The Billionaire’s Baby: Chapter 12

AMANDINE WOKE UP to the sound of pounding waves. Next to her, Gavin slept with one arm over her belly, his naked body resting on the tangled sheet. Through the curtains she could see a sliver of dark orange—almost red—demarcating the dark churning ocean and the indigo sky. What the…?

Oh , right . Thailand .

She moved his hand carefully and rose. Her muscles ached pleasantly, reminding her of how sweetly her husband had loved her the night before. Their physical connection seemed to testify as to how crazy she was to even consider giving him up.

But sex wasn’t what had gone bad in their marriage. He could give her an orgasm a day for the next four months, and it still wouldn’t change anything.

She almost wished the problem was sex. Then they could’ve just practiced until they got better at it.

How can you be sure nothing will change?

Gavin had never spent this much time with her. He was giving her a second honeymoon, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what it must’ve done to his work schedule. He’d even turned off his phone and tablet, and hadn’t checked his email since they’d left L.A.

Surely, all of that meant something. He wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t love her at least a little.

Gavin shifted, throwing an arm over his head. He looked utterly masculine, yet somehow vulnerable in the pre-dawn light. She swallowed. This was the kind of moment that deserved to be preserved.

Quickly, she grabbed a sheet of paper and a pencil from the desk and started sketching him. They weren’t the best materials, but she hadn’t brought her art supplies, so they’d have to do.

Several bold lines captured the lean symmetry of his physique. She didn’t attempt to realize every little detail. Her wrist and hand moved fast, creating little shadows where his ribs and the ridges of abdomen were. A few deft brushings of her thumb smudged the lines of his face, and his high cheekbones appeared more prominent, his jaw became dark with stubble.

Twenty minutes later, she put the sketch in a leather portfolio she’d brought along and stood up to shower. The bathroom was fully stocked with the products she liked. One good thing about having Josephine was that she knew all the best items for Amandine’s skin and hair type. It was almost like she was a mistress in charge of a harem, ensuring all the women—or in this case, just Amandine—looked and smelled good for Gavin.

Shaking her head at the whimsical, silly thought, Amandine put on a white waffle-weave robe and stepped outside. She stopped short at the sight of Gavin sitting propped up against pillows.

“Did I wake you up?”

“No. You know I don’t sleep much.”

That was true enough. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone to bed before midnight or slept in. He stretched with a yawn. “Coffee should be up soon.”

“Perfect.”

When she got to the bed, he pulled her onto his lap to cuddle. “You okay to have it?”

She nodded. “Only one small cup a day, no more.”

“I should shower and shave.” He dragged a palm across his jaw. “Your skin’s so soft. Don’t want to hurt you.”

She settled into a plush raw silk armchair by the balcony while he got himself ready. Her iPod played a new Bach mp3 she’d bought before the trip. An article on relaxation had said Bach or Mozart was the best for pregnant women, so… She closed her eyes as the mellow sound of a cello filled her head. Could her baby even notice? It had been so small when Dr. Silverman did the sonogram, nothing more than a pea-sized dot.

Amazing how such a tiny little life could disrupt so much, pluck so many emotions out of her.

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder, and she opened her eyes.

Gavin was looking at her curiously. His strong jaw was cleanly shaven now, his damp hair darker. “What are you listening to?”

She pulled out one earbud and put it into his ear. His eyes widened. “I didn’t know you liked Bach.”

“It’s supposed to be good for the baby. But I also listen to it when I paint. Well, not this particular piece, but something else.”

“Which one?”

“Some scary and dramatic pipe-organ piece. I can’t remember the name. But the article I read said this was better.”

“Who’s the cellist?” Gavin asked, returning the earbud to her.

“I don’t know. I bought the first one that popped up. There were like a million mp3s of this.”

“I see.” He went to the sound system.

While he fiddled with it, Fern came in with a big tray full of scrambled eggs, cheese slices, croissants with warm butter, fresh fruit salad and yogurt plus a pot of coffee and a pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” she said, placing the tray on the coffee table in front of Amandine. “This is what Mr. Gavin eats for breakfast whenever he visits. If you’d like something else, just let me know.”

“This is great.” Amandine smiled at the housekeeper. “Thank you.”

Fern gave her a nod that was almost a bow and left. Gavin returned and took the other armchair as the room filled with the cello piece she’d been listening to earlier. They ate their eggs and croissants while the music went on, then restarted. When Gavin didn’t get up to check the player, she frowned. He wasn’t the type to listen to the same thing over and over again. Oh wait. Something was different… Maybe a different performer?

“This isn’t the same file, is it?” she asked, hating not knowing.

“Correct.” He looked at her over the rim of his coffee mug. “Which do you like better?”

She considered. “This one.”

“Why?”

Was this some kind of test? A lot of people in Gavin’s circle were knowledgeable about classical music. To her it was unknown territory, except for a few popular tunes she recognized from TV shows and commercials.

Gavin gave her a bemused smile. “There is no right or wrong answer.”

Well then. “It’s warmer and gentler. It’s almost like the cellist is performing just for one person…someone really special to him.”

“Not bad.” He chuckled. “And you’re going to thrill Damien with that assessment.”

“Damien?”

“Damien Kirk. He’s the cellist. A good friend of mine. The version you prefer is his latest recording.”

“He’s talented.”

“Amazingly so, but he works even harder. At the top level, everyone’s talented.”

“So what’s special about him then? Just a lot of hard work?”

Gavin studied her face for a long moment. “No. He got married.”

“Must be love.” Amandine could feel herself prickling with envy. She’d wanted something like that. Instead what she had was a one-sided relationship. No matter how delicious Gavin was in bed, she couldn’t help but think it wasn’t the same thing as love .

Amandine put the fork down. “I’m full now.”

He glanced at her plate, at least half-covered with food. “You should have a little more.”

“If I eat any more, I might puke.”

Gavin leaned forward, his eyes probing. “Morning sickness?”

“No. From being over-stuffed.” She went to the walk-in closet and changed into a white sleeveless tunic and beige shorts. She squirted a generous dollop of sunblock and smeared it over her exposed skin.

“Where are you off to?” Gavin asked.

“Explore the outside before it gets too hot.” She took a bottle of water from the table.

“Let me come with you.”

He started to rise, but she put a hand over his chest. “There’s no need. Why don’t you check your email or something? I’m sure you have a lot of work to do.”

A dark frown said he didn’t want to do as she suggested.

“I won’t be long. And I’ll take my phone. Just in case.”

He nodded. His computer hard disk was probably ready to explode with new emails.

Shoving her phone into the back pocket of her shorts, she left the house. At the beach, tanned workers in black trunks combed the sand for debris. Good lord. She’d seen people doing work like that at resorts, but never expected the Lloyds would have the same service on their beach.

The waves were gentle as they swept up the moist sand underneath her toes. The sun sat low and bright on the horizon, golden where it met the water. The ocean looked bluer in the morning, almost aquamarine. Amandine stared at the light fracturing over the ever-moving water surface, each section like an instant of stained glass. The scene before her would look gorgeous on canvas, although she rarely painted landscapes. She should’ve brought her art supplies. She’d assumed the second honeymoon would be rather torturous with Gavin trying to convince her to stay by throwing more things at her while he simultaneously directed everyone at his office halfway around the world. But that wasn’t how it was turning out. It was like Gavin wanted to see her soul.

If he knew how she felt about him, would he reciprocate her love…or turn away in embarrassment and pity?

Her phone rang. She frowned when the ID showed it was her brother calling. What time was it in L.A.? “Hello?”

“Amandine, what are you doing?” Pete’s voice sounded strained. “How can you divorce Gavin?”

She stopped—literally—in her tracks. “Where did you hear that?” Brooke wouldn’t have told anyone.

“It’s on Facebook!”

Oh god. “What, a news article or something? What’s it say?”

“There are photos of you and Gavin going into Jones & Jones. With Craig Richmond.”

She sighed.

“Nobody goes to Jones & Jones for lunch,” Pete said.

“Who posted them?”

“Who cares? The point is, you’re getting a divorce!”

Wincing, she held the phone away from her ear. If yelling were an Olympic sport, Pete would’ve won a gold medal. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Doesn’t con— Amandine, I’m your brother! And I work for your husband, in case you forgot.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We can talk about this when I’m back in the States, but if you feel that awkward, quit.”

“And do what?” Pete sounded positively aghast.

“Update your résumé. Get another job. Didn’t you say Sterling & Wilson offered a while back? Maybe you can go there.”

“They’re in Texas!”

Amandine closed her eyes. Breathe deep . In and out . This was supposed to be a relaxing walk, not a job counseling session for her brother. “Okay, well, try Wall Street.”

“That’s even worse!”

“I don’t know then. You’re the smart one, Pete. Do what you want.”

His breathing started to sound like a bull being taunted by a toreador. “Why do you have to divorce Gavin? He’s rich, young, and faithful to you. What more do you need to be satisfied?”

“What Mom had with Dad.”

A beat of silence, then Pete laughed, an ugly sound. “You gotta be kidding me. She had nothing. He didn’t deserve her.”

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, come on. He couldn’t hold down a job. Couldn’t pay the rent half the time. We had to rely on the Fairchilds for charity. Uncle Sebastian and Aunt Olivia said shit about us because he was a loser. We were pitiful.”

“Pete!”

“And you want to throw away everything you’ve got for that? Why? What’s gotten into you?”

“Dad loved Mom. He loved us all.”

“Love? If he’d really loved us, he would’ve done whatever he could to make sure we were provided for. You know, food on the table, a roof over our heads? Like that.”

“Don’t be so materialistic,” she said mildly, but Pete had a point. The family had suffered a lean life, deprived of the most basic necessities at times, because of their father’s poor judgment. Norman had been a dreamer—always thinking of ways to hit it big, some jackpot that would set him for life—but he’d never known how to turn any of his dreams into reality. That didn’t mean he’d been a terrible husband or father, though. Amandine had seen how much his wife and children had meant to him.

“Love is a luxury for people who can afford it, and you can’t. Look, just” —he searched for the word— “reconcile with Gavin. He’s a good guy. He’ll take you back.”

“We aren’t divorcing because he’s a bad guy.” He’s not there for me , and he doesn’t love me , and I don’t know how to change that . “Anyway I have to go.” She walked knee-deep into the water, enjoying the coolness on her calves.

“Is that waves I hear? Where are you?”

“Thailand. At the Lloyds’ vacation home.”

Before Pete could comment, she hung up and put the phone back in her pocket. Was she so pathetic that her own brother didn’t think she could do better than mere material comfort? He’d made it sound like she’d never amount to anything if she divorced Gavin.

Love is a luxury for the rich .

Horseshit . Everyone deserved a chance at love. She deserved it. Her child deserved it.

She put her hands over her belly. People could always make more money. They could also lose it. But love—that lasted.

And she wanted something lasting, both for her and her baby.

* * *

Pete dug the heels of his hands against his gritty eyes. The air conditioner hummed quietly in his home office. His laptop whirred, crunching some data-models he’d been working on for Gavin.

How could Amandine do this to him?

Pete didn’t believe for a second it was Gavin who wanted to leave Amandine. Not after the jet, a gift that had every woman at the office dissolving into rapturous sighs. Amandine was the envy of all, having done incredibly well for herself. She had a husband who obviously adored her, and she was able to pursue her art without worrying about putting food on the table—hunger pangs tended to push the romanticism of being a starving artist aside pretty quickly.

How could Amandine throw it all away? And for what?

Love? Seriously?

Not that love wasn’t important. Pete wanted that for his sister too, but she was romanticizing their childhood, refusing to acknowledge the ugliness of being poor and laughed at by their peers. Love wasn’t just talking a good game. It was a selfless giving that went on forever. Norman had excelled at the former, but failed at the latter.

Gavin must’ve known things were coming unglued, Pete realized, recalling their earlier conversation over the Chinese take-out. Christ, what a mess. If the divorce got ugly, would Pete be able to stay at the firm? Or would he be forced out? Gavin wouldn’t have to actually fire him. It was simple to make an unwanted staff member leave.

Pete had lied to everyone about why he’d chosen to work under Gavin. It wasn’t because of better mentoring opportunities or more money or a bigger signing bonus, although those were certainly nice.

It was Brooke.

Brooke lived in Los Angeles. And ever since that afternoon in high school, he’d always gazed upon her from afar, never having the opportunity or the guts to make another move. Eight years of waiting, but he knew he’d only get one shot. She was used to better things than what he could have afforded back then, and he had to be patient until it was certain that he’d win her.

Now, after having worked for Gavin for over three years, Pete finally had the money and the means to treat a woman right. He wouldn’t be like his loser dad. Norman might not have been a malicious wife-beater, but even though that seemed to make all the other stuff okay for Amandine, it was setting the bar pretty low.

When he made his move, he’d give Brooke the world, make her happy—

But what if Amandine’s really unhappy with Gavin? You still gonna insist that she stay with him?

“Ah, damn,” Pete moaned. He knew the right answer—the only answer—but it wasn’t the one he wanted to give.

* * *

Gavin spent a couple of minutes glancing through his email, sent three very terse messages with specific instructions, then shut the computer down. The whole point of coming to Thailand was to spend time with Amandine, not deal with the never-ending series of crises that made up his work.

He vaulted the house railing and went down to the water where she was standing. He knew something was wrong the instant he saw her face. Thoughts—unpleasant ones from the way her eyebrows were scrunched—flitted through her eyes, and her mouth formed a grim, flat line under her pert nose. She turned and started walking further into the surf, water swirling around her knees. She looked perfect against the morning sun, almost unapproachably beautiful. But then a particularly large wave slammed into her and she tilted, her arms shooting out for balance.

Gavin leaped over and grabbed her before she could fall.

“You okay?”

She used him to lever herself back upright. “Yes. Thank you.”

“There’s an undertow here sometimes. You should stay more toward the beach than the ocean.”

“I was. Wasn’t I?”

“Not really.” He turned her gently toward the shore. “You’ve been going deeper into the sea with each step.”

“Can’t even walk straight.” She shook her head. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have to work?”

“Nope. I sent some instructions to L.A. and followed you out. They can handle it without me for a few days.”

She gave him a mock-frown. “What happened to my husband?”

“Believe it or not, he’s taking a vacation.”

“But you never let your firm run without you.”

He sighed, forcing himself to relax. “It’s not easy, leaving others in charge.”

“You worried?” she asked, surprised. Gavin’s firm only hired the best.

“No. I trust them, but it still bugs me.”

“Control freak,” she teased.

“Yup.” He put an arm around her waist. “Who were you talking to?”

“Pete. He said photos of us in front of Samantha’s office got posted on Facebook.”

Gavin swore. “Who the hell…?”

“Some busybody.” She wrinkled her nose. “How did they function before social media?”

“Email and phone calls.”

“I hate it that just anyone can snap a photo with their phone now.”

“Except my mother.” Stella was terrible with technology. On the other hand, it seemed like gossips were always the first to master any technology that enabled them to spread the latest news far and wide.

“You think the photos are going to be plastered all over the Internet?” Anxiety tightened her voice.

Gavin shook his head. “Not if it’s who I think it is.” There were four strong suspects, all of whom were unfortunately untouchable, due to their family connections and wealth. The hell of it was that they could be discreet when the occasion called for it. Apparently, his marital issues were not in the “discretion required” category. “Most of the gossips I know are snobs. They only share their juicy bits with people they deem worthy of their friendship, and fortunately that doesn’t include reporters and bloggers.”

“That’s a relief,” Amandine said with a sigh.

Still… Damn it. This was not how his family should find out about the problem between him and Amandine.

Gavin thought quickly. Jacob was probably too busy running around with his stripper to check his Facebook profile. Ethan rarely used Facebook and probably didn’t even remember his password anymore. Meredith… Well, that would depend on whether her son was friends with any of those nosy old ladies.

There was a gentle touch on his arm. His wife looked up at him, her eyes bright and serious at the same time. “Gavin, don’t worry about it. Someone was bound to find out.”

“It’s a private matter.”

“We haven’t filed anything.”

His mood lightened. “We’ll prove them wrong.”

She nodded. “For four months at least.”

And just like that his good mood vanished. “It’d be nice if you could at least act like you want our marriage to work.”

“I want it to work, but it’s not up to me.”

His lips thinned. She’d asked for a divorce to show her displeasure over his missing the anniversary dinner and losing his wedding band. Women never said or did anything directly, and it was always up to men to decipher the hidden meaning behind everything. He should’ve expected her to deflect the matter this way.

You sure? This isn’t like Amandine . She’s generally accommodating and not interested in getting in the way of your work . The old Amandine , the one before the anniversary , would’ve agreed about proving them wrong …

He shoved the irritating thought out of his mind. People changed. Yes, it was unfortunate Amandine had too, but—

“Who are they?” Amandine said, pointing.

A couple with two large dogs, one white and one black, was walking toward them. The woman was holding a gigantic parasol.

“I thought the beach was private,” Amandine added.

“It is, but Damien and his wife are probably staying at the Freeman place.”

“Damien?”

“The cellist we listened to earlier,” Gavin said, waving.

They waved back and came over. Tongues hanging out, their dogs trotted beside them.

“My gosh, it’s really you.” The two men shook hands as Damien thumped Gavin’s back. The cellist seemed younger and completely rejuvenated. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, it’s been a few years.”

“Since our wedding,” Damien agreed. “And you’re always so busy. So what brings you out this way? Decided to retire?”

“We just had our anniversary, so we figured why not?” Gavin said, with a sideways glance at his wife.

“You must be Amandine!” Victoria said with a big smile. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Gavin put an arm around his wife’s waist. “Amandine, Damien and Victoria Kirk.”

* * *

Amandine shook hands with the Kirks. Dressed in a loose pale blue T-shirt and black bathing trunks, Damien was tall, with tousled blond hair and a face gorgeous enough to grace a magazine cover. His eyes were bright, the small lines around them relaxed, and he had an interesting European accent. Victoria was pretty with a friendly demeanor. She had a cute brown ponytail that bounced with each step and a pink ribbon in her hair. Still there was a sophisticated air about her, and her white bikini top and shorts showed off a beautiful, toned body. Despite the parasol, she was attractively tanned.

“I’m so glad we ran into each other,” Victoria said to Amandine.

Amandine smiled. “It’s a coincidence, really. We were just listening to one of Damien’s recordings before we came out.”

Victoria was about to reply when the white dog whined and tugged at its very short leash. Amandine frowned. “Is that a…Doberman?”

“Yes. He’s an albino.” Victoria scratched his head. “Say hello to Amadeus.” She gave some TLC to the dark dog too. “This is Ludwig.”

“I’ve never seen a white Doberman before. Actually, I didn’t even know they existed.”

“There aren’t many,” Damien said.

Amandine squatted and shook hands with both dogs, which were surprisingly polite and well-behaved. Their glossy coats and clear eyes hinted at the excellent care they received.

“Anyway, it’s good we ran into each other,” Damien said. “Victoria was quite upset about missing the wedding. We were planning to visit after the ceremony, but with one thing and another, we just never had a chance to go to L.A.”

“It’s partly my fault. Deadlines,” Victoria said.

“What do you do?” Amandine asked.

“I’m a writer.” Victoria smiled. “I hear you’re an artist.”

Amandine’s face heated. “I’m not… I don’t really…” It seemed kind of fraudulent to claim to be an artist when she hadn’t finished anything in months.

“Don’t be so modest. I’m looking forward to seeing your work. Do you have any lunch plans?”

Amandine and Gavin glanced at each other. Gavin said, “No.”

“Great. Why don’t we do lunch together today? Our cook got the most gorgeous haul of seafood from local fishermen, and he’s going to serve it all today at lunch since we’re leaving tonight.”

“So soon?” Gavin asked.

“We’ve been here for a week,” Damien said. “And Victoria has a meeting with her publisher in New York.”

“Come over to our place around eleven,” Victoria said. “Let’s catch up” —she turned to Amandine with a smile— “and get to know each other.”