The Magnate's Baby Promise / Having The Billionaire's Baby. Sandra Hyatt

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СКАЧАТЬ sighted the groceries on the kitchen bench. “Did you order that in?”

      She gave him an odd look. “No, I went to the supermarket.”

      “Did you carry all this?”

      She rolled her eyes at the dark suspicion in his voice. “No. Your mother pushed the cart then your doorman delivered it upstairs.”

      “I thought you went clothes shopping.”

      “We did.” When she offered him a platter of carrot sticks, he took one, crunching it thoughtfully. “You also needed food in your fridge.”

      “I have food.”

      “Wine, water, juice, coffee, cereal.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “No fruit, meat, dairy or vegetables.”

      She turned back to the pot and gave the sauce another stir, but when he remained silent she threw a look over her shoulder. “What?”

      He shoved down a myriad of conflicting thoughts, smoothing his expression. “How’s the nausea?”

      She handed him a knife with a smile. “Gone until the morning, I suspect. Make yourself useful and cut the feta?”

      At his round dining table they ate in silence, an odd half tense, half expectant silence. Cal was fully aware of every move, every sound as they devoured the spaghetti and Greek salad she’d made. The tiny scrape of fork on plate, the gentle swallow of water being sipped only amplified the quiet. When he spoke, it was like a shot.

      “What did you buy today?”

      She downed her fork with deliberate care. “Yes.”

      Cal eyed her well-worn attire but said nothing.

      “A few dresses,” she said stiffly. “Some jeans, shoes, skirts. A few tops and a jacket. Don’t worry,” she added in a small voice. “I won’t embarrass you.”

      Damn. He’d hurt her but didn’t know how to fix it, so he did the only thing he could. He let silence do the mending.

      “We’ve had some interview requests,” he finally said, placing the cutlery across his plate.

      She sat back in her chair, digesting that information. “Do you expect me to give interviews?”

      He shrugged. “Only if you want. There’s also a bunch of glossies angling for a spread—Vogue, Elle, Cosmo, for starters.”

      “Fashion shoots.” She shook her head. “That’s just…surreal.”

      “You’re now a news item. You’re in demand.”

      “But only as your fiancée,” she countered.

      “I thought,” Cal said slowly, “women liked getting pampered, dressed up and photographed.”

      “I don’t do ‘pampered and dressed up.’” She stood abruptly. “I’m practical, a simple country girl who wears jeans and steel-capped boots. I clean the kitchen, I cook, I wash up. I work with dirt and dig a veggie patch.” In quick jerky movements, she began to clear the table. “I’m not glamorous, I’m not model material…I…I have crow’s feet and dry heels!”

      Her delivery was so frustratingly honest that Cal swallowed his snort of amusement. He couldn’t tell if she was simply explaining herself or warning him off.

      “So doing girly things scares you.”

      She shot him a look that lacked venom. “I didn’t say that.”

      “Why not give it a go? You might like it.”

      “Do you think I might also like some interviewer digging around in my personal life for a couple of hours?”

      “That,” he returned, following her into the kitchen with his plate, “is where my press office comes in. I can prep you.” Decision made, Cal rinsed his plate.

      Needing movement, Ava wiped the sparkling benches while he stacked the dishwasher. But when everything had been cleared, tidied and returned to its drawer or shelf, there was nothing left to occupy her hands.

      “Go sit outside,” Cal said as he reached for the cupboard. “I’ll bring you some tea.”

      Once alone on the balcony, the rigid composure she’d been battling drained. The warmth of the patio heater brushed her skin, a delicious contrast to the sharp bite of cold wind. She grabbed up the throw rug and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her feet beneath her bottom as she sat.

      Like Alice down the rabbit hole, everything had changed. Gone was peace and quiet, replaced by the shiny boldness of newly acquired fame and fortune. Over lunch at a North Shore café, Isabelle had bluntly described what to expect leading up to the wedding.

      “You’ll be on everyone’s invitation list,” the older woman said in between bites of her smoked salmon sandwich. “Parties, social appearances. Requests for fashion shoots and interviews. That’s the upside. The downside is less delightful but just as important.”

      “Rumor and innuendo?”

      At Isabelle’s serious nod, Ava’s smile had dropped. “Yes. Imagine your worst doubts, your deepest fears plastered on the front page of every newspaper in the country. If there’s anything you’ve ever done but don’t want the press to know, they’ll find it.” She leaned back, fixing Ava with a steady look. “It’s how you handle it that matters.”

      Ava shuddered. It was one thing to think the worst of herself, to harbor that black cloud of failure, but to have her insecurities publicly aired for everyone to see?

      That was not going to happen.

      The moment was broken by the door swooshing open. Cal stepped outside with two steaming cups and a sheaf of papers.

      The contract.

      He placed it and a pen in front of her, then the cup. With outward calm, she picked up the papers and flicked through them. He’d efficiently tagged the places for her signature but instead of blindly signing, she tucked them beside her on the couch. “I’ll have to read this over.”

      He nodded, settling in the one-seater across from her, a casual version of the previous night. “Of course.”

      Ava snagged her cup and for a few minutes they remained silent. She’d never felt the need to fill a lull with inane chat, but Cal’s presence made her acutely aware of her own, the way she looked, dressed, acted. He made her as nervous as a teenager on her first date.

      “Your mother loves to shop,” Ava ventured lamely.

      “My mother believes shopping is a great icebreaker.” He smiled, shifting his large bulk more comfortably in the seat. “It’s her great people leveler.”

      “We did talk a lot.”

      “About?”

      “Mostly me. The wedding.” She deliberately omitted the topic of Cal’s childhood, unwilling to betray СКАЧАТЬ