Summer of Love: The Billionaire's Baby (BWWM Pregnancy and Marriage Multicultural Love Story)

by Imani King

  "Uh..." he said, looking me up and down, unaware of how important his answer was, "Yeah, I think you're getting a little bigger. Do you think you are?

  "Ugh."

  To my utter chagrin, I felt hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes and looked down at my pasta to try and hide my childishness from Blake.

  "Nat - did I say something wrong? You're pregnant, you're supposed to get bigger. Don't be silly."

  Then it got even worse, because instead of sucking it up like I usually would have, the tears didn't stop and pretty soon I was sitting there practically sobbing openly, wondering what the hell was going on.

  "Nat, baby," Blake came over to me and knelt down in front of me. "Nat, come on, what's wrong? Are you worried about something?"

  "Of course I'm worried!" I blurted out, unable to get a handle on the wave of emotions crashing over me. "Blake I don't think you've ever dated anyone who weighs more than a hundred and ten pounds! I already weigh more than that. How do you think I'm going to look in nine months?"

  "Well, Nat, you see, that's where you're wrong. I didn't 'date' those girls, I just got photographed with them."

  "And by 'didn't date' I assume you mean 'had sex with anyway'?"

  I was cringing at how I was handling it but I didn't seem able to stop.

  "No, Nat. Not sleeping with. Very few of my actual girlfriends were ever in the press. Those photos you saw were mostly strangers, dates arranged by Lisa for some of her younger female clients who needed a little publicity boost. I don't think I said more than a few sentences to any of them. My tastes have always run more towards the curvy women, if you must know."

  I was relieved - and very embarrassed. It wasn't like me to make such a display of my insecurities - it isn't that I didn't have any because believe me, I did, but I wasn't raised to make a big production out of everything that bothered me even slightly. Blake was still kneeling beside me.

  "Nat, look at me."

  I looked at him, instantly softening at the expression in his eyes.

  "I want you to tell you to stop this but I'm not going to. You're nuts if you think you have anything to be insecure about with me, but I also don't ever want you to feel embarrassed about asking me for reassurance, alright? I love you. I haven't ever loved anyone before. I thought I loved Vanessa, but being with you showed that up for the fraud it was. Do you understand? Do you know how much I love you?"

  I wiped the tears off my face with my sleeve and looked back at him.

  "You really do love me, don't you?"

  He nodded. "Yes, Natasha Ray. And don't you ever think otherwise."

  As the days passed in Italy with Blake and I ensconced in Villa Ambra like we were the last two people on earth, I went through a kind of spiritual sorting process. It wasn't just the breathing room afforded by being with Blake, it was the fact of the child growing in my belly. Certain things, certain worries - it was time for them to fall away. Love is the thing that makes it easy to let go of small things - it turns your focus outward, onto the object of your love and it forces you to really see what matters. I know Blake went through the same process with me, although some of his worries and his little cares were necessarily different from mine. A week or so after our arrival I felt light, as if the burdens he had enabled me to cast aside had been physically weighing me down.

  We took to spending the hot afternoons by the pool, built in the nineteenth century for the Italian nobleman who had inherited the property and tucked away in a grove of olive trees. It was made of marble and stone, crumbling in places but heaven nonetheless, a little slice of cool blue water I could submerge myself in whenever the sun got too hot. I also started to go topless or completely naked when lounging by the pool - something about the hazy, lazy summer air and the ripening state of my body made me feel primal and indulgent. Blake would often bring me trays of fruit and chilled glasses of San Pellegrino while I was laying out. One afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to sink down towards the horizon, he came out with a bowl of strawberries and a strange look on his face.

  "Look at you, Natasha. You fit right in here, you're almost part of the landscape aren't you? As lush as your surroundings..."

  I shaded my eyes with one hand and looked up at him, smiling slowly.

  "What have you got?"

  "Well, I have strawberries. And I have news."

  I sat up a little - whatever the news was I had an inkling it was related to the look on his face.

  "Oh? What news?"

  He picked one of the strawberries out of the bowl and carefully pulled the green leaves at the top back from the fruit, lowering it to my lips so I could take a bite.

  "I've been on the phone with Barrington. I'm paying Vanessa off. When we go back to L.A., all I need to do is sign the papers."

  I thought for a minute. For Vanessa to have agreed to a quickie divorce, Blake must have paid her a substantial amount of money.

  "How much?"

  Blake popped one of the strawberries into his mouth and sat down on the sun-bleached flagstones next to me. His eyes were as clear and blue as sapphires in the fading sunlight.

  "Does it matter?"

  I opened my mouth to tell him that yes, it did matter. Vanessa had lied to him from the beginning and then she'd tried to ruin his life - and mine. Why should she get away with it? But then I looked around at where I was and who I was with and it sank in - it didn't matter. Whatever the amount, Blake could afford it, I knew he wouldn't put our future or our child's future in any danger.

  "You're right, aren't you? It doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter."

  Blake smiled at me and handed me another strawberry. Only it wasn't a strawberry it was a small red leather box. I looked up at him and caught his eye - he was trying not to smile but he couldn't keep it off his face.

  "Open it, Nat."

  I opened it and blinked as the sun caught the diamond and momentarily dazzled me.

  "Blake...?"

  He was on one knee now, kneeling beside my lounge chair.

  "Natasha Ray, will you marry me?"

  I couldn't speak right away so instead I offered him my right hand, watching as he slid the ring onto my ring finger.

  "I assume that's a yes?"

  "Yes," I breathed, my voice cracking with emotion. "Of course it's a yes, Blake."

  He reached out and slid his fingers along the bottom curve of one of my breasts, and then down to my belly, stroking it gently.

  "Good, because you're the most beautiful, interesting, vivacious, intelligent woman I've ever met and all I want to do is take care of you and, very soon, our little family."

  Our family. It was still so hard to believe.

  "Can I tell my friends?"

  "Nat, you can call CNN if you like. I told you I'm done with fame, and I am. I'm two things now - I'm your man, your husband-to-be and soon I'm going to be a father, too, to our son or daughter. Those are the only things that matter now."

  It was almost six o'clock in the evening, a time I was coming to associate with nap time. Blake took my hand and led me over to the grassy hill that overlooked the village and spread a thick cotton blanket down on the ground.

  I lay down next to him, wearing nothing except the surprisingly heavy ring on my finger and he curled his body around mine, spooning me, kissing my ear.

  Just before sleep took me I turned to look him in the eye:

  "Is this real? Is this really happening?"

  "Yes, Nat, it's as real as anything that's ever happened. I'm right here. Go to sleep. I love you more than I can possibly say."

  So I fell asleep in the arms of the man I love as the gentle breeze of the Italian summer whispered over my bare skin and a new life of love and family beckoned to me from the future.

  Epilogue: Natasha

  17 months later, Los Angeles, Christmastime.

  Three Palms was chock full of people on Christmas Day. My mother, two of my aunts and their children, Blake's parents and younger siblings, Rosa and her
mom and various friends who couldn't make it back to their families out of state for the day. There was also Nathaniel Blake Charlton, seven and a half months old and the light of our lives. He spent most of December twenty-fourth and Christmas day strapped to me in a baby carrier, cooing and babbling and loving all the attention that was showered on him by doting guests.

  I worked alongside my mother and her sisters and Blake's mother and siblings, who mostly had no idea what to do but were willing to stir a pot or pull a tray of cookies out of the oven when needed. The feast was going to be huge and varied, a reflection of everyone there. My mom made her famous pecan pie as well as enough cornbread to feed an army. My aunt took charge of the turkeys (three) and gravy-making. Rosa was in charge of cookies. Blake's sister Skylar had recently finished a French cooking course and decided to take charge of the potatoes - roasted and fondant. I put together a collard greens and smoked ham hock dish that had been part of the Christmas dinner table in my family since before I was born. All of that plus more side dishes and chocolates than anyone could possibly eat and I was satisfied that no one would leave our house without a bellyful of deliciousness.

  It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Day when I found myself in the kitchen putting the final touches on everything, making sure all the food was portioned out into the serving vessels and everything was ready to go. Someone had put on a playlist of cheesy Christmas music and Three Palms was full of the smell of the upcoming feast. I stepped out of the room momentarily to change Nathaniel and almost walked right into Blake, who had just come back from checking the Christmas lights outside and was hanging back, watching the scene in the kitchen through the doorway with a look on his face I couldn't quite decipher.

  "Hey," I said, standing up on my tiptoes for a kiss, "What are you doing out here?"

  He looked down at me and bent over to kiss Nathaniel, who gave his daddy a huge, gummy smile and giggled.

  "I was just...watching."

  "Oh were you? Trying to get out of doing any work? Typical man," I grinned.

  I was about to walk away and tend to the baby when Blake reached out and stopped me, suddenly pulling me into a hug.

  "Do you know why I bought that table, Nat?" He asked.

  I shook my head, unsure of where he was going and brushed some leaf debris out of his hair.

  "I bought it for this. It was very expensive and the man who made it was very crazy - an artist. It used to depress me - the table. It just sat there, almost like a rebuke, reminding me every time I sat down alone to a dinner I didn't cook that it wasn't being used for its intended purpose."

  Blake's tone of voice was soft and low. I looked up at him as he spoke and Nathaniel looked back and forth between us, as if sensing the emotion.

  "Sorry, Nat, I'm rambling - and I'm not even drunk on mulled wine yet! But I guess I'm just trying to say is that I was standing out here because I wanted to take it in, do you know what I mean?"

  I nodded as the baby played with the wedding ring on my finger, twisting it back and forth in his chubby hands.

  "Yeah, Blake," I kissed him again, "I know what you mean."

  We just stood there for a few moments, Blake and I and Nathaniel, looking at each other as the din of preparations and music and laughter went on in the background. There was no need to say anything more. Our hearts were full.

  OTHER WORKS BY IMANI KING

  A Highland Summer: The Billionaire's Nanny

  (Free excerpt on next page)

  Scandalous: The Senator's Secret Bride

  Her Russian Billionaire

  Reckless Love

  British Billionaire: A Second Chance At Love

  FREE EXCERPT from 'A Highland Summer: The Billionaire's Nanny'

  I waited outside the castle in the gardens until Cameron appeared on the back of a small grey pony with a black riding hat on her head and her father beside her, holding the pony's reins. He gave me a nod and a smile as Cameron excitedly told me the pony's name (Marshmallow) and the various things he liked to eat (carrots, apples and, as Cameron adorably called them, 'sugar lumps').

  It was a warm day and there was a faint haze in the air that gave the rolling hills of the estate a gauzy, softened look. Darach was so sexy - so masculine and tall standing next to his daughter's little pony in a pair of jeans and a lightweight gray sweater that skimmed over every muscle. The sense of ease I felt walking along beside them almost embarrassed me.

  You're his employee. Remember that. Don't make a fool of yourself.

  "So Jennifer. What do you think of Scotland, then? You've had a little time here now, is it very boring to a girl from the big city?"

  Darach had this habit of looking directly at someone when he was speaking to them. Whenever he did it to me I had to make a conscious effort not to shyly avert my eyes like some besotted schoolgirl.

  "Boring? No - not at all. I love it but I still, I don't know, it still doesn't feel totally real to me."

  "What do you mean it doesn't feel real?"

  If it had been anyone else asking me those questions I would have been able to answer them easily, but it wasn't anyone else. It was Darach. The need to impress him somehow, to be interesting and smart and all of those things you want to be around certain men, was flustering me in a way I hadn't experienced for a long time.

  "Uh, I just mean...there's nothing like this in America. I keep thinking I've traveled back in time," I looked out at the views of the Highlands stretching out around us, "I mean, look at it, it looks like the set of a romance movie. I keep expecting to see men in kilts fighting the redcoats."

  Ugh. A 'romance movie'. Why did I say that? I looked away from Darach so he wouldn't be able to see the look on my face as I rolled my eyes at my own comment.

  "Aye, men in kilts. Is that something you'd like then, Jennifer?" Darach was grinning at me, blue eyes sparkling like jewels in the sunlight and clearly enjoying himself.

  It took over an hour to make it to the Treacle-Eater's Tower and it was an odd but lovely experience chatting and laughing with Darach and his daughter as if we'd all known each other for far longer than we actually had. I knew I was his employee. He knew I was his employee. Cameron knew I was her nanny. So why couldn't I stop the cozy feelings of familiarity bubbling up inside me? Why did it feel like reaching out and intertwining my fingers with Darach's would be the most natural thing in the world? My memories of that afternoon have a certain idyllic quality, as if it happened in a dream or a book my grandmother read to me as a child. It was one of those perfect days, and there hadn't been many of those for me recently.

  Cameron carefully tied her pony to a small tree at the base of the tower and then all three of us made our way up the narrow stairs that wound their way to the very top. It hadn't looked that tall from a distance but once we emerged at the top the wind was incredibly strong, whipping my hair violently around my face. It was a small tower, only about fourteen or fifteen feet in diameter. Darach told me it had been built in the 1700s as a way for the McLanalds of the time to keep a lookout for the English, which blew my mind a little.

  "You North Americans are so funny. I'm convinced you spend every moment in Europe marveling at how old everything is. We do exactly the same thing when we go there, except we're marveling at how new everything is."

  He was right. It wasn't that I didn't realize how old things were in Europe, or how far back tangible history stretched, but to be standing in a tower that had been built to keep watch for redcoats - not reading about it or seeing it portrayed on screen but actually standing on the very same stones that Darach and Cameron's ancestors had stood on, looking out at the same hills they had looked out at - it was an almost trippy sensation.

  Cameron ran around the turret we stood on, pointing out the sea in the distance as well as various landmarks and telling me their significance. When we went back down again she roped Darach and I into a game of hide-and-seek that mainly consisted of picking a random spot in the heather, lying down in it and hoping the person se
eking happened not to step on you. I thought about Darach's question - did I find the open, empty spaces of Scotland boring compared to the big city? The truth was that lying in the heather and looking up at the pale blue Scottish sky while a giggling four year old tried to find me was more fun than any nightclub or trendy restaurant I'd been to. I could feel the whispered beginnings of attachment stirring inside me that afternoon, before I even recognized them for what they were.

  We ate smoked salmon sandwiches, cut into neat triangles by Mrs. Clyde, and passed around a thermos of hot tea for lunch. Cameron then led her little pony down to a small stream to let him have a drink.

  "She's so good with the pony." I said, impressed that such a small child could have such confidence with an animal so much bigger than her. When I looked over at Darach, lying propped up on his elbows beside me, he chuckled.

  "I was just going to say the same thing."

  We kept our eyes on Cameron and her pony but I could just feel Darach's contentment, mirroring my own.

  "You know she hasn't ever done that before - she wants to impress you," he said, absentmindedly picking a small yellow flower and twirling it between his fingers.

  "Really?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

  "Aye - can't you see how fond of you she is? She's desperate to win your approval."

  When I thought about it I realized that I wasn't, in fact, surprised by Cameron's need for my approval. She had her father's, of that there was no doubt, but her need for a nurturing female figure was more than obvious. It suddenly made me desperately sad. I turned to look at Darach - his expression said he was thinking exactly the same things I was.

  "Sometimes I wonder if asking Diane to leave was a mistake. At least if she was still here I could keep an eye on her."