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

by JJ Knight

  She concentrates for a moment, shifting her hips, making little gyrating circles that make me have to summon some resolve to stop me from slamming into her.

  “I like this,” she says. “Whew. Wow.”

  I watch her face shift expressions, her body jolting with each newly discovered point of pleasure. Her breasts shift over me like two suns rising. Eventually I can’t manage the temptation and hold each glorious one, thumbing the nipples.

  “I want to go fast,” she says. “Like really fast. Will that hurt you?”

  I place my hands on her hips. “Try me.”

  Her body begins to pulse over mine. Damn, that’s good. I help her, urging her faster.

  She moves her hand to her mouth to stay quiet. I can feel the tension in her, muscles tightening around me.

  I move even faster, harder, until I’m not sure I’ll make it a minute more, clamping down on my control.

  She squeals a little, sounds escaping, and collapses on my chest. She’ll be spent, so I go ahead and let loose inside her, pumping, grinding, loving every stroke.

  I bring us both down slowly. She sighs against my neck. “I just want to do it again,” she says against my cheek.

  “I am at your service,” I say. Damn, she’s a wonder.

  But after a few minutes of holding on to each other, the first peek of sun spills through the still-open window.

  As soon as a beam hits the baby bed, Grace lets out a lusty cry.

  “At least she waited,” Arianna whispers.

  “She did us a solid on that.”

  “And she’s probably done more than a solid in her diaper.”

  I have to laugh. From pillow talk to potty humor. Parenthood.

  Arianna gets up and picks up Grace. Her body is rosy in the low light. Something about her naked form holding the infant stirs me like nothing else has. I don’t care what dolled-up high-end stylist does your hair or what six-figure Paris-designed gown you don, there is simply no more beautiful sight than what I’m looking at now.

  She turns, patting the baby so she’s calm before she tries to change her. I see a sparkle on her finger and realize she is still wearing the ring I put on her finger yesterday.

  And it looks exactly right.

  Chapter 42: Arianna

  We’ve all gotten showered, dressed, and had a quick breakfast at the table in our room when there’s a knock.

  Dell checks his watch. “The driver’s a little early. I’ll tell him to take the things we’ve already packed.”

  He opens the door. But it’s not our driver from yesterday. It’s the woman from the front desk.

  “Mr. Brant,” she says. “Your presence is requested in one of our cottages. Your wife and the baby too.”

  Dell stares her down. “Who sent you?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say,” she says. “It’s just for a visit.”

  “If it’s just a visit, then you can tell us who it is,” he insists.

  I guess he’s afraid the Duke is back with his gun after all.

  The woman looks both ways down the hall, then leans in. “It’s the Duchess, sir.”

  “Of Attenbury?” Dell doesn’t disguise his surprise.

  She nods. “Can I take you there?”

  Dell motions for me to bring the baby. I snatch up the diaper bag and heft Grace on my shoulder.

  We exit the back of the inn and cross a landscaped courtyard. Beyond a gate is a small pond with three cottages.

  “It’s the one in the middle,” the woman says. “She is expecting you.”

  When she is out of earshot, I ask Dell, “You think the Duchess knows we showed up at her house?”

  “Looks like it,” he says. “And she wants to see the baby.”

  My heart hammers in my throat. This is it. What we came for.

  Dell knocks on the door. After a moment, it opens. It’s a young woman, maybe twenty. “Come in,” she says.

  After we pass through, she leaves the cottage, closing the door behind her.

  The inside is rustic and charming. A braided rug beneath a coffee table. Well-worn floral sofa and Queen Anne chairs.

  In one of them is a woman, regal, fair-haired, and thin. She has that air about her you expect in those who know their station in life.

  “Dell,” she says. “So good of you to come.”

  She doesn’t take her eyes off him, as if looking anywhere else will spoil the illusion that he is alone and there just for her.

  Dell walks up and bows. “Duchess,” he says.

  She lifts her hand and he kisses the back of it.

  “My husband informed me you tried to crash my party,” she says. “I thought it very dashing of you. But of course you brought a wife.”

  Only then does she look to me. When her eyes meet mine, I bow too. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to, or if Dell was being gallant, but I err on the safe side.

  She turns her attention back to Dell. “What have you named your child?” she asks.

  “Grace,” Dell says. “For my grandmother.”

  “Lovely,” she says. “I suppose you are here because you think I am her mother.”

  What? She’s not? I glance at Dell to see if he is registering any shock, but he has his boardroom face on.

  He bows again. “When I looked upon her beauty, I knew she could be none other than yours.”

  “Still the charmer,” she says, relaxing a little. “What a whirlwind few days we had. I will never forget them.”

  Dell gestures to the baby. “And now they live on.”

  Her face remains neutral. “Who is this woman you’ve married? I saw no mention of it in the press.”

  He pauses. “Arianna,” he says. “She’s the perfect mother.”

  “You can’t have known her long,” the Duchess says. “Yet you know this about her?”

  I’m aghast he hasn’t corrected her about our marriage, but I say nothing. She still hasn’t admitted to being the mother.

  “I know her,” Dell says. “And there is none like her.”

  The Duchess watches him a few moments more. Then she says, “That is good enough for me.” She rises and goes to a small rolltop desk in the corner. She withdraws a long envelope.

  “You’ll find in here a certificate listing the baby’s date and place of birth in a very small Russian village. The mother is documented officially as one Galina Popov. She was a local girl who died in a car accident around the time I arrived. Her mother assisted in the delivery of the baby and agreed to list her. You are named as the father. This ensures she could easily become an American even though she was born in Russia.”

  “What is her official name?” Dell asks.

  “Galina Brant.” The Duchess passes the envelope to Dell. “But it is of no consequence. Change it as you like.”

  “How did you hide your condition?” Dell asks.

  “It is not so hard to disappear on an extended holiday when you serve no purpose past your provision of heirs,” she says. “With my children grown, no one even noticed, other than Christmas, which was covered with minimal fuss. Everyone has their lives, you know.”

  I can’t imagine not being missed for a year. It’s terrible.

  “Who brought her to New York?” Dell asks.

  “I have no idea,” the Duchess says. “I had it arranged. I never saw the baby. I would not allow myself to fall in love with her. I wanted more for her than to suffer as the object of derision and scorn.”

  Only now does her gaze shift to the bundle in my arms. “However, I should like to see her just this once.”

  I hesitate only for a moment. Then I walk up to her and hold out the baby.

  The Duchess takes her. “I have three grandchildren. I never would have dreamed for a moment I could still conceive. But it had been a decade since the opportunity could have arisen.”

  My empathy rises for this woman. She is admired and envied throughout the country. But she is lonely.

  The woman examines the child. Grace looks at her w
ith a solemn expression. There is still no resemblance, but when she is older, it will most certainly be there.

  “You can use the birth certificate or burn it,” she tells Dell. “It was not officially registered. Your lawyers there will do what is necessary, will they not?”

  He nods.

  “All right, then.” She presses a long kiss into one of the baby’s cheeks, then the other, then passes her back to me. “It is done. I trust you will keep this secret to your grave. We cannot upset the balance of heirs.” She gives a sardonic laugh. “As if anything passes through the females, even today.”

  She stands and kisses both of Dell’s cheeks. “Love her. I could not be more pleased to see you have settled your philandering ways.”

  Then she turns to me. “Raise her as your own.” She tilts her head at Dell. “And keep him too busy to wander.”

  She kisses both of my cheeks as well. Then she leaves the room.

  Dell and I exit the cottage. Neither of us speak, as if struck dumb by the Duchess, her confession, and the necessity of her sacrifice.

  Chapter 43: Dell

  When Arianna and I get back to our room, I know we should discuss what has just happened. It’s difficult to process all that has transpired in the past few hours.

  Few days, even.

  Arianna seems subdued, slowly packing all of Grace’s things and preparing the diaper bag for the trip home.

  I’m not sure what is getting her the most. Seeing Grace’s mother or the events of last night. She’s different.

  I fear she regrets everything.

  And of course, there is Grace. Arianna wants her. She has said so. But she is my child. The DNA will confirm it, but of course it isn’t necessary now. We know.

  “Should we talk about this?” I ask her as she zips the garment bag around the incredible white dress she wore last night.

  “What is there to discuss?” she says. “Grace is yours. You already have her room all set up. You have a perfect nanny.”

  So she does have regrets. She’s cutting herself out of the picture.

  I shove my own things willy-nilly in bags.

  Willy-nilly.

  My grandmother used to say that.

  She is long gone, but I wonder what she would think of what I’ve become. “Always cherish the important things,” she would say.

  She just never said what those were.

  I’ve lived my life surrounded by the things I’ve earned.

  But maybe there is more, things that can’t be bought or sold.

  Only freely given.

  The driver arrives to take our bags. The opportunity to talk more about the Duchess has ended. We seem to have nothing else to discuss, and the drive passes in silence other than occasional comments about Grace’s hunger, or the need to stop and change her.

  Then we’re at an airport. Then our seats. Always surrounded by people, strangers, making it impossible to talk about anything. The secret is too big to risk.

  And then, we’re back in New York.

  And home.

  Arianna does not want to speak to me. She is impatient to get back to her life, her routine.

  It seems that this time the weekend fling was orchestrated by the woman, and it’s her decision to end it. The child is not adoptable, so there is nothing else for her to do with me.

  The tables have turned.

  Chapter 44: Arianna

  We make it back to the Dell Brant Building around midnight Monday. I’ve missed a day at the child spa. Dell missed the DNA test. Not that it matters.

  We know who she belongs to. And it will never be me.

  I’m not sure what will happen next. The driver helps us load our things in the elevator. The night doorman tips his hat and codes the elevator for the fortieth floor.

  When the door closes, Dell pushes number four.

  My floor.

  Grace is asleep in the bucket. Carrie is in the penthouse, ready to handle her. Dell has already extended her nanny job. I heard him speak to her on his plane.

  I guess this is what the morning after feels like. The awkward separation. The “I’ll call you.”

  Except Dell never does.

  I want to remind him what the Duchess said to me. To take care of Grace. Raise her as my own.

  But that promise was based on a lie. I’m not Dell’s wife. I’m not his anything. Not even the babysitter.

  As the elevator opens to my floor, I pull off the diamond ring. “I guess the ruse is over,” I say, passing it to Dell. “It worked.”

  He takes the ring and stares at it.

  I shoulder my duffel. I’m tired. I want to sleep.

  I step out of the elevator.

  “Arianna, wait!” Dell says.

  I turn, expectant.

  He holds up the garment bag with the white gown. “This is yours.”

  I deflate inside. I want to tell him to keep it. Shove it somewhere. Up his ass, maybe. But I reach out and take it from him. “Thanks.”

  The driver hits a button and the door closes. I keep standing there, waiting, wishing it would open again.

  What did I expect?

  I trudge back to my apartment. This is the worst. Only when you soar can you crash this hard.

  When I step inside my apartment, there is a white envelope on the floor, slid beneath the door.

  I set down my duffel and toss the garment bag across the back of the sofa.

  Inside the envelope is a card.

  Congratulations! You have been accepted into the DOMs. Our next gathering of Dell Brant’s exes will be held at the La Feria bar on the Upper West Side, August 3 at 2 p.m. sharp. Don’t worry about recognizing us. We will recognize you.

  Oh. My. God.

  One. How did they know?

  Two. What the hell? I don’t want in their little group!

  I storm to my bed and flop down on it. I don’t know what to do first. Laugh? Cry? Hit things?

  Luckily, exhaustion wins. I’m out before I can do any of those.

  I wake to my phone alarm, reminding me it’s time to start my Tuesday.

  Might as well get up and begin the first day of my post-Dell life. There will be many more. In fact, all my days will be post-Dell. Because Dell is Dell.

  I spot the DOMs card again. What a crock.

  No way.

  If I’m a Dell ex, I’ll do it alone.

  ***

  A week passes. It’s horrible. I wonder how Grace is doing. Carrie hasn’t walked by the front of the spa. Nor has Dell. I stopped watching for them around Friday.

  I try to move on. I find an adoption agency that accepts single mothers, but toss the packet after attending the first meeting. That doesn’t feel right either. The only baby I want to adopt is Grace.

  On Wednesday, Taylor buzzes me to the front with the emergency get here right now pattern.

  I sprint to the foyer and burst through the door in a complete panic. I have no idea what to expect. A fire? A crazed parent? Did Dell finally evict me?

  But it’s Bernard. He’s holding Grace at arm’s length. She is screaming at the top of her lungs. Her diaper has leaked all over her outfit with yellow ooze.

  Taylor looks relieved to see me. “He wouldn’t talk to anyone but you,” she says.

  “That’s all right. Just fine,” I say. I reach in a drawer for a signature Del Gato Child Spa burp cloth and wrap Grace’s bottom. Then I take her from Bernard.

  “What is going on? Where’s Carrie? And Dell?”

  Bernard’s normally placid face is full of terror. “She quit. He left. Madam Arianna, this is NOT in my contract!”

  I cuddle Grace against my cheek. “Shush now, baby girl. You’re okay.”

  “He left no instructions. Gave me no assistance!” Bernard’s voice is full of anguish and confusion. “I have a mind to give notice!”

  “You’re all right, Bernard,” I say in the same soothing tone I’m using with Grace. “Let’s go back and get the baby cleaned up. Would you like a cup of hot tea
?”

  “I might,” he says, wringing his hands as he follows me down the hall. “I had no idea what to do. She was screaming and smelling and screaming.”

  I buzz us into the diaper room. “Sit right there, Bernard,” I say, pointing to a pristine white chair.

  Penelope jumps from her stool. “What’s going on?”

  “Can you fetch Bernard some tea from the break room?” I ask her. “He’s had a rough morning.”

  She takes off as I lay Grace down on the changing pad. “How is Gracie-boo?” I ask. “Bad morning for you too?”

  She reaches up with her hands to touch my face. Her eyes are wet with tears.

  I sweep away the outfit, a pink one I don’t recognize, and the soiled diaper. I change her and pull a Del Gato Child Spa onesie from the cabinet. When she is settled, I turn to Bernard.

  He sits, stiff as a board, looking anywhere but at us. He seems unhappy that he lost his calm facade.

  Penelope returns with the tea. She passes it to him and I suggest she check on the baby rooms. She happily heads out again.

  “So start at the beginning,” I say, picking up Grace. She’s happy now that she’s dry and changed. I could squeeze her forever.

  “Mr. Brant has not been the same since returning from France,” Bernard says. “He will mind me saying it, but I can’t help it. He’s been terribly unpleasant, disorganized, and out of routine.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “No one has the slightest clue. I even spoke to the housekeeper about it, and you should know I am not one to gossip with the help.” He holds the string of his tea bag, bobbing it up and down.

  Grace babbles and I rub her back, shushing her. I’m anxious to hear what Bernard has to say about Dell.

  “Then he lost his temper with Miss Carrie this morning, and she said that was one too many times, and up and quit.” Bernard’s face contorts. “She handed the baby to me! ME!” He is overcome and can’t manage the tea anymore. I step forward and take it before he spills it on his hands.

  “I tried to pass the baby back to Dell, but then HE left.” His hand flutters before his eyes as if he’s shielding them from a bright light. “I’m too old for this.”