by Emerson Rose
I moved in above the club with King when I was five months along because my mama was insufferable. She pouted and complained and bitched and moaned on and on about my decision to keep the baby. She had me so depressed that there were days that King had to come and force me out of bed.
It got so bad that Daddy moved into a hotel nearby after a huge blowout in the middle of the grocery store. Right there, between the celery and the tomatoes, she lost her shit and started screaming that she’d wasted her entire life supporting my dream, and that I was an ungrateful, selfish daughter with no respect. He turned around and left her gripping the shopping cart in the hard light of the produce aisle, with customers staring while she shouted after him. And when she noticed, she shouted at them to mind their own business. I know this because Mr. Jefferies told Mrs. Moore, who of course passed the juicy gossip on to her book club that Savannah’s mother attends. Small world.
I visited Daddy in his hotel room one afternoon and listened as he confirmed the story. I felt so guilty, but he assured me that it was a long time coming and that they had been pretending for years to be happy for my sake—and that made me feel even guiltier.
I hated leaving him there. The room was so cold and unlike home, with no photographs or knickknacks, only generic lamps and a clock radio that was cemented to the bedside table. King offered to put him up somewhere nicer, but he declined, as I knew he would. Daddy’s too proud for that.
Daddy was the only buffer between my mother and me, so when he left, I did too. King insisted. He said the stress wasn’t good for the baby or me, but I knew he just really wanted to have me under his roof, and to be honest, it was a huge relief. He was right, too, of course. I got more rest, ate healthier, got more exercise—in and out of bed—and felt a million times better.
King has also been teaching me to drive, and yeah . . . that’s been interesting. I never got my license when everybody else did in high school. I never went anywhere besides practice and school, and if I did, Mama insisted on driving me.
It’s crazy how easy it is to see that she was controlling me now that I’m out of her grasp. I never questioned her decisions or her rules because she brainwashed me into believing it was all for me—for my future, for my career—but now, I think a lot of that was her trying to live vicariously through me to achieve her own dreams.
So at age twenty, I am learning to drive. Learning to drive is not something to do when your hormone levels are roller coasting up and down. Poor King is so patient, though. More than once, we had to pull over so I could cry. Everything sounds so much more critical when you’re pregnant. ‘Holland, you need to put on your blinker to switch lanes.’ ‘Holland, ease up on the gas.’ ‘Holland, watch out. Squirrel!’ Ugh, I got so frustrated, but he was persistent, and today, Sebastián is taking me to the Department of Transportation to get my license. King had to leave town unexpectedly for the day, and I want to surprise him with it when he gets home tonight.
I really wanted Savannah to go with me, but she’s working at a cosmetics counter full time at Saks Fifth Avenue. I miss her so much. King is wonderful, but sometimes a girl just needs her best girlfriend. I’m proud of her, though. She couldn’t afford to go to college, and she’s doing something she’s awesome at. King offered to pay for her to go to cosmetology school, but she said no. She’s afraid she won’t do well and his money will go to waste if she flunks, and she says nobody’s going to sing Beauty School Dropout behind her back. I am convinced she would flourish if she just gave it a chance. She’s smart when she applies herself. I’m not giving up on her, though. That girl is phenomenal with hair and makeup, and I’m not about to let that talent go to waste.
Five minutes later, when I’m about to text King and complain about being cold, Sebastián pulls up to the curb in the Bentley. Not very many people my age can say they learned to drive in a Bentley, but not very many people are involved with a man like King. The Bentley is pretentious, but so is King—to an extent—but his boyish charm more than makes up for it.
The window glides down and Sebastián leans across the seat.
“Don’t move. I’ll come around,” he says.
I wait until the window is up to roll my eyes. My helicopter boyfriend is rubbing off on everyone around us. Sebastián won’t even so much as let me open my own car door.
“Thanks, Sebastián.” I step off the curb and lower myself into the front seat, holding onto the edge of the roof. When I think I’m close, I release my hand and plop the rest of the way into the soft, warmed leather seat. I turn to Sebastián and smile with pride. Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. He doesn’t like me to do any plopping at this point in my pregnancy. He’s scared it’ll break my water or something, and honestly, I’m not sure it wouldn’t, but I’m just too large and in charge to help it now.
“Please be careful, Ms. Benn—Holland.” Sebastián hasn’t been able to stop calling me Ms. Bennett, but when he does, he corrects himself right away. One afternoon I had an emotional meltdown. He called me Ms. Bennett, and I cried for half an hour because I thought it sounded so old.
“How are you feeling this afternoon?” he asks when we’re both buckled in and pulling into traffic.
“Fine. Cold. Can we turn up the heat?” I briskly rub my hands together and begin to relax my tense muscles into the heated seat. I love heated seats. I didn’t even know there was such a thing until I got into King’s Audi for the first time and thought I was wetting my pants when the warmth spread across my butt and thighs. King thought that was hilarious. He chuckled all the way to the symphony that night.
“Of course.” Sebastián taps a button on the steering wheel column, increasing the flow of hot air until I’m sweating, which doesn’t take more than three minutes in my condition.
“I’m dying of heat stroke, Sebastián,” I say, pressing my hand to my forehead and fanning myself. He turns the heat down with a sigh, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I’m sick of being pregnant. I’m not gonna lie—I want my body back, and I’m sick of being so damn emotional.
At the DOT, he jumps out to open my door, and by the grace of God, he allows me to walk in alone, on my own two feet.
The smell of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke are mildly nauseating in the waiting area where I snap ticket number 800 from the dispenser. I say a little prayer thanking God that King quit smoking in my second trimester, and then I say another when the display screen shows that they are on #799. I squirm in one of the uncomfortable chairs and drop my purse on accident. I watch it sag onto the floor between my feet . . . great. I’ll probably throw up if I bend over that far to get it. Should I wait for Sebastián or attempt to pick it up myself? The DOT isn’t the kind of place you take your hands off your purse in, so I scoot my legs to the side and reach for the beautiful bag King gave me for my birthday last August. My fingers just barely skim the leather strap when a feminine, well-manicured hand takes my elbow.
“Let me, baby, don’t hurt yourself.” The woman rights me in my seat and easily squats down to grab my purse. She hands it to me, smiling and glancing at my big belly.
“Oh gosh, thank you so much. It’s impossible to reach anything these days.”
“No problem. I remember being pregnant all too well,” she says.
“I can’t believe people do this more than once,” I say. I adjust myself in the hard chair and catch a glimpse of Sebastián coming through the door.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be one of those people,” she says, chuckling.
“I’m Candy. Nice to meet you.” She thrusts her hand out, and I reach across my belly to shake it.
“I’m Holland, and thanks again,” I say, looking down at my purse and back up at her.
“Is everything okay here?” Sebastián says as he approaches.
“Yes, fine, Sebastián. I just dropped my purse, and Candy here saved me from falling on my face trying to get it.” I gesture toward Candy, but Sebastián ignores her.
“You could have waited. I told you I wouldn’t be long.”
I hold up my hand vertical to my cheek, blocking Candy’s view of me, and purposely whisper loudly, “This place is sorta shady, Daddy. I didn’t want anybody snatching my purse.” He rolls his eyes and takes the seat on my left, and Candy sits down on my right. I’m surprised at his lack of manners. Sebastián has never been overly chummy with strangers, but he is always respectful.
“Your daddy’s kinda cute,” Candy says quietly, looking around me at Sebastián. He stares straight ahead and never acknowledges her compliment. What a stick in the mud. He can’t be mad that I teased him about his age, because he is old enough to be my daddy, maybe even my pop, so I don’t know why his panties are in a wad.
“He’s not really my daddy. I was just kidding.” I turn to join her in assessing Sebastián. He shifts in his chair and places his ankle on his knee while he tries not to look at us.
“Hmm, too bad. I could have been a grandma,” Candy says.
“Number 800.” A robotic voice announces over the PA.
“That’s me,” I say, and Sebastián rises from his chair to help me up.
“It was nice to meet you, Candy. He’s usually more friendly. Sorry . . .” I say. Sebastián snorts in disgust and places his hand on the small of my back to guide me away.
“It’s okay, sugar. Good luck with the baby.” She has such a genuine, warm smile, and I miss her companionship as soon as we walk away.
Savannah hasn’t been right across the street for a long time, and although I still see her often, it’s not the same. I miss girl talk.
“Thanks,” I say as Sebastián practically pushes me toward the counter where I sign my name and have my picture taken. Ten minutes later, a heavyset woman in a tight polyester DOT uniform hands me my first driver’s license. The picture looks like a mug shot. I’m puffy and pale, but inside, my old skinny self is jumping up and down with excitement, chanting I did it! I did it! For a moment, I almost regret not waiting for King to share this milestone with me, but there aren’t many ways to surprise a billionaire.
“So why were you so rude in there?” I ask Sebastián when we’re headed home.
“I wasn’t rude. You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
“I couldn’t just let her pick up my purse and not thank her.”
“Yes, you could have. She could have been a pickpocket. Did you check your bag?” Sebastián gestures toward my purse.
“You’ve been in security too long.”
“Maybe so, but you’re my responsibility while King is gone, and you are his top priority, so that means you’re my top priority.”
“Well, I’ve been making it through every day for twenty years without the two of you, so I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”
“Holland . . . do you remember when I told you to stay away from him, that he was dangerous? Nothing has changed. If you hadn’t been pregnant, you could have gotten away. You would never have been associated with him and you wouldn’t be a target. King is extremely thorough when it comes to your security for a good reason. Anybody who has a problem with him knows that his weakness is you.”
I watch Sebastián’s foot moving from the break to the accelerator and back to break. I’m a target, a weakness? The idea crossed my mind early on in our relationship, but King has always made me feel so comfortable and safe.
Sebastián glances over to me and back to the road.
“I don’t mean to scare you, but I can only protect you as much as you allow me to. If you don’t know you’re in danger, how can you watch out for it?”
“Should I be worried about something specific, Sebastián?”
Sebastián maneuvers the car across two lanes of traffic and pulls into a hardware parking lot. He shifts into park with the car still running and turns his full attention on me.
“You are always in danger. You will always be in danger, and so is your child. Unless King finds some way to get out of this business, you will be looking over your shoulders for the rest of your lives.”
My gaze drifts away from his dark eyes to the passenger window, where raindrops are beginning to drizzle down the glass. The weather seems to be mirroring my mood. His words repeat in my head, and for the millionth time in the past eight months, I wonder how my life could have taken such a drastic turn. Sometimes my reflections are upbeat and pleasant, like how could I have possibly found such a loving, caring man? Other times, like right now, I can only imagine what an ominous, dark life King leads and how much danger his life brings to us all.
My silence is Sebastián’s cue to take me home. He makes sure I’m inside the apartment and that I’ve locked the doors before he leaves me—if he ever really leaves me.
I pad down the hall to our bedroom, strip down to my bra and panties, and crawl in between the two thousand thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets. Lightning flashes through the room, casting long shadows on the wall, and five seconds later, I jump when a crack of thunder follows. I usually enjoy a good thunderstorm, but it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and King’s dangerous life is weighing heavy on my mind. I need the escape that only sleep can bring.
Chapter 24
King
This long fucking day needs to be over. I hate being away from Holland, and I spent fifty percent of my day in the air flying to and from Miami and the other half dealing with distributors and the incompetent replacements for the members that were gunned down in my club eight months ago. When I drag my ass into the apartment, the only thing I can think about is crawling into bed with Holland. I promised her I wouldn’t be gone all night, but the storm delayed me for hours. Technically, I made it, though, since it’s before midnight.
The apartment is dark and quiet. I’m standing at the kitchen table with my suit coat draped over my arm, shuffling through the mail, when a dim sliver of light cutting across the floor outside our bedroom catches my eye. She’s probably awake. She’s up every couple of hours going to the bathroom lately, and as happy as I am to talk to her, I wish she were getting better sleep.
I make my way quietly down the hall, loosening my tie, and pause at the threshold of the bedroom. She’s sleeping. The soft glow of the light on her bedside table illuminates her flawless skin. She looks like an angel curled around her white body pillow, wearing her bra that she has begun to grow out of in the most delicious way and lace panties. She refused to buy larger lingerie, choosing to wear her panties under her belly. She says it’s comfortable, but I think it’s vanity, and that’s okay. She has no reason to worry about her changing body. As far as I’m concerned, she’s more gorgeous now than she’s ever been, soft in all the best places and toned in others. She’s been working out every day with me since the nausea let up, and she couldn’t be in better shape.
The curtains are open. She must have fallen asleep watching the storm. I could stand here and watch her soft shoulder rise and fall with every breath for hours, but the duvet is slipping onto the floor, leaving her uncovered.
There was a time when she couldn’t sleep without being covered. She used to curl up in my arms to stay warm, but no more. I’ve even had Sebastián turn the air conditioning back to where I kept it before I met her. I can hardly remember life without Holland. There’s never been a more perfect example of love at first sight. The moment I laid eyes on her, my life began. Her stormy grey eyes called to my soul, and her mature, talented personality unlocked my heart. Add to that a baby, and you have perfection.
I cross the room and right the duvet without disturbing her and notice her open purse on the bed by her feet. Why is she sleeping with her purse? I pick it up to move it and notice her open wallet on top, sporting a brand new driver’s license. She got her license while I was gone? I’ve been teaching her to drive for months, and she went and got her license without me?
“I wanted to surprise you,” she says in a sleepy voice from under the duvet.
I pull the puffy material away from her face. “I didn’t mean to wake you. This
is awesome, baby,” I say holding up her wallet. “You didn’t want to wait for me?”
She turns to her back and slides her arms out from under the covers and flops them down at her sides, pulling the blanket taught and accentuating her pregnant belly. “I couldn’t have King Romero sitting in the smelly DOT, waiting with me for my license,” she says, widening her eyes and placing her hand over her heart.
“Me? It’s you who shouldn’t be sitting in that germ-infested ghetto room, exposing King Jr. to who knows what.”
I hang her bag over the arm of a chair next to the window, toe off my shoes, and undress while she watches. When I’m clad in just my boxers, I climb in next to her, not even wasting time to round the bed to my own side.
“Scoot, Little Mama.” I nudge her gently and slip her body pillow out from under her arms and legs and slide it over to my side of the bed. I’m her body pillow now.
“I’m not so little anymore.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Well, since I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .”
“Pregnancy agrees with you, baby,” I say, tucking a wayward lock of her hair behind her ear and kissing the tip of her nose, earning me an eye roll.
“As long as you think so, I guess that’s all that matters.”
“You’d better believe it, sexy.” I slide my hand over the curve of her hip and behind her knee, pulling her leg up over mine. A trademark moan escapes her lips, and I’m a goner.
“You cannot make those noises and expect me to sleep.”
“I’m not expecting you to sleep.” Her arms snake around my neck and she attempts to press her core against my growing erection, but there is a very important certain someone playing cock block.
