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It would be hard for his father to reverse course once he learned about the baby, but even if it all went to hell in a handbasket...
Saint would hate that. He really would, but Fliss and the baby were his priority now—which was such a lurching departure from his usual way of thinking, he didn’t know how to feel about it.
He shook hands with each of the board members, accepting their congratulations as he left them to finish their quarterly meeting.
His father only gave him a curt nod, saying dismissively, “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Fliss couldn’t decide if she was Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella.
She’d been half-asleep when they had landed and driven into the city last night. Saint had shown her around his cavernous penthouse before they’d gone back to bed, but she hadn’t fully appreciated his home until she’d woken to the sunshine pouring in on her.
Situated eighty floors into the sky, it was two stories wrapped in an arc of glass offering panoramic views of the Hudson River, New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. She descended what looked like a glass staircase to the main floor, where a color scheme of slate and midnight blue and quiet cream welcomed her. All of his furniture was modern with rounded corners and long, flowing lines. The floors were marble and hardwood, and the area rugs were so exquisite they had to be handloomed. The contemporary abstracts on the walls were by names she didn’t recognize but would look up later.
She and Saint hadn’t spoken much. It had still been early, so they’d made love, eaten breakfast, showered, and then he’d dressed in a suit, telling her he had an important meeting with the board this morning. It was a special project that had been derailed by the bad publicity after their initial affair.
Fliss had grown uneasy, deducing that her presence, and pregnancy, could impact his aspirations again.
“There’s still time to...not do this,” she’d reminded him.
He had turned from the mirror, his tie still dangling loosely from his upturned collar, the top button of his shirt not yet closed. She’d been barefoot in her cotton pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt without a bra.
“Do you want to not do this?” His gaze had flicked to the bed they’d used with enthusiasm.
“I want to do this.” She’d pointed at the floor. “Be in this room and never leave. I don’t want to do that.” She’d waved at the windows. “Be out there as a thing that strangers can judge.”
“Good news. Your wish is granted.” He’d come across to drop a kiss onto her lips that had been seductive enough that she’d leaned into it, encouraging him to linger. He’d drawn back with reluctance. “For the day, anyway. We’ll have dinner with my parents tonight, but it’s best if you stay inside until then. Do you mind?” He’d finished buttoning his shirt and expertly tied his tie without looking.
“Dinner? Tonight?” she’d cried. “Where? Here? Am I supposed to cook? What do I wear?”
“Wow. This is not an actual emergency. Take a breath. I’ve asked Willow—Ah. They’re here.” He’d pointed toward a muted ping that had sounded from a hidden speaker.
“Who’s here? Who’s Willow?”
“My executive assistant. Their pronouns arethey/them. I’ll introduce you, then I have to go. Do you mind getting dressed?” His gaze had dropped to her chest. “I like seeing your nipples through your shirt, but I’m getting possessive about who else does.”
Her nipples had tightened in a responsive sting that had made her blush. He’d smirked.
She’d hurried to change while Saint had shrugged into his jacket and put on his shoes, then he’d led her down the stairs, saying, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” the well-dressed twenty-something had responded. They’d worn a very smart pinstriped suit and boots with a heel. They hadn’t batted an eyelash at Fliss, even though they’d known who she was because they’d said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Corning. I’m Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Fliss had shaken their hand, smiling uncertainly because even in jeans and a fresh T-shirt,with a bra, she’d felt very underdressed. “Please call me Fliss.”
“I’ll go to the office alone,” Saint had said to Willow. “I need you to stay and help Fliss get settled. First order of business is to find her an obstetrician.”
“Of course.” Willow had drawn a phone from the inside pocket of their suit jacket, again seeming completely unfazed. “My sister has a specialist she loves. Let me ask her for the number.”
“See if she has a stylist she likes, too.”
“For tonight?” Fliss had asked him.
“And the foreseeable future,” he’d replied, adding to Willow, “Someone stronger in procurement than opinions. Fliss knows what she wants. Make dinner reservations at that place my mother likes. Warn them that my father will be with us so they can have a steak on hand. I’ll text if I think of anything else.” He’d checked for his phone, then he’d dropped a kiss onto Fliss’s pouted mouth. “Willow is extremely trustworthy. You’re in good hands.”
Seconds later, he’d been gone and she’d been alone with the stranger.
“My sister,” Willow had said with a satisfied smile as their phone had pinged. “The office won’t be open yet, but I’ll set up a call to interview the doctor as soon as I can get through.”
“Thank you. Saint ordered breakfast.” Fliss had waved toward the kitchen where they had eaten at the island bar. She hadn’t put it away yet. “They must have thought we were a party of thirty. There are pastries and fruit medley for days. Would you like something?”
