His Perfect BabyA Miracle Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Control is what separates us from the animals. We can control ourselves, force ourselves to be calm and to do things we don’t necessarily want to do. I’m obsessed with control because it proves to me that I’m above the animals, that I’m greater than them.

  Except sometimes, it feels so fucking good to lose myself. All of my worries, my troubles, they drop away and I can embrace the animal inside of me. That’s how I feel when I’m fucking, but when I’m playing these games, it’s a different sort of release.

  I calm my heart rate and finally knock once before walking into her room.

  Aria is sitting on the small couch, curled in a little ball, watching TV. She sits up as soon as I walk into the room and wipes her eyes. “Ethan,” she says.

  I stop dead and blink, surprised. “Are you okay?” I ask, instantly concerned.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she says, laughing lightly.

  “If there’s something wrong, I’ll fix it. If you don’t like our game, we’ll change it.” I take a step toward her.

  She smiles and stands up. “Really Ethan, I’m fine. I was just watching... a movie.” She grabs the remote and turns off the TV.

  “What movie?” I ask, taking a step toward her. I’m curious about what would make her cry.

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Come on. You read trashy romances. What else can you have to hide?”

  She laughs again. “Okay, fine. It was Love Actually.”

  I grin at her. “Seriously?”

  “It’s good, okay? Gets me every time.”

  “You wimp.”

  “I’m a big sap.” She laughs and sits down on the bed. “You’re here early,” she says, looking at me.

  I sit down on the bed next to her. “I couldn’t stay at work.”

  “Rough day?”

  I shake my head. “I just kept thinking about you.”

  She looks at me, and for a second I see genuine excitement in her eyes. But it quickly passes. “Really?” she asks.

  “Really.” I reach out and put my hand on her leg. She’s wearing yoga pants and a white t-shirt, though her hair is done and she’s wearing makeup. I suspect this is her attempt at compromise. She wants to be herself, but she still needs to play her part. It’s good enough, at least for now.

  “I was hoping you’d have dinner with me,” I say.

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t eat yet?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve always been a late eater.”

  “Me too.” There’s a knock at the door and I stand, heading over to it. Jenkins is outside with a meal cart. I give him a little thanks nod and take it from him, wheeling it back inside.

  Aria goes to set the table up, but I wave her off. “This way,” I say. I walk over to the back of the room and pull back the curtain. I unlatch the window and pull it open, revealing the balcony.

  She blinks, clearly surprised. “It’s gorgeous out here. I had no clue.”

  “Good. It was meant to be a surprise.” I wheel the cart out onto the balcony and she follows.

  There’s a small table, some chairs, and the view is amazing. It looks out across Old City, at all the historic buildings. The room-length curtains hid this from her view and apparently she didn’t explore her surroundings too much. That tells me a little something about her.

  “It’s really beautiful,” she says again, smiling and looking out at the city lights.

  “I love it out here,” I say. “This is the only room with a balcony like this.”

  “Really? Yours doesn’t have one?”

  “I know. Horrible.”

  She laughs. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just, this house is amazing.”

  “I tried to keep the outside as original as possible, and this was the only original balcony.” I park the cart and begin putting our meal onto the table. There’s a cut of steak and a baked potato for me and what looks like a Caesar salad for her, which I’m guessing is what she asked for at some point. Michelle is very good at learning her guests’ preferences.

  “Sit,” I say, pulling her seat out, and she sits. I pour myself a drink of whisky from the cart and sit down across from her. I sip my drink as she starts eating.

  I take a bite of my steak, but I’m not really hungry. That’s not the purpose of this little meal, anyway.

  “What’s your real name?” I ask her suddenly.

  She looks up at me, surprised. “Aria,” she says.

  I cock my head. “Really? You used your real name?”

  She shrugs. “I didn’t want to have to learn a new one. I figured it’s easier this way.”

  “Pretty name,” I say, and I know she’s not lying.

  “Thanks. One of the nicest things my mother ever gave me.” Her joke sounds rehearsed, like it’s one she’s made many times before, and I smile.

  “Were you and your mother close?” I ask.

  “No,” she says, and goes back to eating.

  Interesting. Her family life is a touchy subject.

  “Can I ask you how you got into this business?”

  She shrugs again. “I’ll tell you. But I don’t think you want to know.”

  “Why not?”

  She puts down her fork and cocks her head at me. “It’ll ruin the fantasy, won’t it?”

  “Not at all,” I say. “You’re the fantasy, Aria. The real you.”

  “You don’t want the real me,” she says, looking down at her plate.

  I lean toward her. “Try me.”

  “I’m not like you, Ethan,” she says. “I don’t have anything.”

  “Having things doesn’t make a person,” I say.

  “I’ve made mistakes.”

  “We all have.” I reach my hand out and put it on hers. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me. But I want you to know that I want to know, and I’m not afraid of the answers.”

  She looks me in the eye and I can see something there, but I’m not sure what it is. I hope she understands that I’m being sincere. I assume something happened to force her into this job. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that forced her to do it, or maybe it is. I can’t really say, but I can accept it either way. We all have a past, but I don’t judge her based on that.

  Still, her past can tell me things about her, and I want to know everything there is to know. It won’t change my opinion, but maybe I’ll see a fuller picture of her, get to know her in a way I couldn’t have before.

  “I had a boyfriend when I was twenty. He was a real asshole.” She crosses her arms over her chest as she speaks, and I can tell that’s a defense mechanism.

  “What was his name?” I ask.

  “Derek,” she says. “He seemed so nice at first. Until one night he convinced me to get high with him. Derek was a heroin addict, it turned out. He still had a job and stuff, so he was functional at that point, but it wasn’t long before we were both consumed by addiction.”

  I nod slowly, listening intently. So it’s drugs and addiction. That’s her dark secret. I want to smile and tell her that it’s okay, that I’ve heard worse, maybe done worse, but I don’t. I just listen and take her seriously.

  “Things got bad for a while. We were junkies, but we were junkies together. And then one night, Derek bought this shit from a guy we didn’t know. We were desperate for it. And he shot up first. I watched him die right there in the street.” She looks down at her lap and is quiet for a little while.

  “What happened to you after that?” I ask gently, prodding her.

  “The usual stuff. I was still an addict, after all. I met some other addicts, fell in with another group, but didn’t sleep around. Couldn’t bring myself to, not after I watched Derek die. He was my first.” She blushes as she says that, which is so incredibly cute.

  “Anyway, eventually I hit rock bottom. From there, I checked myself into a drug rehab place, a really nice place. Also an expensive place. But it was too late. I also had a pretty big debt with a local dealer, the kind
of debt you won’t ever run out on. So between the rehab place and the dealer, I needed to make some money. Being a waitress wasn’t doing it. My debt was drowning me. I’ve been clean for years, but the debt hasn’t gone away. So I turned to this.”

  She finishes her story and picks her fork back up, playing with her food quietly. I watch her, fascinated.

  It’s an interesting story, if a common one. It’s admirable that she got herself clean on her own. Very, very few junkies have the strength to do that, and it speaks volumes about her character. She got out of the life on her own and she should be very proud of that.

  Money is what’s holding her back. I smile at her gently. “That’s not such a horrible story,” I say.

  “So the fantasy isn’t destroyed?”

  “Not at all. Clean for how long?”

  “Two years,” she says. “And I’m also, you know, clean in the other way, too. The Syndicate tests us.”

  I nod, smiling. “I figured that.”

  “Sorry. I just... figured I should say. In case you were curious.”

  “I understand.” I reach out and take her hand. “Thanks for telling me that.”

  She smiles and looks a little uncertain. I’m guessing most people treat her differently after she admits that she’s an addict, but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t see why it would bother me. She got herself clean and is trying to improve her life. If anything, that just shows how strong she is.

  I let go of her hand and go back to eating. We eat together in silence for a few minutes, both absorbing her story.

  “What about you?” she asks finally.

  “I’m clean too,” I say, and grin at her.

  She smiles. “I mean, your life. What brought you here?” She gestures at the house.

  “Not really an interesting story.”

  “It’s interesting to me.”

  I grin at her. “Okay then. When I was fifteen, I really liked building things and I was good with computers. When I was twenty, I started a company that specialized in streamlining the manufacturing process. And that company has been my life ever since, for over ten years.”

  “That’s not such a boring story,” she says.

  “Sure it is. It’s mundane.”

  She laughs, genuinely happy. “None of this is mundane, Ethan.”

  “I have money. And I have nice things. But none of that is any more interesting than what you’ve been through.”

  “You’re right. I am the most interesting person I know.” She grins at me.

  I laugh and go back to eating. She watches me for a second before eating as well. She asks me about work and we fall into normal small talk, which is a welcome relief from the heavy conversation about her past.

  It’s comfortable, talking and eating with her, in a way that I didn’t expect. I assumed the games between us would be fun, but I had no idea that we’d have chemistry outside of the bedroom. Apparently we do, though. She’s whip-smart and clever and witty, which makes it easy to chat with her, even about nothing at all.

  As we finish up, I realize that this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone and really enjoyed in a long time. Normally I’m stuck with men like Richard Taylor or other boring business contacts, but Aria is different. She’s light and alive in ways I never expected.

  When we’re finished, I put the plates back on the cart and sit back down, enjoying my whisky. She watches me for a second before speaking up.

  “What was your childhood like?” she asks. “You didn’t say anything about it.”

  I freeze for a second and look at her, trying to decide how to respond. “I’d rather not talk about it,” I say.

  She must not see that I’m serious, because she pushes on. “Come on, tell me. It can’t be that bad. You seem pretty well-adjusted.”

  I stand suddenly. “Thanks for eating with me,” I say.

  “What?” she asks.

  I grab the cart and wheel it back inside.

  “Wait, Ethan. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about your past if you don’t want.” She follows me into the room.

  I wheel the cart to the front door, not sure why I’m reacting this way. Maybe it’s because I’ve never told anyone about my childhood, and I find myself wanting to tell her. But that’s dangerous. I’m not ready to open up yet, but with her it’s tempting.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, pushing the cart out into the hallway.

  She stands back in the room, watching me go, and we lock eyes for a minute. She looks sad, genuinely sad that I’m leaving, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. But I can’t stay, not when I’m so tempted to tell her about my childhood and everything that happened to me.

  Instead, I smile at her and shut the door behind me. I walk back down the hall, leaving the cart by the elevator for the staff, before returning to my own room.

  That was a good night. I check the clock and am surprised that we were out there for two hours. The conversation flowed so easily.

  I feel bad about the way that ended, but I couldn’t help it. She opened up to me, but I’m not ready to do that yet. I should have just told her that I’m not ready, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was too worried I’d start spilling my guts.

  I can’t have that. Not yet. Maybe I’ll tell her, but not tonight.

  I’ll make things right. I’ll make this up to her tomorrow. She’ll be happy that I stormed out tonight by the time I’m finished with her tomorrow.

  For now, though, it’s bed alone and work early, because that’s my life.

  10

  Aria

  All the next day, I keep thinking about the way Ethan reacted to my question about his past. It was strange and totally unexpected. He shut down almost instantly.

  There must be something in his past that he doesn’t like. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have pushed back the way he did. Part of me is angry that he walked away the way that he did, especially after I opened up to him. But he listened to me and didn’t seem to judge me at all, which is really good.

  That was my biggest fear. I was worried that as soon as he found out about my past, he’d kick me out and want nothing to do with me. Clearly that’s not the case, though, and I’m very thankful for it.

  I just wish he’d apply his own thinking to his past. He doesn’t judge people on their past, but he’s not willing to share his own, which makes me wonder. I won’t push him, because it’s my job to make him happy, but I feel like he owes me.

  At least a little bit. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell me every deep dark secret, but I opened up to him and he should give me the same respect in return. I can wait and give him some time to do it on his own volition, but I do feel a little betrayed.

  For better or for worse, I have all day to contemplate that. I’m stuck in my room again with only the company of Jenkins when he brings my meals plus whatever movies and books I can read. I make sure to text The Syndicate letting them know that I’m okay, but otherwise, I don’t have much to do.

  It’s not so bad, though. It’s boring of course, but it’s better than the way my life used to be. Plus, the amount of money I stand to make for this is astronomical, and all I have to do is keep myself as busy as possible.

  It’s like a beautiful and comfortable prison, or like a playpen for a loved pet. Maybe that’s exactly what he wants it to be. I am his little pet, after all.

  There are much worse things to be. There are worse places to be, too. I’ve been in a few of them. I can remember one beat-up, decrepit house that Derek and I stayed in for a week or two back in the deepest throes of our addiction together, just before he died. That place was a mold-infested rat’s nest and yet we slept there, ate there, fucked there, and got high there for almost a week straight. We barely left that place and it felt like paradise.

  Mostly because I was high out of my mind. I feel so disgusted and embarrassed to look back on those days. I’ve worked so hard to better myself, to improve over the junky I used to be. But that junky is always there,
buried in the back of my mind, and every day I fear she’ll break free and take over again.

  I just have to make sure that doesn’t happen. I have so much to lose now.

  Around noon, Jenkins comes with my lunch. He wheels it in on a cart like usual, and it smells amazing. As he turns to leave, I stand up from the couch. We don’t normally talk, but today I suddenly feel a little bold.

  “Excuse me,” I say.

  He pauses and turns back to me. “Yes?” he asks, barely concealing his disdain.

  What a jerk. The man acts like giving me food is like feeding a lizard or something.

  “I was wondering if I can go for a walk,” I say. “I’m just cooped up in here all day. I just hoped I could go around the block.”

  He pauses, his frown deepening. “Did Mr. Locks explain the rules to you?” he says.

  “He did. I just hoped I could get permission from you.”

  He shakes his head. “Permission denied.”

  I pause, surprised. “It’s just around the block. You can come with me if you want.”

  “No, thank you,” he says. “I’m a very busy man. I don’t have time to escort an... escort around the block.”

  I sigh, understanding. I guess it is pretty obvious what I am. And clearly Jenkins doesn’t approve. I can’t say I really blame him or am surprised. He probably has Ethan’s best interests at heart, and is afraid that I’m here to rob them all blind.

  I’m not, of course. I’m here to make Ethan happy. I’m here to do my job. But I can’t really explain that to this man. He’s clearly too proud and too stubborn to ever really get it.

  “Thanks,” I say, sitting back down.

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He turns and leaves without another word.

  I sigh, stretching my legs. I’m so bored and cooped up. I get up and walk out onto the balcony, enjoying the fresh air. The city stretches out below me and I pass some time watching the people walk down the sidewalk, wishing I could be one of them, but knowing I’d never really trade places with any of them for anything.