Baby Fever Secrets: A Billionaire Romance

by Nicole Snow

  Oh, he hasn't figured it out?

  Apparently, tonight's surprises never end.

  God help me, I'm laughing. Hysteria hits, sinks its teeth into me, and refuses to let go. I'm a blubbering, crying, chattering mess a minute later.

  I can't breathe.

  My stomach aches, tightens, and scrunches in on itself, threatening to knock out my knees. I hold onto my baby boy with all my might as the blackness closes in.

  “Bekah?” He calls my name once. “Bekah, hey, stay with me!”

  The last thing I remember before I pass out is how he slaps my cheek.

  Well, technically not the last. I also recall he's a cheating, untrustworthy fuckboy, and even though he's saved my life, we aren't magically fixed.

  If anything, it's more complicated than ever.

  How the hell do I hate someone who ripped out my heart, only to keep it beating another day?

  “Give her space, Mr. Shaw. We're bringing her out of it.”

  I wake up feeling like I've just come up from an ocean cavern without a breathing mask. I'm groggy, hungry, and everything hurts. Especially from the waist down.

  There must be six tubes poking into my arms. I sit up in the bed, clenching my teeth, and realize there's a hand closed like a firm blanket around mine.

  “Welcome back, moscato. Take it easy. Easy. You'll be fine in about a week.” He watches me, patient and reassuring, just a handsome guardian angel in a dark beard and soft blue eyes. Not very different from the winged heroes mom used to watch on her silly paranormal soap operas.

  “Fine?” Slowly, I remember what this angel did, and I rip my hand away, nearly pulling out the IV in my arm. “No, get away from me! Where is he? Where's my baby?”

  “Sleeping down the hall. I'll bring him in later, if you'd like. We'll have to fill out the birth certificate together. I'd like to be listed as the father, considering what the paternity test showed.”

  Oh, God. He finally knows.

  It shouldn't feel like a dagger working into me when I imagine the look on his face as some random doctor read off the cold, clinical results. All while I slept dead to the world. I'm not even sure how long it's been since the fateful showdown on Ethan's plane. The clock says four. P.M., I'm guessing, but I don't really know.

  “How long was I out?” I whisper, ignoring the long list of far more unpleasant questions.

  “A good fourteen hours. Had time to nap myself for the first time in days.”

  I slowly roll my head toward him. There's a thin, skin colored bandage on his cheek, just above his bearded jaw. Ethan must've done it.

  I mentally estimate how many scrapes and bruises he has, how many cracked ribs. In a just world, maybe they'd make me re-think one of his sloppy affairs. Yes, one.

  But not the three, or four, or who even knows. I saw at least three on camera. Four if you count the slutty duo slobbering all over him at Sanford's. My body must have replenished its fluids well enough to cry because there are tears welling up.

  “What's wrong?” he growls, laying a hand on my shoulder as I try to roll away from him.

  “Go away. I want to rest alone. I don't want to see you.”

  “Really, moscato? You thought you'd just up and leave the father of your child forever?” His first words are angry, but he tries to soften them. “Whatever your old man said, he lied. I'm not the man you think I am. Everything I did to bring him down, to take out Ethan, was for you. Never stopped loving you, Bekah. Not even once. Would've come a whole lot sooner if I knew where to find you.”

  “He had video, Grant,” I snarl, turning over, ignoring the sharp pain in my abdomen. “Do you think I'd take off to Maine and avoid you like the plague for the better part of a year on nothing but hearsay? I saw what you did. Living proof. Saw you with those women, dated to the months you were still my boss, back when I was in your condo, and I thought we meant something to each other.”

  He sniffs angrily. I watch him stand, broody and magnificent. Even when I want to spit in his face, his lips still draw my eyes, tempting as ever.

  “What? You've got nothing?” I haven't decided if I want to hear his BS defense. Maybe I just want to get this over with, do a proper birth certificate like he asks, and heal up so I can fight our next battles in court over custody.

  But he's ignoring me. Pulling out his phone, I watch him dial someone, and turn his back as he whispers a few heavy words into it. “Yeah, put him on. Won't take long. I know I'm using the only ace in the hole you'll give me. I'm ready.”

  I fold my arms, pouting, unsure what the hell this is about. He turns around a second later, pushes the little black box into my hand, and smiles. “It's for you.”

  I blink, staring at the unfamiliar number on the screen, before I hold it up a second later. “Hello?”

  “It's me, dear.” My father's voice sends an instant shiver up my spine. “I'm so glad you're alive.”

  “Tell me what you want, or I'm hanging up,” I snap. I've officially hit my limit with the constant stream of crap the last forty-eight hours.

  No woman who's had a baby should ever have to go through this. Ever.

  “A pity,” dad says. “This might be the last time we talk for many years. I'm in jail, dear, looking at a lifetime sentence. Slowly paying the first of my many dues for the dirty deals I did with our earnest, dearly departed friend from Paris.”

  “You almost got me killed, and your grandson, too, you fucking asshole!” I hiss through my teeth, shooting Grant a warning look with my eyes because I know he wants to come over, and comfort me. “Why do you think I care about you? About any of this? I'll be happy if I never hear from you again.”

  He's quiet for longer than I like. “Because I have a confession to make. I wanted you away from the man who's next to you now. I went to extreme lengths to do it. Your mother was a test. After the fake videos fooled her, I knew you'd go down easy. She didn't have the emotional connection to him you did.”

  “Fake? What the hell do you mean?” I'm clenching the thin hospital sheet in my hand so hard I think I'll tear it.

  “The footage is real. It's incredible what a good editor can do these days. It wasn't hard to get the tapes I needed from the places he loved to frequent. The dates were even easier to change. Shaw's guilty of a lot with his women, but he never cheated. Not once, to my knowledge. Everything you saw happened well before he met you. Often years before.”

  “No,” I whisper it once, and the second time I say it, I'm choking. “No! You've got to be fucking kidding. I heard what he said about me. I saw him with those girls. He called me young. Stupid. Said I'd never see his cheating crap coming.”

  This can't be right. It doesn't make sense. I'm in shock and denial.

  My eyes move sheepishly to Grant's, and I can't hold them in his gaze. The rotten shame coursing through my blood refuses.

  “I picked the line myself.” There's no remorse when he says it. “I thought you'd be too caught up in a blinding rage of tears to notice. Apparently, I was right. I wanted my womanizer to drive the point home. Anything to make you leave him.”

  “Christ.” My tongue tastes bitter, too much like the savage lie I've believed for the last eight months my life was ruined. I don't bother asking what's wrong with him. No one will ever know, and it isn't relevant anymore since he's ruined his life, and possibly mine, too. “Why now? Why tell me any of this?”

  “Because I'm sorry. Words are cheap, I know. I've spent my life throwing them around like weights. I've used them to get my damned way, any which way I chose. I'm not asking for your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it. I just want you to know there was a time when I meant the best for you, and I made grave errors bringing you there. I told myself that's what I wanted, anyway, but truthfully? I wanted you to do what I said. I wanted to use you, one more piece of collateral for what I wanted. I forgot you were a human being, and you deserve your own life.”

  I'm trapped. It's incredible I can still breathe between this monster in my ear,
and this gorgeous man who, for some reason, remains next to me with love in his eyes, after I've treated him like a monster.

  “You deserve the truth, dear, and here it is. Now forget me and live, damn you. Whether that's with Shaw or in a tent overseas, go live your own life. You're free. Know I'll spend the rest of my life behind bars being sorry...without excuses...for everything.” He ends the call. It takes me a minute to realize it through the hot, brutal tears flowing down my cheeks.

  Grant finally lays his hand on my shoulder. He pulls up a chair, holding me like a human rock while I let it out ugly, too ashamed over everything to let myself lean into him, much less look him in the eye.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't know. Wish I'd asked more questions, Grant. I shouldn't have abandoned you.”

  “Bekah, stop,” he says, his voice soft and heavy. I'm sure I look like a total mess as he runs his hand slowly up my throat, lifts my chin with his fingers, and I meet the blue eyes I want to drown myself in forever. “I've almost missed a year with you on his stinking lies. Missed your lips on mine. Missed you being pregnant, telling me the news, and bringing our son into the world with his father at your side. You think I've got time for more regrets, or more apologies over shit we can't take back?”

  His eyes say it's a resounding no.

  Fuck no.

  “I'm afraid we've lost too much. Done too much damage. We can't just pick up where we left off, and continue...?”

  He's smiling when he shifts his free hand into his pocket. “You worry too much, moscato. Always did.”

  I forget all about his fingers as he lowers his face to mine. Our first kiss in seasons pours into me like summer sun breaking through a storm, rekindling fires I thought were out for good.

  His lips smother me, suck every molecule of oxygen from my lungs. And I let him, whimpering into his mouth while his tongue attacks mine. What was impossible just a few days ago is real.

  Raw, emotional, and inescapably real.

  “There's something I need before we wheel the kid in and get to work on the birth certificate,” he says, excitement blinking like siren lights in his eyes. He pulls away, just enough to hold the little black box up to my face, and pops it open with his thumb. “Marry me, moscato. Here. Today. Wish we'd done this wife and family thing in the right order, but you'd better believe I wish more you'll do me the honor of never wasting another day without wearing my ring.”

  Even with my jaw hanging on the floor, I'm smiling. I put my hand over his, touching my thumb to the ring, letting its golden warmth heat the heart that still hated him just minutes ago.

  “Yes!” One simple, powerful word. “As soon as I'm out of here, Grant, I'll make everything up to you. I'll be the woman you always wanted.”

  “Fuck waiting, moscato. You already are. No more distractions. Forget the last nine months and let's build the life we were always meant for.”

  There's a rowdy noise behind us. Two men laughing through the small window outside my room. I look over his shoulder, and see the two Shaw brothers I met at the charity event before everything went nuts. Hayden and Luke look on, elbowing each other, whispering a few choice words we can hear through the glass.

  “Never seen him like this. Didn't think he had it in him.”

  “Hayds, the man's in love. Give him a damned break. We've said our share of flowery crap, too, ever since we got hitched.”

  “You're right.” They fall silent, and look on.

  We fall so deep into each other it's easy to ignore their prying eyes.

  When he kisses me again, I tell myself we'll do this. I don't care how insane it seems on the surface, or how quickly it's happening. He's right about our future.

  This time, I know he is. Believe it with a faith resonating deep in my bones.

  I made the unforgivable mistake of doubting him once. I'll never, ever let it happen again.

  I'm not well enough to stay up through all this excitement. Another long nap leads me into sweet nothing.

  We don't get together until the next morning, when Grant carries in our baby, snug in his father's arms for the first time. I pull the birth certificate off the night stand as soon as our little family is together, ready to attack it again with a big black pen.

  “He's a Shaw, all right,” he says, studying the little boy's identical blue eyes. “Can't believe he doesn't have a name yet.”

  Yesterday, we left that part blank on the birth certificate, promising we'd have one by the end of the day. I run through my short list again, tapping the pen gently against my cheek.

  I've lost my confidence. Neither Jackson or Tyler seem right. Not after everything that's happened.

  Our infant reaches up, giggles, and presses his little fingers against his father's beard. “Easy, little man. Guess your ma never told you this scruff is where I get my magic powers from.”

  Talk about adorable. I'm smiling like a fool as I uncap the pen with my teeth, press the pen to the blank spot, and scrawl the letters on the paper as neatly as I can.

  “Whoa, moscato, I thought we'd talk about this first?” he says, rushing over to the chair, bouncing the baby on one knee.

  “No need. I've made the right choice.” I hold it up for him to see.

  He snatches it out of my hand with his brow furrowed, his eyes scanning it. “No way. You really want him to be named after...me?”

  “Names are powerful. He should have a good man's name. Plus, Grant Junior just kinda rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?”

  He's laughing, happier than I've ever seen him, baritone music busting out. He cradles our baby boy as he comes in to collect his kiss. I can't last more than ten seconds with his beard tickling me before I'm laughing just as hard.

  If this is what it's like to be awake, at peace, and happy again, don't ever put me back to sleep.

  15

  Another Sunrise (Grant)

  Three Months Later

  Everyone, and I mean everyone, is here.

  A full audience is impressive as it is majestic, considering there's nothing traditional about this wedding. Not even the time. It's the ass crack of dawn, six in the morning, and we're standing on the banks of the rocky Maine shore as the sun comes up, five miles outside Chandlersport on a stretch of land I added to my property a few months ago for this occasion.

  The little white gazebo and wooden walkway I've had thrown up last week does its job, shielding my moscato's heels from the uneven dirt as she walks toward me.

  I take a minute to breathe, and let myself smile, taking in her sweetness while the music kicks up. It's a rock rendition of Here Comes the Bride.

  There's so many eyes glued to us. I'm not the only fool gawking today.

  My brothers and their wives, my niece and nephew, my own little man, lovingly tucked into his grandmother's arms. Seeing Cora Corbin with her grandson, you'd never know she's shaking off a divorce and a swift descent into upper middle class limitations after the Feds took almost everything from her asshole husband.

  I've told her a dozen times I'll fund her trips, wherever she wants to go. Bekah says she isn't interested in soaps and tourism anymore, not since the kid came along. For her, it's family. And frankly, that's fine by me.

  Everybody who counts from the office looks on. Jake and Crowley just look relieved to have a getaway I've paid for, secure in their old jobs. Nina flashes me a huge grin and a thumbs up. She's been promoted since we helped disentangle ourselves from Corbin's dirt, and worked like a dog to restore Neolithic's good name on Wall Street.

  Then there's Tay. I think the feisty young thing who introduced us is about to burst into tears as she clutches surfer dude's shoulder, the same dumb man candy she shacked up with the night we did. They've broken up twice and wound up together again.

  Can't say how serious it is, but it must be something if it's magnetic. Though it really looks like the kid with the tanned muscles could really use a beer.

  He'll have plenty at the free bar Mack insisted on setting up for me at t
he reception. I don't waste more than a precious second or two looking over everyone, counting the ones in place, because my attention goes straight to the only sight that matters.

  My perfect, sweet, and happy little wife. She's decked in cream and lace and heels. I want her to leave those on when I carry her back to my lodge later, take her upstairs to the first bed we ever shared, and put her under me like it's our very first time.

  Technically, it is. Tonight, as man and wife, it's just as meaningful a first as the night I took her cherry.

  The minister behind me gives an approving nod when she finally reaches the altar. The music stops.

  I don't even wait to grab both her hands as the words I never thought would mean a damned thing to me begin.

  “Dearly beloved, we're gathered here today to join Grant Shaw and Rebekah Corbin in holy matrimony...”

  I hear the words we've rehearsed, but they're more like background music than proper speech. I'm too lost in her eyes to focus. Too taken with every soft, supple curve on her I'll own for the first time as a married man.

  In sickness, and in health. When he gets to that part, I see tears in her eyes, true and clear behind her veil.

  For better, and for worse. We've seen both.

  “I do,” she whispers, turning her head toward the minister, before she faces me again. “I always did,” she whispers under her breath, leaning in.

  Wish like hell we could skip the rest of this rodeo and get to that 'kiss the bride' part. Lucky me, she's a beautiful distraction. Helps me make it through the rest of his flowery speech while I squeeze her hands, giving him a shred of my attention when he gets to the important part.

  “Do you, Grant Shaw, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded –“

  “I do. I always will. Today, tomorrow, and every day I'm lucky enough to keep drawing breath with the woman who's given me new life at my side. Let's do this.”