Jimmy looked horrified. “If you recall, not carrying heavy items was in the contract,” he reminded me. He was frowning at me like I was a failure of a surrogate mother already.
I blinked at him. “These really aren’t heavy,” I said, demonstrating by lifting the fifteen-pound bag with one arm. “They’re nothing. I could juggle these.”
Jimmy paled. “I insist on carrying everything. Please.”
This nervous little man must live in fear of his employer. How a mousy little guy like him and Connor Prince managed to converse was a mystery I’d probably never unravel. Maybe they left each other notes.
I dropped the bag on the ground. “Okay. Okay. Have it your way.” I looked around. “So now what? Where’s Connor? I figured he’d be here…” I trailed off.
Jimmy looked uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. “Mr. Prince is on a business trip. He’ll be back in a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” I stuttered. “If he’s gone for weeks, how am I supposed to get him to sign off on my activities? I can barely go pee without his permission.”
“Oh, um,” Jimmy stuttered. “Well, I can always email him…”
“Email him?” I hissed. “I have to email him about whether I can drive to town to see a movie? What am I? Fifteen?” My heart rate doubled. I’d just gotten here, and I already felt like a prisoner.
“Actually,” Jimmy said, “I’ll email him for you. It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to directly email—”
“What?!”
Jimmy blanched at my expression and mumbled something about the contract. I felt my blood pressure rising.
“Jimmy,” I said carefully. “How do I contact him if I need something?”
“There you are!” Luc said, sweeping up from behind Jimmy. He must have a sixth sense for trouble. “Welcome home! I hope Jimmy here isn’t being too inhospitable.” He shot Jimmy a disapproving look. “You’ll have to excuse him,” he added in a stage whisper. “Jimmy’s never met a pregnant woman before. He’s very frightened.”
Luc’s arrival at least temporarily eclipsed my worries about Connor. Luc, at least, was fairly normal. I smiled, and Jimmy glared at Luc.
“That’s not remotely true,” Jimmy replied. He straightened his bow tie, perhaps not realizing that it made him look ridiculously prim. “I’ve met plenty of pregnant women over the years. I met one just the other day at the post office.”
“Of course, you have,” Luc said soothingly. He grabbed my hand and put it in the crook of his arm. “Come with me, Isabelle,” he said. “I want to give you the grand tour.”
“Shouldn’t she rest?” Jimmy interjected. “It was a long drive…”
“I want the tour,” I insisted. “Since I’m going to be stuck here for nine months, I’d like to see it. I want to orient myself. You wouldn’t want me getting lost, would you?” I teased.
The fact that I was kidding flew right over his head. Jimmy looked like he was deeply undecided. “I’m coming with you,” he said after a moment.
“But, of course, you’re going to come, Jimmy,” Luc replied seriously. “You’re the undisputed expert on the house anyway, especially all the wonderful art. I’m sure Isabelle will want to hear all about the paintings and sculpture we have here. She is an artist herself; did you know that?”
“You don’t think the walk will be too much?” Jimmy asked. He looked vaguely hopeful.
Luc shook his head. “Of course not. What could be healthier for Isabelle than walking after sitting down for a long time?”
“What if she gets fatigued?” he questioned.
Fatigued? From walking around a house? I raised an eyebrow at Luc and he winked at me.
“Isabelle,” Luc said seriously. “You’ll tell us if you’re feeling fatigued, won’t you?”
“Sure,” I said, hiding my annoyance. “I’ll let you know right away.”
Jimmy puffed up importantly and Luc hid his smile. “I suppose a tour would be nice. I haven’t given anyone a tour in ages. And I did make most of the art selections myself,” Jimmy announced proudly. “Mostly seventeenth century, you know.”
I allowed Jimmy and Luc to lead me into the dark hallway I’d seen before. In daylight it was a bit less scary. And it was covered in paintings I hadn’t noticed previously. Covered.
“Are these reproductions?” I asked. Baroque art seemed a strange choice for what was clearly a gothic building, but whatever. The art was very beautiful—all jewel tones, wrapping shadows, and pale skin.
“No, they’re all originals,” Jimmy said proudly. “Connor wanted the art to match the castle perfectly.”
Originals? I could only imagine that the art here cost many thousands, perhaps millions of dollars. However…
“Isn’t this castle, um, gothic?” I asked. I was no great architecture student, but in art the gothic and baroque styles were quite different.
“Yes. It is,” Jimmy replied. He clearly took this all very seriously. “Connor purchased it about ten years ago from a real estate developer who had a small, partial ruin brought here and reconstructed brick by brick. Most of the structure is new, of course, but it was designed to match the original. This hall was originally constructed in eleven forty.”
“The castle is tenth century, but the art is sixteenth century?” I asked Luc in a low voice. Jimmy was droning on about something and didn’t notice.
There was a difference of more than five hundred years between the two styles. All this art, while lovely and probably very expensive, was quite obviously anachronistic.
Luc smirked at my expression. “Please don’t ruin it,” he whispered in my ear. “He’d be mortified if he knew and it’s funnier if he doesn’t. Connor thinks it’s hilarious.”
I nodded, beginning to catch on to the dynamic between the two men. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to stand nine months of their antics, but an afternoon certainly sounded entertaining.
“Lead on,” I said to Jimmy. “And don’t worry, I’ll tell you if I need to sit down.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but just barely. My curiosity about the house was enough to put up with Jimmy treating me like I was made of glass.
Over the course of the next two hours, I saw the castle, the pool, the gardens, and more art than some museums. It was gorgeous. Decaying in some parts, but gorgeous.
“What about that staircase?” I asked, pointing to a section of the castle we hadn’t looked at. “Where does that go?”
Luc and Jimmy exchanged a glance. “That leads to Connor’s wing,” Jimmy said after a moment. “There’s nothing interesting there anyway. Some of his old movie stuff, props and things…”
“Movie stuff?” I asked. “I work in practical effects,” I said. “I’d like to see—”
Jimmy shook his head. “No. We can’t go up there. Connor wouldn’t want us to.”
I frowned.
“Well, that pretty much wraps up the tour,” Luc said, changing the subject right on cue, as usual. “Let’s take you back to your room now.” He led me up the stairs on the other side of the landing. “We should get you settled in.”
“I really do need to talk to you about getting in touch with Connor,” I told Luc when I was finally dropped off at my plush suite. It was almost impossibly luxurious, but it wasn’t home. True to his word, Jimmy had had my luggage brought up. He’d also had it unpacked and put away for me. Fancy.
“Anything that you need,” Luc said to me, “just call my cell phone. Or Jimmy’s. He’s a pain in the rear end, but his heart’s in the right place and he’ll do his best to help you. I’ll be out of town for the next couple of weeks, but really, Jimmy will get you anything you need.”
“No,” I snapped. “Please listen. I appreciate your willingness to help, but I have to be able to get in touch with Connor. We both know that I have to get his permission to leave this house,” I said, fighting annoyance. “I’m basically trapped here otherwise.”
Luc nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you his email address,” he pro
mised. “Everything will be completely fine. Connor and I will both be back here in a few weeks.”
He was being so reassuring, but I had a very bad feeling. I’d known what I was getting myself into—nearly nine months of house arrest under an eccentric tyrant who was maybe also an attempted murderer— but I hoped I was up to it.
Now my worst fears were coming true.
11
Connor
The Invitation
“I want to have dinner with Isabelle tonight,” I told Luc, pulling up to the castle and noting with satisfaction that the roof had finally been fully repaired. The whole property had to be perfect in a little less than nine months. Perfect. “I want to check on her,” I continued. “Evaluate her progress. Get a look at her state of mind.”
Luc swallowed from the passenger seat. I’d insisted on driving back from the helipad myself. I despised being driven. But the downside of driving was not being able to stare at Luc.
“What?” I questioned. “Why do you look like you just French kissed a lemon?”
“No reason.” His voice was tight.
Bullshit.
“Luc.”
“Isabelle’s progress?” Luc finally asked. “She’s only a few weeks along. There’s nothing to see. I think maybe just answering a few of her messages might be a good first--”
I waved my hand a cut him off. “Not the pregnancy’s progress. Her progress. I want to see how she’s settling in. Make sure she’s comfortable.”
Oddly, I’d missed her. Was it possible to miss someone I didn’t know? Maybe I was missing the baby. Either way, I wanted to see her.
“Have you, um, been responding to Isabelle’s emails?” Luc asked carefully. “Because I think she’s sent you several. In fact, she emailed me to make sure you were getting them. That’s why I’ve been texting you.”
I shook my head in annoyance. “You know I’m terrible with emails and texts.”
I’d been busy these last few weeks. Busier than I’d been in years. Since Isabelle signed the contract, I’d been working nonstop to find the best doctors, the best nannies, the best preschools, and the best tutors in the world. I’d been tracking down a team of experts to help me become a good father to the baby in Isabelle’s womb.
Trying to add on the work of being an anxious, new parent to the work of running a Hollywood production studio had been tiring. Although, thankfully, Luc did most of the day-to-day, I was still the one in charge and had to sign off on any major decisions. It hadn’t left much time for emails.
“I’ve been busy,” I added when Luc stared at me disapprovingly. “I don’t even remember seeing her emails.”
“What about my texts?” he pressed. “Did you see those?”
“I’ve been busy!” I snapped.
Luc frowned. “Listen, Connor. Isabelle’s been cooped up here for two weeks,” he said. “I have a feeling that she’s not going to be interested in dinner with you. I think she’s irritated with you.”
Irritated? I was irritated about this conversation. Isabelle was getting massages every three days and had a chef to prepare her meals. She was literally in the lap of luxury. There was no reason for her to be irritated. I was jetlagged and needed a shower, not an argument.
“Just go tell her to come down at eight,” I said, hopping out of the car and bounding up the stairs. “Don’t be negative, Luc. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Eight o’clock came and went, but Isabelle did not show up to the dining room. Dinner was waiting with candles and everything, but her chair was empty. Jimmy didn’t even text back when I tried his number. Coward. When summoned, Luc took forever and then shrugged his shoulders. “She said she wasn’t interested in meeting with you tonight. I did warn you.”
I frowned. “Is she ill?”
“I don’t think so.” Luc was looking at me like I was in deep trouble, but I ignored it.
“Then go get her,” I told him.
Why was this so hard? What was going on?
“I already tried to invite her,” Luc explained. “She told me, in no uncertain terms, that her answer was ‘no’.”
That wasn’t possible.
“Try again.”
“I don’t think so.” He shook his head. “She was clear. I know what ‘no’ means.”
I blinked. “What?”
Luc shook his head. “I’m not going to go pester her. She deserves to be treated with respect. You can go up there yourself and knock on her door if you really want to see her. I would lead with an apology if I were you.”
I shifted uncomfortably. Impatience got the best of me. “Fine. I’ll go up there myself.”
Luc nodded. “Good. And apologize!”
I waved him off. I was in no mood to apologize. Now I was just annoyed.
Isabelle did not open the door when I knocked. So, I knocked again. And again. And again. I was getting worried and on the verge of going downstairs and finding the skeleton key that would open any door in the house when Isabelle finally answered.
“Who is it?” came her voice from the other side of the thick door. “What do you want?”
“It’s Connor,” I replied. “Open this door right now.”
She didn’t. I did, however, hear her laughing.
“How about no! I don’t think so,” she said eventually. “I really don’t think I want to talk to you today, or tomorrow, or for the next three weeks. Let’s see how you like a taste of your own medicine.”
She sounded very angry. Livid. She could join the club.
“Please open the door.” I said civilly. I managed not to yell back at her. Somehow. My temper had never been long, and isolation and experience had only shortened it. “I want to see you.” I tried for a conversational tone. “I want to see if everything is alright.”
“You want to see me? Well, too damn bad. Seeing me is not in the contract.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it isn’t. Look it up, because I have. Eating dinner with you is not in there.”
“Obviously it’s implied that you participate in a minimum of—”
“Nope.” The voice from the other side of the door was still filled with dark humor. “Not good enough. Call the lawyers and yell at them, but I’m not having dinner with you. I’m not your fucking servant. How dare you order me to dinner?” I heard an exasperated squeal. “Why have you been ignoring me for weeks?”
I swallowed my anger. “Isabelle, I’m sorry I haven’t been answering your emails,” I said, taking a deep breath and remembering that making her angry wasn’t good for the baby. “I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve just been busy.”
“Busy?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Doing what exactly?” Her voice was curious.
“It’s not important.” I told her. “Come on. The food will get cold if we don’t eat it.”
“If it wasn’t important then why couldn’t you respond to my messages?” she asked. I winced. I’d walked right into that mistake. “Do you realize I’ve been stuck here for weeks? With absolutely nothing to do? Trapped? Like an animal? Eating the healthiest, blandest food imaginable and being bored out of my mind?”
I frowned at the closed door. She had mentioned that she was worried she’d be bored. Had I made a mistake? Maybe I should have read her emails… she did sound really angry.
“I’m sorry if I made you angry. Will you please open the door? I want to talk about this face to face.”
The door swung open. Isabelle was wrapped in a silk robe, clearly fresh from a shower. In her bare feet, she only came up to my collarbones. She was scowling at me, but it had all the menace of an angry puppy.
“What do you want?” she asked, holding her chin high. Her cheeks were flushed. “I’m busy right now.”
I’d been prepared to order her down to have dinner with me, but the sight of her half dressed and dripping wet left me momentarily speechless.
Anything else I might be thinking about at that moment disappeared.
I wasn’t even sure if I remembered my own name.
Wow. No. Not wow.
Wow was an understatement. Holy shit.
If I had a type, it would be Isabelle. I hadn’t realized the extent of her attractiveness when she was in those silly overalls, but damn. She was petite, but with lush, curvy hips, perky, round boobs, symmetrical features, and soft, pretty hair, Isabelle was beautiful under any circumstances. She was the exact right size to pick up, carry around, and play with, but not so small or slight that I’d worry about breaking her. Wet, pouting, and flushed though? She was sexy beyond belief.
I hadn’t picked her as a surrogate because she was hot. Not consciously. I’d told myself that it was good she was attractive, it meant she was healthy. Now, however, I was regretting it. Being attracted to her was never part of the plan.
“I wanted to see how you were,” I said weakly. “Why don’t you come down to dinner and we can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you?”
“No.” She was pouting. It was cute.
“Why not?” I asked, trying to take her anger seriously. I didn’t want to upset her further.
“Because if I eat one more kale salad with wild caught salmon I’m going to puke. Especially if I have to look at you while I do it.” She scowled. “I have no desire to join you for dinner tonight or any night. Not ever.”
“I had the chef make lobster,” I said, hoping to tempt her. “They were flown in fresh this afternoon.”
Isabelle frowned. “I hate lobster,” she said. Her tone said, I hate you. “If you’d asked, I would have happily told you that this afternoon. But no. You just order me to dinner and who cares if I like it? I’m not going unless you’ve got orange chicken, or hamburgers, or pizza, or fried ice cream, or funnel cakes…” she trailed off wistfully. Apparently, pregnancy cravings had hit her hard.
I shook my head at her. “That’s all junk food, Isabelle. I know you might be craving all sorts of things right now, but you shouldn’t be eating that.” I explained it slowly and carefully because I didn’t want to enrage her.
Baby and the Beast Page 5
