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

by JJ Knight

  “That’s it? You have natural flotation,” he says. “Heavenly. You’ll be fine. Unzip, slide up from the bottom, and call me to snuggle you in.”

  He leaves the room, ponytail swinging.

  Whew.

  Okay.

  I strip out of my clothes and pick up the dress. It weighs a ton with all the beads. After a struggle, I get it unzipped.

  I unhook my bra and drop it to the bed.

  The dress shimmers with every movement as I open it wide and step my feet in. I lift it up. The top is thin and sheer, and it takes a moment for me to fit my arms through tiny sleeves in the fragile fabric. When I have it in place, I move to the door.

  The dress is far too long and I have to work not to trip. I peek into the living room and say, “Ready.”

  The two men are clucking over Grace. Dell has her turned out in his arms to face them.

  “Yes!” Michel says. “Let me zip you.”

  He comes into the room. “Oh, look at that cleavage. Nobody is going to stop staring at your girls.”

  I glance down. Holy moly. That’s a lot of boob action.

  Michel comes behind me. “I’m just going to give these a little bit of lift.” He reaches inside the dress and slides his hand around to the front. “Just a little boop!” he says, pushing my breast from beneath. “And now the other! Boop!”

  I have to laugh. His rearrangement is about as impersonal as getting an exam at the ob-gyn.

  Then the sound of a zipper. The dress seals around me like Saran Wrap.

  “Come see,” Michel says, gesturing to a triple-paned mirror in the corner of the room.

  I step toward it. The dress is stunning. I see what he means about innocent and seductive. It’s like a trick of the light. At first glance it is all opaque. But then you see a shadow. You stare a moment and realize you’re seeing full cleavage, breasts pushed high and on display.

  For a boob man like Dell, this is going to kill him.

  “I love it,” I say.

  He hurries to the door. “Shoes! Shoes!”

  Paul-Simon comes in and squeals when he sees me. “Divine! Like an angel walking!” He kneels before me and holds out a crystal-encrusted stiletto.

  I slip my foot in. It’s not comfortable. Stilettos never are. But it fits. When both are on, the hem of the dress just grazes the floor.

  “Perfection,” Michel says. “We are in the presence of transcendence.”

  “Okay, guys,” I say. “That’s enough.”

  “It will never be enough,” Paul-Simon says, all serious. “There will never be a more perfect dress for a woman.”

  “Now get it off her before the lowly man-bear sees it,” Michel says.

  “He can’t see? It’s not like it’s a wedding dress,” I say.

  “Uggh,” Paul-Simon says. “Do not speak to us of such trivialities. We are outfitting you for something so much more important.”

  “A birthday party?” I say.

  “The celebration of a Duchess,” Michel says. “At the Castle Attenbury.”

  “Way better than a wedding,” Paul-Simon says. “Those just end in misery and broken dreams.”

  “But royalty is forever,” Michel says. “And you will outshine them all.”

  I kick off the shoes. “Thank you for finding it for me.” I hadn’t had a personal shopper since I left home. And Paul-Simon and Michel were way more fun than the stuffy women my mother arranged for me.

  “Delighted,” Michel says. “Please post pictures.”

  “Especially ones the tabloids will steal,” Paul-Simon says. “Feel free to tag us.”

  Crazy boys. Michel unzips the gown. The two of them discreetly head out while I change.

  I decide to take this moment to go ahead and shower and prepare for this trip. It’s nice to know I have a dress in case we do stay for the party.

  When I come out, fresh in a sundress and hair that is temporarily blow-dried into submission, the men are gone.

  Dell stands by the windows, holding Grace. She is half-asleep, her eyes heavy.

  “I can take her now,” I say. “You can get ready to go.”

  “I guess we did spend all night on a plane,” he says. He passes Grace to me and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll be quick.”

  Two new garment bags hang near the front door. His suit and my dress, I presume.

  I walk along the windows with Grace. “Too bad we don’t get to stay here longer,” I say to her. “It’s very beautiful.”

  She’s in her “This princess will save you” onesie, which doesn’t seem very appropriate for a castle. Or maybe it is.

  Still, I pull out the sweet yellow dress Dell bought for her. “Let’s pretty you up,” I say.

  Her eyes are even heavier as I change her. By the time she’s all buttoned up, she’s out.

  Dell emerges from the bedroom, his hair wet and shiny. “We should go,” he says. “It’s a two-hour drive and we want to be well ahead of the party.”

  He calls downstairs and the porter arrives to move out all the things we just brought up. Within minutes, we are in the backseat again, Grace between us.

  It takes over half an hour just to clear Paris, then we’re driving through the country. I sit back. I’ve been working nonstop for six years, afraid to leave my new business for even a day.

  And now I’m in France.

  “Have you been here since last year?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head no. “I got caught up in the rat race.” He stares out the window. I wonder if he’s thinking of his time here a year ago. Winnie, then the Duchess. I didn’t peg Dell as being sentimental.

  We stop for lunch at a small cafe in a tiny town en route. The proprietor, a stout woman with red cheeks, plays peekaboo with Grace, fluttering a white cloth over the baby seat and pulling it away.

  As we grow closer to the castle, I start to feel anxiety. Is it possible to get arrested for trespassing in France? Are there separate laws for nobility?

  My shoulders tense up. I feel like I do when I have to face an angry family who discovers that they aren’t going to get into my child spa after all, that their child has aged out before ever finding a spot.

  I let out a long breath, trying to calm myself. It will be okay. This is Dell’s issue, not mine.

  Can she take the baby? Will she see Grace and decide she can’t live without her after all?

  “Ready for this?” Dell asks.

  I nod. In the distance, I can see a large structure sitting on a hill. Land stretches out around it. It’s like a city to itself.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he says. “They don’t live here year-round, just summer. I understand it’s impossible to keep warm in the winter.”

  He banters on about the layout, the seasons, and how most of the people in the area work seasonally at the castle. The Duke likes to create an air of historic aristocracy, and actually holds an annual ball.

  That word makes me snap to him. “This isn’t a ball, is it?”

  “No, just a party. But there will be music and dancing. Balls are very structured, so I hear.”

  “Have you been to one?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m not exactly high on the Duke’s list of favorites.”

  “Does he know about the Duchess?”

  “No,” Dell says quickly. “And I’m pretty sure he’d shoot me, or have someone shoot me, if he did.”

  Fear blossoms through me. “Then why are we going there?” I glance down at Grace. “With proof of what you did?”

  “He won’t know. I just want answers. For her.”

  Our eyes clash. I settle down a notch, but I feel grossly out of my element here. I don’t take risks. I’ve had a safety net beneath me my whole life. Wealth. Privilege.

  Now I am walking a tightrope over a ravine.

  Dell reaches across the baby seat to squeeze my arm. “This will be fine. We are all civilized people.” He reaches in his pocket. “That reminds me.”

 
He has a small velvet pouch in his hand. He opens the drawstring and drops an enormous diamond solitaire ring into his palm.

  He looks at it a moment, watching the light twinkle through it. Then he holds it out to me. “You’re my wife, remember?”

  I’m speechless as I reach for it. Instead of passing it to me, though, he holds my hand with both of his and slips it on my finger. “Until death by a Duke’s shotgun we do part,” he says.

  “Not funny,” I say, but I do laugh.

  I look at my hand. The ring is gorgeous, round and as wide as my finger. “It’s a very nice fake,” I say.

  “Not a fake,” he says.

  “You just have five-carat diamond rings lying around?” My hand feels heavy with it on.

  “I had a jeweler send along a selection to the hotel in Paris,” he says. “I chose one while you were showering.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Will you return it when we go back?”

  He shrugs. “I’ll keep it as an investment, perhaps.”

  It’s hard to pull my eyes from it. I see why newly engaged girls take pictures for social media. It’s such a beautiful thing. Wearing a ring like this makes you feel like a princess.

  The road meanders as it approaches the castle grounds. Dell releases me and I lay my hand inside the baby seat next to Grace. I have to be strong, at least for her. This is her legacy, her story that we’re unfolding.

  We won’t let it be just about her abandonment. We want to know the truth.

  The driver takes us through the opening in the low stone wall that runs around the entire structure. I half expect to see a moat and a drawbridge, but there is simply a circle drive. There are a few cars already lining it, glossy paint jobs, impressive emblems. Ahead of us, a catering truck makes the circle and is directed by a man dressed in white to a small road that goes around the side.

  “This is it,” Dell tells the driver. “Park close. If you see us come out, pick us up immediately.”

  The man nods.

  A valet approaches and opens my door. I step out.

  He asks us something in French. It’s been years since I took any of it, and I stare at him blankly.

  “Americans,” he says, switching to English. “Are you guests of the castle for tonight?”

  “Yes,” I say. Dell is removing Grace from her seat.

  “Do you have bags?”

  I glance at Dell. If we have to leave quickly, we can’t lose all of Grace’s things!

  “Let us get settled first,” Dell says. “We have some concerns that the baby will disturb others. We may go somewhere else.”

  Good call, I think. I’m relieved he’s thought some of this through.

  “Very well,” the man says. “Come with me and I will take you to greet the Duke.”

  I want to cry, “No!” but Dell just nods at the man and takes my arm. Grace is cradled in his elbow.

  My nerves are a wreck as we walk up the steps to the main doors. I have no idea what is going to happen.

  “Please let me know how to announce you to the Duke,” he says.

  “The Captain and Mistress of the Berry River,” Dell says with flourish. “From Manhattan,” he adds when the valet snaps his head around.

  I try to contain my giggle. At least he wasn’t Cap’n Crunch.

  “Very well,” the man says.

  We enter a monstrous room with a soaring ceiling, incredible stone stairs leading up on either side. Beyond is another unbelievably large room. The ballroom, I assume. It could be nothing else. Tables are being set up inside.

  The valet leads us to the right, down a corridor.

  The ceiling is still impossibly high, and each doorway towers over my head.

  We pause before a set of open double doors. I get a small peek inside as the valet motions for us to stay and steps forward.

  “The Captain of the Berry River and his Mistress, of Manhattan,” the man says.

  Now we’re both trying not to laugh. Grace waves her arms, excited by our barely contained mirth.

  “What in the world?” a voice calls.

  “Let’s hope his wife is with him,” Dell whispers. “Lock in on her expression.”

  But when we step through, there are only three men.

  One, a burly man with a bushy beard, is staring at the door. “Are you shitting me?” he says.

  His gaze locks on Dell, then his eyes go cold. “You were not invited,” he says. “Leave before I have you thrown out.”

  “Philippe, how is that for a greeting? We may have deals to manage in the future.” Dell steps forward, extending his hand.

  “You are to address him as the Duke,” one of the other men says. “And you are unwelcome here, Dell Brant.”

  I shiver. It’s like we’ve stepped into medieval times. And not the hokey restaurant.

  Grace doesn’t like the sound of these voices, and puckers up and cries.

  “When did you acquire a child?” the Duke asks, glancing at me. “Ah, I see. Well, go on, then. Children are not permitted at tonight’s festivities.”

  The valet takes my arm to lead me out, and the two men with the Duke step forward to make sure Dell follows.

  “Might we have a word with the Duchess before we go?” Dell asks. “To wish her a happy fiftieth? We did fly all the way from New York.”

  The Duke hesitates. “She’s seeing to the party. I’ll send your regards.” He waves us on. “Now please go before you make a scene on her day.”

  By the time we’ve reached the hall, two more men are standing outside to escort us. The Duke must have somehow alerted security.

  The sun blasts down on us as we are ushered down the steps. The two men and the valet wait at the top, ensuring we actually leave.

  “Well, that was a bust,” I say as the driver comes around.

  “It was,” Dell says. “We’ll go to the inn and regroup.”

  The drive back through the countryside is pretty, but long. Grace is fussy, still unsettled by the loud angry voices. I pat her leg and continuously place a pacifier in her mouth since I can’t pick her up.

  We arrive at the inn, a small rambling place with only forty rooms. Quite a number of the guests are clearly attending the party, as the women are already fussing with elaborate hairdos that don’t match their casual outfits, and everyone seems to be on edge.

  “Thank you for finding a room for us,” Dell tells the woman at the desk. “It looks quite busy here.”

  “One of the busiest weekends of the year,” she says. “For the party of the Duchess.”

  “I heard,” he says. “Our driver can manage our bags.”

  “Oh good,” she says. “There are a lot of people here who are used to being waited on. Our poor porters are really having a time of it.”

  “Well, don’t worry about us,” he says.

  “It’ll be quiet here in a few hours,” she adds. “The entire place will be off to the party.”

  Dell accepts an old-fashioned key. He looks at it, amused. “Been a long time since I’ve had something other than a key card,” he says.

  “We like to retain some Old World charm,” she says. “But you’ll find a large safe in your closet you can program for your valuables.”

  He looks at the key again. “Thanks.”

  The elevator looks like it was built before elevators were invented, so we take the stairs to the third floor.

  Once we’re settled, I collapse back on the bed. “Well, we didn’t get shot,” I say.

  Dell sets the baby seat beside me. “I see you had a high bar for success.”

  I laugh. “I didn’t know what to think.”

  He pulls Grace out of her seat and sets her on his lap. “Well, baby, I guess we’ll never know if you were the daughter of a Duchess.”

  I roll over to move close to them. “It doesn’t matter. She’s a princess to us.”

  Chapter 37: Dell

  The inn starts to empty out at dusk. Arianna and I watch them head out, car by car, from a porch swing at the
front of the building.

  “Look at the dresses,” Arianna says. “Look at the hair!” She seems stunned by all the elegance and beauty walking by. She has no idea she has them all beat.

  “I didn’t even get to see the gown Paul-Simon and Michel chose for you,” I say.

  Arianna feeds Grace her last bottle of the evening. She’s been sleeping better, long stretches of six hours. Even on the plane she only woke once.

  “Well, she’s out,” Arianna says, setting the bottle between us.

  “No sailor burp?” I ask.

  “She’s doing better on this formula,” she says. “I’ll pat her a little but try not to wake her.”

  Another problem solved. I assume others will arise. This teething thing everyone talks about. It sounds abominable. Walking. Falling. Nursery school. Her first boyfriend.

  I’ll kill him. Murder him with my bare hands if he so much as touches her.

  “What’s got you so worked up?” Arianna asks. She gestures to my balled-up fists.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I arranged for dinner in our room. Might as well make it a nice night since we’re missing the big soirée.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” she says. “I feel like we’ve been on the run for days.”

  She hesitates, then asks, “So if the Duke doesn’t know about you and the Duchess, why did he kick you out?”

  “He wanted me to buy a business he had plunged into fatal debt. I refused.”

  “So just business?”

  “Just business.”

  A young woman with a white apron steps out. “Your dinner is in your room when you are ready,” she says.

  We stand up. “Thank you,” I tell her.

  I take the baby from Arianna. We head up the back stairs.

  The room looks magical, just as I asked. White lights are strung throughout it. The window is open wide to the approaching night, the breeze blowing the curtains. A table is set nearby, two chairs and candles.

  “I thought this might be the best we can do since we’re miles from anywhere and have a baby,” I say.