“I’m just an intellectual property lawyer,” Roberta told him, but then she looked at me seriously, “however, your dad is right. This is not a good idea for many reasons.”
I frowned at their resolute expressions. My dad had called my aunt over to talk some sense into me.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said eventually as they continued to stare at me. “I think mom would like that I’m helping someone who wants a family. And God knows we could use the money.”
Roberta picked up the contract and slid it across the dining room table at me. Her eyes searched mine for common ground or compromise. “Izzie, have you read this contract?” she asked me carefully. “It’s very detailed. Very explicit. Connor Prince has resources we can’t even dream of to impose his will on you if you agree to this and then change your mind. You need to understand that this is very real, and very enforceable.”
I nodded. “I read it.” I hadn’t understood all that much of it, but I read it.
“This man wants to control basically every aspect of your life during a pregnancy created using your genetic material. You would be this baby’s genetic mother. And then, when the baby is born, you would have no rights. None.” She stared at me like she was worried for my sanity. My dad’s expression matched.
I shrugged my shoulders. “That’s normal for a surrogacy agreement, isn’t it?” I asked. “He wants to secure his, um, investment. I’m sure this baby would be fine with his family.”
One day, I wanted to have a baby of my own. In that fantasy, I’d also have a husband, a house, and a white picket fence. I’d have my shit together. This obviously wasn’t that. For whatever reason, I was alright with the idea of this baby having another family that didn’t involve me. It felt like I was doing a good deed to help Connor Prince have his wish.
Roberta exchanged a look with my dad. They both looked worried. “I don’t know whether it’s normal or not, again, I’m not that kind of lawyer, but I do think you need to think very carefully about this, and all the reasons you might end up miserable.”
“You need to call that man up and tell him to go to hell,” my dad interjected. “He’s clearly unhinged. Did you see that place where he lived? It was bizarre.”
“The castle was a bit weird.” I couldn’t deny that. “But just because he’s a bit eccentric doesn’t mean he’s unhinged.”
I didn’t know what to think of Connor Prince. He seemed so earnest about his desire for a child. Was he also scary? Yes.
“No, his attempted murder conviction means he’s unhinged,” my dad replied.
I nibbled on my bottom lip. “That was a long time ago. People can change.”
“You can’t seriously be considering this,” my dad said for about the one billionth time. “It’s a terrible idea.”
“It’s a million dollars,” I replied. “And if it really gets to be too much, then it’s still a half a million dollars. I have to at least consider it.”
I got the full payment if I made it through the entire pregnancy living under Connor Prince’s roof. I got the half payment if I moved out. But either way, I’d have much more money than I’d ever thought possible. The wear and tear on me seemed well worth it.
“There’s no amount of money that’s worth what he’s asking,” my dad said. He still looked sickened by the very idea.
“It’s just nine months,” I argued. “I can do anything for nine months.”
“Even have his baby?” my dad asked.
I shrugged. “It’s not like we’re conceiving the old-fashioned way,” I managed. “The baby will be made in an office.”
That detail didn’t seem to matter to my dad.
“You don’t have to do this,” Roberta reminded me, wading in because my dad seemed positively speechless. “You can find another job.”
I frowned. “I haven’t made my mind up yet one way or the other.” I took a deep breath. “But I should probably make a choice soon. I have a feeling Connor Prince is going to want an answer.”
Connor
The Choice
Four days went by with no contact from Isabelle. Four days of pacing. Four nights of tossing and turning. Ninety-six hours of nearly unbearable waiting and worrying that the unbearable waiting would last forever. And then…
“She said yes?”
My voice was so high and so shocked, it sounded like it was coming from another man. Or, not even a man. A pimple-covered, spindly teenage boy whose voice was changing right before his Bar Mitzvah. My voice hadn’t cracked in twenty years. It was cracking now.
It felt like fate that I’d run into her. I walked out of that elevator and within another thirty seconds I’d been texting Luc to track her down.
And she said yes?!
My weird plans hardly ever worked out this well. They hardly ever worked out at all. I’d been looking for a surrogate for three years. Three very long, very frustrating years.
Luc tipped his head to the side, taking in my disbelief and—I think—savoring it. “She said maybe. But I think she’ll say yes if you go and talk to her.”
“Talk to her again?” I asked. We’d already talked. “Why?”
“Yes. Talk to her. Like we’re doing now you see, only with her.” He shook his head. “To answer her questions, obviously.”
Luc tended to treat me like I was a small child when I was annoying him. Then again, I tended to yell at him when he was annoying me, so I probably deserved it. I wasn’t an easy man to work for or befriend. Somehow, Luc had managed to do both. He was irreplaceable and he knew it.
“Why would that make a difference?” I asked. “I don’t know what I’d have to tell her that you haven’t already said better than I would, or I’ve already said, or is in the contract.”
Besides, I wasn’t good with people. Especially women. I was all-around terrible with women. And Luc knew that, too. I might ruin a good thing if I talked to her. I might scare her away.
“I think she really wants to know what she’s getting into,” Luc explained. “You’re asking a lot of her.”
“I’m paying top dollar.” I wasn’t about to lowball anybody on carrying my baby. No way. I needed them to take this as seriously as I did.
“And I’m sure that’s factoring into her decision, but this is still her body we’re talking about. Remember, this child will be genetically half hers. She’ll be giving up any right to it once it’s born, but I’d imagine she still wants to know that the baby will be well cared for. She’s going to conceive, carry, and deliver it. She’s going to care about it. Plus, she probably wants to know you aren’t a psychopath.”
I frowned. He was right, as usual. I was asking a lot. I should probably talk to the woman before I tried to have her artificially inseminated. “Okay,” I ventured. “I’ll talk to her again. Can you have her brought here tonight?”
Luc stared at me. “No. She’s not a pizza. I can’t deliver her on command. Come on, Connor, we’re trying to convince her you aren’t a psychopath, remember?”
Right. Of course not. I’d gotten so used to having things on command—food, Amazon deliveries, movies… Apparently surrogates were not an on-demand service yet.
I attempted a diplomatic tone of voice. “Of course. Then what do you suggest?”
“Lunch.”
“It’s almost ten p.m.”
“Lunch tomorrow, Connor.”
Tomorrow? That was so far away. “Fine,” I grumbled. Luc stared at me. “That sounds great,” I amended. I could only hope that Isabelle wouldn’t be as touchy and sensitive as Luc was.
“More questions?” I asked, the next time I saw her.
Isabelle smirked. “You really shouldn’t be surprised.”
We were meeting at a restaurant that Luc had recommended. Somewhere that was neutral territory would be less intimidating for her, he’d said. I was listening to him now. Bringing her to my house had been too much all at once, plus it had resulted in her dad barging in and taking her away. Instead, we were at Rafael
’s—a little hole in the wall Italian joint in West Hollywood.
“I don’t know what I can tell you that isn’t in the contract,” I told her, settling down in front of her at the tiny table. The restaurant was far too intimate and romantic for my liking. It was a place you take a date, not the place you negotiated for a baby. I’d not had much practice at either, but I knew I felt uncomfortable.
Isabelle seemed not to notice my dislike of the scenery. She was too busy looking at her menu with worry and chewing on her bottom lip.
“I want to discuss some of the contract terms with you,” she said. “I’m worried that I’m going to be virtually your prisoner for nine months.”
I frowned. “The contract is non-negotiable, Izzie.”
She blinked. “What did you call me?”
“Izzie?” Her eyes widened. She had beautiful eyes, brown and soft like the color of a fawn. I hoped the baby had her eyes. “Isn’t that what you go by? Your dad called you that…”
“Never call me that,” she snapped. “My parents and close friends call me that.”
I paused. “I’m sorry, Isabelle.” I hadn’t meant to offend her. “I didn’t know.”
I’d already started calling her that in my brain. Izzie, the woman who was going to have my baby. Izzie, who was valuable, important. It was incredible how quickly my mind had taken ownership of her. I knew she didn’t belong to me, but for nine months or so, she’d be in my, well, custody. Sort of. I’d be responsible for her. For making sure she was safe so the baby would be safe. And in these fantasies that my mind was so eagerly weaving for itself, she was already Izzie.
She swallowed. “I think it’s better if we don’t pretend that we’re going to be anything but business associates,” she said. “It’s clear from this contract that you’re looking for someone to perform a service for you. Nothing more. Nothing less. I don’t think it’s a good idea if we stray from those boundaries. So, please, never call me Izzie.”
I blinked. “Okay. Sorry. That makes sense.”
It did. She was right. I shouldn’t think of her as mine. And I certainly wasn’t her friend or family member. If that nickname was only for the people close to her, or people that she’d allowed to call her that, then I wasn’t on the list. I was asking her to respect a lot of my requirements. I could respect this one of hers.
“What did you want to discuss?” I ventured. I hadn’t been expecting her to snap at me, but all I could do now was hope that I hadn’t soured her on the idea entirely.
“I wanted to know if you’d be willing to explain some of the contract terms to me.” Her hesitance was back. Her big dark eyes were fathomless. “I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do for nine months hanging out in your house.” She frowned. “Gestation isn’t exactly an activity.”
I blinked, confused. “What do you mean, gestation isn’t an activity?”
Of course, it was an activity. One I couldn’t do myself.
“I won’t have anything to do.” She pulled out the contract that I’d handed her four days prior, now heavily marked up with little sticky notes and handwritten scribbles. “This states that ‘the Surrogate will reside at the Parent’s home for the duration of the pregnancy and will schedule any activities only with the prior authorization of the Parent. Activities, exercise, meals, appointments, visits, shopping trips, leisure pursuits, and day trips during the pregnancy will be approved by the Parent in advance, in writing.”
I nodded. I’d been very careful to add in that language. I didn’t want Izzie—Isabelle—doing anything that could jeopardize the baby’s health. “I’m not willing to budge on that language.”
“Then what am I supposed to do all day?” Isabelle asked. “I should work. I can work up until I deliver. Pregnancy isn’t an illness.”
“Absolutely not. You will not work.” She recoiled at my tone.
“There will be plenty for you to do,” I promised. “You can read, draw, go swimming within reason, go for walks within reason, talk on the phone, use the internet…”
“But I can’t leave,” she said. “Not without your permission. In writing. In advance.”
“Right.”
“Why? You don’t trust me?”
“Don’t take it personally,” I told her. “I’m just looking out for my baby.”
“Your baby would not be harmed by me spending the night at my house. Or living there.” She frowned. “I feel like if you’re going to trust me to carry the baby, you ought to trust me enough to have a little freedom.”
I shook my head. There was no way. I wasn’t going to soften that language. Not even a little bit. Not even a word. “If you want the money, those are my terms. End of story.”
Isabelle stared at me. “You don’t trust me, but you’re asking me to trust you. I’ll be dependent on you in every way. For medical care. For clothing and shelter. Even for my meals.”
“I guarantee you’ll eat better, more nutritious food than you have in your life,” I told her. “You’re going to want for nothing. Did you read the section on getting regular massages, manicures, and pedicures? Keeping stress at bay is important during pregnancy. The whole idea is to make you comfortable. Happy. Safe.”
I honestly didn’t understand her concern. Especially about working. Working was out of the question.
She frowned. “I read the contract in its entirety.”
Given the markup she’d done on the contract, I believed her. “It’s only for nine months,” I told her. “After that, you never have to see me again.”
She blinked. “That’s not what it says. It says I’m never to contact you ever again.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No. It’s not. Saying that I never have to see you again implies that I don’t want to ever see you again. This contract states that I’m not allowed to ever see you again. That’s different.”
“Semantics.” It wasn’t, not really. I knew the difference. But it seemed pointless to get into it with her. The baby was going to be mine. Only mine. Better to keep those boundaries strong from the start.
She sighed.
Something about the look on her face worried me.
“Your father doesn’t want you to do this.”
She nodded her head and her brown hair, again in long braids, bobbed back and forth.
“He really doesn’t.” Her expression was stubborn. “But it isn’t up to him. I need this money. And it’s my body.” She took a deep breath. “Look, I already signed the contract. So, I guess my reservations don’t much matter.” She slid her copy of the contract across the table to me. I stared at it, shocked and unable to speak. “But for what it’s worth, keeping me in a gilded cage for nine months is crazy.”
About thirty seconds of tense silence went by. “It might be crazy, but it’s worth exactly a million dollars to you,” I finally managed, pulling the contract back to me and scribbling my own signature next to hers. “And a baby for me.”
10
Isabelle
The Castle
I signed the contract, and then I didn’t have any direct contact with Connor Prince for four weeks.
Even though I’d seen the castle before, it was no less intimidating the second time around when I arrived for my extended stay. Not knowing what to expect from Connor was probably even scarier. He hadn’t come to my many doctors’ appointments, even the one that resulted in my now-confirmed, new pregnancy with his child.
I’d been expecting something more from him, some sort of personal contact or interest, but there was nothing. I guess I should have known I was merely a vessel. I wasn’t sure if I should be disappointed or relieved, but since we signed the paperwork, all my contact with Connor Prince had been through Luc, or his accountant, Jimmy Wentworth. I figured I’d see him now, though, given that I was moving in.
However, it was Jimmy and not Connor who met me at the front door when I arrived for my nine-month-long stay. He stared at me like I was late.
“There you
are,” he said, smiling nervously. Jimmy reminded me a bit of a more anxious, less British, James Corden. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bumpy. I’m glad the weather held for you.”
I shrugged. “Bumpy?” Was that a dig on my battered, electric blue 2011 Hyundai Accent? “It was fine.” In reality, I had to downshift the whole way, but that was neither here nor there. “Where should I park?” I’d left the car literally right next to the front door.
Jimmy shrugged. “You can leave it right there. If you give me your keys, I’ll have your car put in the garage.”
Wow. Valet service. Fancy.
“Sure,” I said, handing them over. “But be careful when you shift into reverse. It has a tendency to slip into neutral unless you jiggle it a bit.”
Jimmy looked pained.
“We really should have sent a car,” he mumbled. “Or better yet, the helicopter.”
“No, no,” I promised him. His concern was totally unnecessary. Irritating even. “It was completely fine. The car’s totally safe and I’m a very good driver.”
Jimmy raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “I’ll also have your luggage brought up,” he added after a moment. His eyes slid over my three battered duffle bags, one of which was held together with duct tape. “You didn’t bring very much. Is there more in the car?”
“I can carry it,” I told him. “And no. This is all I brought. I figured I can always go back and get more things if I need them when I go home to visit.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Oh, um, of course. But please, let me carry your bags up. Connor was insistent that you not carry anything heavy.” He said. “He made me promise.”
“Really, I’ve got it,” I told him. I didn’t want or need to be coddled. I was all of two weeks pregnant. I certainly didn’t feel pregnant. I didn’t feel anything. I’d only missed one period so far. I carried much heavier things on set all day.
Baby and the Beast Page 4
