. I didn’t want to admit it, but it was nice to be back. All the familiar sights…even the canyons of Mulholland Drive were familiar thanks to my mom’s job. And, of course, I knew the gate of Nicolas’ house from the times I’d met with Aurora there. It would be odd, walking into that house knowing that Aurora would never come walking into the room, her long, silk skirts flowing out behind her, or that I would never hear the soft, breathless tone of her voice again.

  I couldn’t imagine what it was like for Nicolas.

  I slid out of the car the moment it came to a stop in the circle drive. Nicolas rushed around to my side, taking my arm and pulling me hard against his side.

  “Don’t go wandering off without me, please.”

  “I’m just walking to the door.”

  “The paparazzi are everywhere,” he said, gesturing with his chin toward a low section of the wrought iron fence along the side of the property. I could just barely see the flash of a camera’s flash. “I don’t want them getting a clear picture of your face. Then your name will be all over the tabloids first thing in the morning and you’ll never be able to go anywhere on your own again.”

  I glanced at him, but I didn’t say anything. The thing was, I was pretty sure he was right. And that was a little frightening.

  He guided me up to the front door, careful to stand between me and the paparazzi in the bushes. Once
inside, he let go of me like I was a hot potato or something.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the living room at the back of the house. “Constance should have made up a room for you. I told her to put you in the front guest room.” He gestured toward the stairs. “It’s the second door on the left at the top of the stairs. Right next to the master.”

  “Afraid I’ll sneak out in the middle of the night?” I asked, only half serious.

  “Yes.”

  And then he disappeared, walking down the hallway that shot off from the entry way and around the side of the grand staircase.

  I went into the living room and took a water bottle from the mini-fridge in the bar. As I stood there, sipping from the bottle, I remembered how Nicolas had stood here that night months ago, drinking a huge slug of brandy from a thick crystal glass. And then I looked at the long, white couch and remembered how Aurora sat beside me the day she told me that she wanted me to be her surrogate. This wasn’t even my house, yet I had so many memories here. It was a little surreal.

  I wandered to the back doors—gorgeous French doors that looked out on a huge, well-tended garden. There were low bushes, beautiful trees, and roses everywhere. I found myself imagining a little girl running around out there, her father lifting her in the air and spinning her around as she laughed down into his face. This was the kind of place where a child would have an idyllic childhood. I touched my belly lightly.

  “You are a lucky one,” I said to the baby nestled inside.

  “Mija?”

  I turned and cried out at the sight of Constance. I ran to her and threw my arms around her neck, so grateful to see someone I knew, someone I loved and whom I knew loved me back, that I was overwhelmed with emotion. I pressed my face to her neck and sobbed almost like I had on Nicolas’ shoulder the day before. The difference was, I knew Constance wouldn’t judge me and she wouldn’t play on my vulnerabilities to get me to do something I shouldn’t.

  “How are you, nina?”

  I shrugged. “I miss mi madre.”

  “I know, mija, I know. I miss her, too.”

  She pulled me close and kissed my forehead. “But she’s okay. You know that. She’s looking down on us, and she’s so proud.”

  I shook my head, more tears falling from my eyes. “She would be ashamed of me. Of what I’ve done.”

  “No.” Constance touched my belly lightly. “She would be happy to see you bringing life into the world. And this child is even more special because she comes from you.”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Don’t tell me no sabe, nina,” Constance said. “You may not believe it, but ya se.”

  If I’d learned anything growing up with a single mom and a woman like Constance, it was that you didn’t argue with a woman who said she knew what she was talking about. So I just nodded, trying in vain to stall the flow of tears.

  “Te amo,” she whispered against my ear. “Everything will be okay.”

  I wanted to believe her, but then I saw Nicolas watching us from the hallway. I couldn’t read his expression because he was standing in shadow, but the fact that he turned away the moment he saw me watching him told me everything I needed to know.

  It wasn’t going to be okay. I was held prisoner by a man who was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, including using me to take the child growing in my womb. I wasn’t sure this man was capable of love. He clearly hadn’t loved his wife. How was he going to love a child?

  How could I allow this child to come into the world aware that it would be stuck with a father who couldn’t care less about her emotional wellbeing?

  I couldn’t. It was as simple as that.

  Chapter 10

  “Ms. Martinez.”

  I nodded, more out of habit that anything else. The doctor smiled as he approached me, his hand outstretched.

  “Dr. Bishop.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The doctor glanced at Nicolas and did something of a double take. But he caught himself and his voice was quite neutral when he said, “I’m guessing you’re the father.”

  “I am.” Nicolas held out his hand. “Nicolas Costa.”

  The doctor nodded. He’d clearly known that.

  The introductions out of the way, the doctor settled on a stool in front of a computer monitor that hung on a retractable arm against the wall.

  “It’ll be a few weeks before we get your chart from your last doctor, so I’ll have to ask a lot of questions,” Dr. Bishop said as he typed away at the keyboard. “You’re fifteen weeks, correct?”

  “A day short of sixteen weeks,” I said.

  He nodded. “And you haven’t had any issues in this pregnancy? No bleeding, cramps, swelling, excessive nausea, or vomiting?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  “Good. And are you feeling any movements yet?”

  “No.”

  Dr. Bishop looked up, his eyes moving from my face to Nicolas’. “That’s perfectly normal,” he said. “Most first time mothers don’t feel any definitive movement until about eighteen weeks. I’ve even had a few who didn’t feel anything until twenty weeks.”

  Nicolas let out a breath near my ear. I glanced back at him, surprised by the tension I could see in his jaw. What did he have to be worried about? I was the one carrying the baby in my belly.

  “Any morning sickness?”

  “No. Just a little nausea when I smell things like coffee or cigarette smoke.”

  “Also normal.” The doctor laughed a little. “A great deterrent for my patients who don’t see a reason to avoid caffeine or cigarettes.”

  “You have patients who smoke during pregnancy?” Nicolas asked, his tone incredulous.

  “Oh, yeah. Some women figure if their mothers did it when they were pregnant with them, there’s no reason for them not to do it with their kids. What they don’t understand is that the damage is sometimes undetectable, but there’s damage just the same.”

  The doctor was quiet for a moment as he looked through his computer chart. Then he frowned, clicking on something several times before he glanced at me.

  “Is there a family history of diabetes in your family?”

  I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”

  “I see here that you only listed medical history for your mother’s side of the family.”

  My face warmed a little. “I don’t know anything about my father or his family.”

  “That’s fine,” the doctor said, rolling his little stool over to the examination table and touching my hand lightly. “But it also leaves something of a black hole in your medical history.”

  “She had a whole workup before she got pregnant,” Nicolas said. “They didn’t find anything on that.”

  Dr. Bishop nodded. “I see that in her chart. You were with Dr. Beattie?”

  “Yes. My wife’s infertility doctor. However, we decided to go a different direction for the actual pregnancy and delivery.”

  Dr. Bishop nodded again, clearly one of those men who hated to disagree with anything anyone had to say.

  “Not a problem,” he said. “The workup actually helps. But the problem is, your wife’s urine tested positive for sugar this afternoon.”

  “I’m not—” I started to say, but Nicolas cut in.

  “Is that bad?”

  “Well, sugar usually doesn’t spill into the urine until it is over 180. Normal is under 140. So it is a bit of a concern. I’d like to send her to our lab to have some more testing done. If it’s what’s called gestational diabetes, we can get it under control fairly easily.” He patted my hand again. “Nothing to worry about.”

  He picked up a device that looked kind of like a short, fat microphone and gestured for me to lie back.

  “Why don’t we listen to that baby’s heartbeat?”

  Nicolas scooted over and pressed his hand to my shoulder, helping me lower myself against the cheap, flat pillow at the head of the bed. Then, he watched as the doctor pus
hed aside the oversized t-shirt I was wearing. My belly was exposed, sticking up like a four-square ball, my belly button stretched and flattened like someone was pulling at it from multiple different directions. The doctor squeezed a little lubricant on my belly toward the top and pressed the tip of his probe against it.

  After a second, the room filled with these screeching, annoying sounds, like feedback from a microphone. But then a quick, steady thump could be heard. Thump-thump-thump. I smiled recognizing the confident heartbeat of the baby. Nicolas gasped, his hand seeking mine and squeezing as our fingers became intertwined.

  “That’s amazing,” he whispered.

  “You haven’t heard it before?” Dr. Bishop asked, a little frown crossing his face. He moved the probe some more, and the heartbeat came back, louder than before. And a little faster, too, if my sense of rhythm was anything like it was in high school. Dr. Bishop caught my eye and asked, “Have you had a sonogram, Ms. Martinez?”

  “Just once, when I was eight weeks. They said everything looked fine.”

  Dr. Bishop looked as though he wanted to ask another question, but he stopped mid-grunt. He stood and went to the door. A moment later he was back, wiping the lubricant from my belly.

  “I’m going to have the nurse bring in the sonogram machine so that we can take a closer look at what’s going on in there.”

  “Is something wrong?” Nicolas asked, quickly letting go of my hand.

  “I don’t think so. I just want to have a look.”

  But doctors don’t just take a look on a whim. He’d heard something within the heartbeat. And now my heart was pounding, jumping almost as fast as the baby’s. What if something was wrong? What if the baby had some sort of defect or something? Had I done something? Did I not eat enough fruits and vegetables? Should I have avoided tea, too? Was it the fast food tacos that I craved so much my first trimester?

  As these thoughts whirled through my mind over and over, the nurse brought in the sonogram machine. It seemed to take an hour for them to figure out all the cords and get it up and running. And then Dr. Bishop was squeezing more lubricant on my belly and pressing a new probe to my bump.