Single Dad on Top: A Baby and Clueless Billionaire Romantic Comedy

by JJ Knight

  Grace makes a funny gurgle.

  “Oh!” the woman says. “You brought someone!”

  “Yes, sorry,” Dell says. “It’s my nanny. Arianna? This is Winnie.”

  He was right. I do know when to turn around.

  I take a deep breath and face them.

  “Oh, look at that sweet baby!” Winnie says.

  She looks better than her pictures, her blond hair recolored. Her outfit flows around her, looking stylized rather than sloppy. She stands and walks over in tall clunky heels.

  “Who is this sweet thing?” she asks, bending down to get close to Grace. The baby reaches out to grab her nose.

  She turns to Dell. “Did you finally knock up the wrong girl?”

  I look up and meet his gaze. His lips are pressed together. “A family situation,” he says. “We were traveling in Chicago, and thought we’d stop by. Seemed you’d disappeared for a while and I wanted to ensure myself of your good health in person.”

  He walks over to us and wraps an arm around her shoulders.

  “Well, I did have a bit of a tough year,” she says. “Lymphoma.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Dell says.

  “Well, thankfully the new chemo lets you keep your hair.” She flips a bit of it with her hand. “But the rest of me looks a bit used up. And the steroids did their number.” She presses her hand against her belly.

  “You look ravishing,” Dell says. “And I’m pleased you’ve beat the bastard.”

  Winnie laughs again. “Well, thank you for the flowers. And the visit.” She smacks him on the back. “But call ahead next time, you hear? We can make an afternoon of it.”

  She walks Dell to the door. She never even greeted me herself, only the baby. Typical. I’m relegated to the servant treatment.

  I’m glad she’s not Grace’s mother.

  As we load up into the car, I try to let it all go. Grace fusses as I buckle her in, so I take out a single-serve packet of formula and make a quick room-temperature bottle.

  “What now?” I ask Dell. I wonder if we’ll just fly back tonight and this will be the end.

  “We regroup,” he says. “There is still one more of the twenty-five to consider.” He swipes his phone. “You got a passport?”

  Chapter 33: Dell

  “Passport?” Her voice is high-pitched. “Why would I need a passport?”

  The Mercedes pulls away from Winnie’s house.

  “She got me thinking,” I say. “She disappeared and it didn’t hit the tabloids until she resurfaced. Anyone could do that. A year is long enough to have a child and have no one notice.”

  “Okay,” she says. “I guess you are thinking about number twenty-five?”

  “I didn’t consider her before because of her age. But I suppose anything is possible.”

  Arianna looks down at Grace. “How old is she?”

  “Her fiftieth-birthday celebration is this weekend.” I don’t mention that number twenty-five is actually a Duchess with a very terrible husband.

  “When is the party?”

  “Tomorrow night. We should arrive in Paris around nine a.m. their time. That gives us enough time to get you a dress and drive out to their estate.”

  “Dell,” she says. “This is outrageous. We can’t fly to France. Why not wait on the DNA?”

  I know she’s talking common sense, and I can’t put my finger exactly on why this is important. Because of the party? Or the husband?

  “It is extremely difficult to get anywhere near this couple,” I tell her. “I only met them before due to a business transaction that led to an invitation to their castle.”

  “Castle?” she squeaks. “Couple? She’s married?”

  I’ve said too much. A decade of high-stakes business has helped me not a whit when it comes to holding my cards with her.

  “I recognize that this constitutes a black mark on my character,” I say.

  She holds up a hand. “Your character is already coal to me. But the husband. Won’t he kill you? Does he know?”

  “I highly doubt it,” I say. “He had two of his mistresses at the dinner table. The Duchess is a lovely woman. Kind. Gentle. Deserving of so much better.”

  She snorts. “Right. Black-hearted you.”

  “Deserved,” I say. “But the point is, she also represents the ‘almost’ in my ‘almost always’ use of birth control.”

  Now Arianna’s eyes go huge. “You didn’t protect herself with her?”

  I don’t know how to explain this. How the Duchess and I had a connection. That she held up beautifully in the face of her husband’s flaunting of the young women he was bedding right there in their home.

  She was so lovely. And innocent, in her way. She’d had no lover other than her husband, and knew very little of all the pleasure to be had.

  For three days we ran amok in their castle while he drank with his business partners and showed off the girls he kept dressed like harlots.

  She thought herself far past childbearing years. Going bareback was a treat for me, a gift she could give to me.

  But now, I had to wonder.

  “I did not,” I say. Best to keep it simple. “She thought herself past the point of risk and had not had any sort of relationship for many years.”

  Arianna’s face falls at that. I think she can picture it.

  “It’s probably safe to say, however, that I overstayed my welcome at the time and would not be welcomed back.”

  “But you were invited to the party,” she says.

  This is the next scary part. “I’m not exactly invited,” I say.

  “What!” Arianna exclaims. “How are we going to get in?”

  “Same way I got to Winnie,” I say.

  “On good looks and luck?” she demands.

  “It’s gotten me this far.”

  She sits back against the seat, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.

  “Look, I can go alone,” I say. “Maybe dragging the baby there isn’t a good idea.”

  But she turns to me. “Actually, no, it’s a great idea. The Duke may have disliked a man he suspected was wooing his wife, but he probably won’t feel any threat by a married man with a baby.”

  She has a point. “So you’re getting upgraded from babysitter?”

  Arianna reaches across the car seat to bop me on the shoulder. “Nanny.”

  “Hero,” I say. “You are nothing short of a beautiful, smart, lifesaving hero.”

  “I would look good in a Wonder Woman costume,” she says.

  And I can’t even answer, with the images going through my head after that.

  Chapter 34: Arianna

  Dell’s plane can’t make international flights, so we have to book an overnighter on a commercial airline. It’s apparently not easy on such short notice. He decides to use his plane to fly to any airport with seats.

  We end up in Philadelphia.

  Grace is holding up well. When we’re finally in a row on the commercial plane, Grace asleep between us, I decide it’s time to plan.

  “So we need to have a real strategy this time,” I say. “You might be able to woo a former lover with flowers, but if I’m picturing this right, some huge party with limos and valets and a security detail with a guest list, you can’t just waltz in there.”

  “Especially with a baby,” he says.

  He’s right on that. We need a nanny for the nanny.

  “How big is this castle?” I ask. “How many bedrooms?”

  “I didn’t exactly count them,” he says. “But maybe twenty.”

  “So probably some of the guests are staying with them?”

  “I would assume so. It’s really out in the country. It will be an hour’s drive to the nearest inn.”

  This makes me laugh. I picture us in a coach going to the ball. “So let’s go early. Before the security detail is checking a list. When families with their nannies would still be arriving to stay with them and prepare for the party.”

  Dell nods. “I
like this plan. Then we can catch the Duchess without being surrounded by a million people.”

  “But we can use the chaos to help us get in,” I continue.

  “All right,” he says, leaning back against the headrest. “We’re in business. I guess this will be our only objective, so we’ll just get another overnight flight back after the party.”

  I look down at Grace. “That will be awfully hard on her,” I say. “We can stay one night.”

  He glances over at me. “But you’ll miss work Monday.”

  “It’s fine. It’s more about you having to wait another day on the DNA.”

  His gaze moves down to Grace, asleep in her bucket. “If we’re right on this, the test won’t matter. We’ll already know.”

  A wave of affection passes over me for both Dell and the baby. They’re both caught up in this craziness.

  “I still think you should get a dress for the party,” he says.

  “In case we can’t find her before it starts?” I ask.

  “So I can see how beautiful you look.” His eyes are on me. I remember our interrupted night, how I had agreed to go to his bedroom.

  But that was before. Now I want Grace as my own.

  It’s so risky to let myself fall for him. He’ll just leave me, and that will make me an ex, rather than the woman who has always cared for his daughter.

  It’s hard for me to say this, but I do. “I’m guessing you probably mix business and pleasure all the time,” I tell him. “But I don’t.” I turn my gaze to Grace. “She’s more important than all the rest of us put together.”

  I can’t look at him. I just keep my eyes on the baby. As long as I do that, I’ll be able to resist Dell Brant in all his glorious smolder.

  He doesn’t answer. The flight attendants pass through, offering drinks and magazines. They fuss over Grace, say how beautiful she is, how sweet.

  I organize her things around me so I can help her the moment she wakes up. Bottles with water. Formula to mix. Pacifiers. Clean diapers. Wipes. I’ll take care of her, no matter how this turns out.

  The night grows late and black. Dell sleeps, his arm curled over the canopy of the car seat. I long to take his hand in mine, but instead examine every finger, each perfect nail. I remember his touch, the passion in his kiss. It’s no wonder that women swoon for him right and left.

  I wish I had the luxury to do that. I’ve never felt so much yearning for it. All my notions that held me apart from all the boys I’d known as a teen and young woman seem silly now.

  This is the real deal. Family. Faithfulness. Love.

  I just can’t get it all in the same package with Dell. He wants his wine, women, and song.

  But I’ll take the next best thing. The baby is all the benefit without any of the hurt.

  Grace stirs and yawns. I pick up the bottle of water and the formula, ready to mix in a hurry.

  But she settles back in. I poke her diaper to make sure it isn’t too puffy. I don’t want a big leak job in her car seat on a transatlantic fight.

  All is well.

  I’m tired. Bone tired, actually. My head leans against the side of the seat. I’ll just sleep a little.

  Just a tiny bit.

  Chapter 35: Dell

  A bump on the flight wakes Arianna, and she instantly reaches for Grace.

  When she sees the car seat is empty, she sits up, frantic, looking around.

  “Hey,” I say. “She’s fine.”

  I push down the folding canopy of the bucket seat, revealing Grace, lying in my lap.

  “She got bored after her bottle,” I say. “We’ve been discussing global economics.”

  Grace waves her arms. Arianna glances around, realizing the bottle and formula pack in her lap are gone.

  “You fed her? Did she cry? I didn’t wake up,” she says.

  “I caught her before she ramped up.” I lift the screen over the window. “We’re almost to dry land.”

  She leans over to peer out. I can smell her floral shampoo, subtle and light. It’s been a difficulty, watching her sleep so close to me, knowing she has chosen to hold herself apart. I’m not used to failing at a conquest, but then, I’ve never had to try with an infant in tow.

  “How much longer?” she asks.

  I free a hand from under the baby and power up the screen on the back of the seat in front of us. After a few moments, an image of a map and plane with a little dotted line appears. We’re almost at the end of it.

  “Less than an hour,” I tell her.

  She glances down at her clothes and tries to smooth a wrinkle in her shirt. “Where are we going to put ourselves together before heading to the estate?” she asks.

  “We have a hotel in Paris,” I say. “We’ll find suitable clothes there, repack, and take a car to the castle.”

  “Sounds good.” She seems relieved. “We’ll have to hustle.”

  The sun is just a small ball, half hidden by the horizon. “It’s barely dawn here. We have all morning.”

  She reaches over for Grace and squeezes her little hand. “If only you could tell us, little one,” she says. “Is this your first time in France, or are we back to the place where you were born?”

  Her question gets to me. We don’t know. She may have made a flight just like this less than a week ago. Maybe she jets all over the world. She has no way to communicate that to us.

  Grace turns to the sound of Arianna’s voice, her eyes seeking. I lift her a little, so she can get a good look. When Grace sees her, her tiny mouth breaks out in a beauteous smile.

  Arianna’s eyes tear up. The baby’s fingers clasp one of hers.

  It’s one of those moments people talk about. The bond between a parent and a child. Commercials make you relive it. Greeting cards extoll it. It’s the gold standard of feel-good movies.

  And now, I get it.

  Arianna looks up to me, overcome. A rush of emotion courses through me. It’s like the world manipulated its own events to bring us to this moment. This gaze. This connection.

  I’m starting to wonder if when the time comes, I will be able to let either of them go.

  Chapter 36: Arianna

  The hotel is one of the best in the world, near the end of the Champs-Élysées.

  “I’ve never stayed here,” I tell Dell. “Even my father wasn’t at this level.”

  This pleases him. I can see it in his subdued smile. The valet opens our car door as the doorman rolls a cart. We wouldn’t have had much except for Grace. Between her bags and car seat and accompanying accessories, we don’t look like this trip was unplanned.

  There is no check-in for us here. Apparently Dell is well known. We are whisked up a side elevator and directed to a suite.

  When the door opens, I have to catch my breath.

  “It’s stunning,” I tell Dell.

  The entire suite is decked in gold and white. A breeze enters through the open windows, stirring diaphanous curtains.

  “I always feel a certain peace, just walking in here,” he says.

  “I get it,” I say. “I feel it too.”

  Grace starts to wail.

  “The baby, not so much,” I add, laughing.

  Dell sets the bucket on the sofa and I unlatch her. “Come on, sugarplum,” I say. “Let’s get your diaper changed.”

  Our bags are already in the bedroom.

  That’s when I realize, there is only one bedroom.

  I glance around. I guess it doesn’t matter. We’re not staying here. At least I don’t think we are. I got the impression it was a long drive to the castle.

  A castle. I slide a fresh diaper under Grace. “You really are going to be a princess!” I tell her.

  Then stop.

  Actually, if she is the daughter of a Duchess, what does that make her?

  I have no idea.

  I hear unfamiliar voices in the other room. I quickly fix Grace up and head back. Two men are there with a rolling rack covered in black vinyl.

  “There she is!”
one says. He’s tall and thin, with skinny jeans rolled up at the ankle.

  “She is soooo divine,” the other adds. He’s shorter but just as lean, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  I think they are talking about Grace, but then they both circle me.

  “Red?” Ponytail asks.

  “God, no, she’s too innocent,” the tall one says.

  “Cool blue,” the first counters.

  “Possibly.”

  “We could go for broke,” the other says.

  They stop each other and say simultaneously, “White.”

  They scurry to the rack and unzip the cover. Beneath are at least two dozen gowns and several suits.

  The tall guy removes a black tux and smacks it against Dell’s chest. “Here you go,” he says, not giving Dell even a passing glance.

  “Paul-Simon, lay it on me,” Ponytail says.

  “On it,” the tall man, apparently Paul-Simon, responds. He pulls a long white gown from the rack. It’s stunning, sheer on top with beadwork that is sparse, then gets thicker until it forms a solid middle and falls in a sheath with a terrific slit up the leg so I can walk.

  “So you,” Paul-Simon says.

  “So innocent, yet so seductive,” Ponytail says.

  Paul-Simon turns to Dell. “Take the baby.”

  Ponytail leans down to finally acknowledge Grace. “Aren’t you a lovely baby girlie whirlie poo?”

  Dell steps forward to take her. “Arianna, these pushy bastards are Paul-Simon and Michel. They usually take great care of me.”

  “Today, we could not care less,” Paul-Simon says. “You have brought us a woman.”

  “You know, he has dated a few,” I tell them.

  Michel slaps his knee. “Oh, I love her. Love. Her.”

  “So real,” Paul-Simon says. “Just so so real.”

  “Now let’s see it on you!” Michel says, pushing me toward the bedroom. He turns back to Paul-Simon. “Please say you brought shoes. Spikes. Size six.”

  “I did,” Paul-Simon says.

  I fear they are going to make me strip in front of them, but Michel lays the dress on the bed. “No bra,” he says. “Support is built in.” Then he assesses me. “Although these sisters are on fire!” He stares at my boobs. “How much support do you have now?” He approaches, feeling for the bra straps on my shoulders.