The Billionaire’s Baby: Chapter 2

AMANDINE OPENED HER EYES and frowned when she realized she was alone in bed. She reached out and touched the indented pillow next to hers. Okay, so Gavin had come home, but not for long. She’d stayed up until around eleven before finally giving up and turning in. The bedside clock said it was eight thirty.

Next to it, she saw a small memo. It read:

Sorry I got home so late . Why don’t we talk later today? I’m taking the entire afternoon and evening off .

G

She put the edge of the paper to her lower lip and smiled slowly. Gavin seldom took time off, not even for his own birthdays. His job kept him too busy.

The note explained why he’d been working so much over the last two weeks. Well, he didn’t have to know about the pregnancy immediately. She’d gotten a reservation at La Mer, one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and would announce the good news at dinner.

Full of happy expectations, she hopped out of bed…then sat right back down when the room spun and her vision dimmed for a moment.

What the…? She’d never felt dizzy like this before. Was it because of the pregnancy? Well, Dr. Silverman could tell her more about what it meant at their next appointment. Amandine didn’t want to ruin the day by calling or going back to the doctor’s office.

She stood up carefully, and everything remained normal. After shrugging into an ivory silk robe and matching fuzzy slippers, she shuffled down to the kitchen. Every appliance was modern, stainless and had more features than anybody could possibly find a use for. Dozens of polished copper pots and pans hung from hooks. She’d never used copper to cook with, but apparently it was the best there was. Not that she’d know—cooking was Luna’s responsibility.

Luna stood over the gleaming marble counter, her tall, sturdy body wrapped in a practical sky-blue cotton shirt and dark capri jeans. Unlike some other households, Amandine and Gavin didn’t ask their staff to wear uniforms, which Gavin thought was a waste of money and Amandine found pretentious. Besides, Luna was like family.

Luna looked up, her practiced hands beating some eggs in a metal bowl. “Good morning,” she said with a cheery grin. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Thank you.”

She dumped the mixture onto a hot frying pan and handed Amandine a cup of organic jasmine tea.

Amandine sat on a padded stool and watched Luna work. The marble island had a big sink and a cutting board on it, but nothing else. Very different from her old kitchen, where bread, cookies and fruit had covered every square inch of the worn Formica counters. The mansion had a proper place for everything.

A young man Amandine had never seen before came in with a vase of fresh-cut daisies. He smiled shyly, placed the flowers on the island and ducked out.

“Who’s that?” Amandine asked as Luna set scrambled eggs and toasted whole-wheat bread in front of her.

“George. He’s new.” A Lazy Susan with almond butter and four jars of jam appeared next to Amandine’s plate.

“What happened to Julio?”

“Fired.” Luna’s mouth firmed. “Late too much.”

Poor Julio. Amandine didn’t have the heart to fire anybody, but it was Luna who had to deal with employees who didn’t pull their weight. So she always let the housekeeper take care of staff issues.

“Would you like some juice? Freshly squeezed.”

Her mouth full, Amandine nodded. It still amazed her how much money her husband spent to ensure she wouldn’t have to lift a finger. Her meals were prepared for her, and then everything was cleaned after she finished eating. The house was spotless and dust-free, the garden impeccable. If he could, he would have hired someone to breathe for her.

A part of her wished he’d stop. Granted she wasn’t the kind of woman he was used to, and he hadn’t anticipated marrying someone so…ordinary. He probably felt like he had to do something to ensure she wouldn’t embarrass the two of them among their friends and family, but it’d been three years. Surely he could relax a little?

She should talk to him about reducing the staff and cutting back on her clothing budget. She also wanted to decrease the number of fundraisers she did for his various foundations and charities and spend more time on her art. She hadn’t painted much since their marriage, and was dying to use the studio he’d had built for her.

Gavin should be all right with all of that. Whenever she asked him for something, his general response was, “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yet something about the answer had always bothered her, like he didn’t care enough to raise an objection. Which didn’t make any sense—she should be happy Gavin was so accommodating…shouldn’t she? Did she want a dictatorial husband who objected to her every wish?

Come on , Amandine . Don’t be contradictory . It’s like you’re itching for a fight .

Brooke would blame it on hormones, if Amandine told her. Which she wasn’t going to do.

After the hearty breakfast, Amandine was feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks and ready to face the world. The past two years had seen her and Gavin growing slowly apart as she’d taken on the bulk of his philanthropy projects and he’d spent more time in the office. But now she was pregnant with his baby, a symbol of their love, and her husband was going to take more than half the day off just to be with her. This had to be a sign that things were looking up.

Brooke arrived half an hour later, her clothes as bright as the ones from the day before: a teal one-piece dress with a white leather belt as wide as a man’s hand. A bronze headband with a giant red ribbon sat in her hair, doing nothing to keep the bangs out of her smoky eyes. “You need to get dressed,” she said. “I’m supposed to take you to Gavin’s hangar by eleven.”

“I don’t remember having anything scheduled there.”

Brooke flashed her phone. “Got a text from Gavin. He wants you there.”

“Did he say why?”

“Something about lunch.”

Amandine wrinkled her nose. “At the hangar?”

“Sorry, no idea. I didn’t plan it,” Brooke said, heading for Amandine’s closet. “Let’s pick out a few options for the day.”

Amandine nodded, deferring to her best friend. Brooke always had a great sense of style, while Amandine preferred clothes that were cheap, functional and long-lasting. Her old wardrobe reflected her preference except for a couple of dressy outfits from the Neiman Marcus clearance racks. She’d bought them in case she ever had her own showing, which in retrospect had been silly since she hadn’t shown her works to any art gallery and probably never would.

The walk-in closet was bigger than the master bedroom in Amandine’s old apartment and had another door that opened onto a service hallway, so that staff could drop off dry-cleaning and laundry without invading the privacy of the bedroom. The lights came on automatically, controlled by a sensor at waist level. Hundreds of pairs of fine leather shoes occupied endless shelves built into the walls.

Brooke flipped a switch on her left and the entire hangar section moved, like a conveyor belt in a dry cleaner’s, except the one in the closet was nicer and prettier with a shiny chrome finish. A Ferrari-red Chanel with spaghetti straps swayed by. It still had the tag from a fancy boutique store. Amandine had no idea why Josephine had bought it when she had at least twenty other dresses she hadn’t worn. Brooke flipped the switch again, and the belt paused, showing Amandine a row of pre-marriage clothes she’d hung there three years ago. All of them combined cost less than the Chanel.

“Still got all this stuff?” Brooke said, her lips pursing. “Let me get rid of it. You’re going to need more space at the rate Josephine keeps buying.”

“But they’re still in good shape. I like to keep them for my studio time.” Amandine used to take pride in being one of the best bargain shoppers in the state of California. “Can you imagine me wearing a four thousand-dollar Dior to paint?”

Brooke crossed her arms. “Good point. Okay, let’s sort them. You don’t need this many.”

Amandine sighed. “All right.”

“Besides” —Brooke started the conveyor belt again— “you should think about getting some paint on that Dior. When you’re a famous artist, the dress’ll go for at least a million precisely because of the paint splatter.”

“Ha, I doubt it. I’m not that talented.” It was Amandine’s default response to anybody who commented on her artistic endeavors. The people in Gavin’s circle tended to be discriminating, and she didn’t want to appear arrogant. Besides, she doubted she’d ever create anything people would pay a million bucks for. Painting was something she did to express her emotions and for her own enjoyment. She’d never shown them to anyone except Brooke. They weren’t for strangers to take apart and comment on.

“Girl, you totally are. You could be the next Renoir.”

The belt stopped again. Brooke pulled out a royal blue linen sheath dress and a coral pink raw silk one that had a loose skirt.

“Blue,” Amandine said.

“Really?” Brooke cocked an eyebrow. “You never pick an outfit this fast.”

“I know, but I want the blue.” That particular shade popped, and Amandine wanted to be noticed.

“Okay.” She looked at the tag. “Wow, you haven’t even worn this thing once, and Josephine paid two grand. The woman’s crazy. Does she have any idea how much she’s spending on all this when you haven’t worn half of it?”

Amandine nodded. “She believes in spending every penny of the budget Gavin’s set.”

“She’s like a government agency. Must spend every penny lest your budget shrink!”

“Sort of like that.”

“Now for the shoes…”

Amandine moved to the shelves. The selection was overwhelming. How many high heels did a woman need? “I’ll take these.”

A pair of cute black and blue shoes with slim ankle straps and sparkly heart accents would go well with the dress. Brooke pulled out a lovely pink cashmere shawl. “This should complete the look.”

A little over half an hour of makeup and hair later, Brooke declared Amandine ready. Amandine wanted to linger and make sure she looked perfect, but Brooke won the battle and dragged her out of the bedroom and into the waiting car.

* * *

Everything at the small airport was a shade of gray. Thank god for the gorgeous California sky, flawlessly azure from horizon to horizon.

Probably a good omen for the anniversary .

“So, where’s Gavin?” Amandine put a hand over her forehead and squinted.

Brooke pointed. “Over there.”

Gavin stood, dark and glorious near the hangar that housed his jet. The wind ruffled his almost black hair and a perfectly tailored charcoal three-piece suit. Though a pair of sleek sunglasses hid his eyes, Amandine could sense his gaze on her.

Three years of marriage should have made her more blasé about how she felt about her husband. After all, familiarity was supposed to breed contempt…or at least some immunity to his charisma…but it was exactly like the first time they’d met. Five years before, Gavin had taken her breath away by just entering a room at her cousin Catherine’s party. Amandine had thought she’d never get him—he’d had his sights set on the more glamorous and sophisticated Catherine—but somehow she’d ended up with the man she wanted.

Wasn’t she lucky?

Then why do I feel like I got the shell , not the substance of the man?

She shook herself mentally. It was time she got over her little dissatisfactions and thought of all the blessings in her life. Countless women would have killed to trade places with her.

Gavin started toward them, and they met halfway across the blazing tarmac. He put his arms around her, their presence strong and comforting.

“Happy anniversary.” Gavin kissed her, and warm pleasure suffused her entire body. “You look stunning.”

“So do you.” Amandine put a hand to her bun. The wind was pretty strong out here, and it started to unravel her hair.

“Let it down,” he murmured, pulling a few pins out so that her hair tumbled over her shoulders. “Looks better this way.”

“Okay.” This close he smelled like warm cinnamon and wood, and she resisted the urge to kiss the exposed skin on his neck. He was always circumspect about public displays.

He smiled and tugged her hand. “Come on. I got you something.”

She let him lead her inside the hangar, all the while wondering what it could be. A luxury trip? Or some kind of plan to share his jet? Gavin had a habit of giving her the most outrageous things. They usually shocked her, then made her feel flustered and unsure. Saying “Thank you” seemed woefully inadequate.

The hangar door was already unlocked and open, and they moved forward, Brooke following behind. Inside was a jet Amandine had never seen before: a sleek cream-colored beauty.

“Like it?” Gavin asked.

“It’s pretty. Are you upgrading?”

“Nope. It’s yours.”

“What?”

Gavin smiled. “I thought it was about time you had your own.”

To do what? “I don’t really travel that much.”

His gaze wavered for a moment, then steadied. “Of course you don’t. I wouldn’t either if I had to fly commercial. But you know, I felt really bad when I had to leave you alone in the Maldives after your diving incident, and even worse when you had to fly home on a regular airline.”

The accident had been her fault. She hadn’t been paying close enough attention, and she’d come up too fast, blacking out during the process. The doctor on the island had instructed her not to fly for a few days since the change in air pressure would be bad for her, even in a pressurized cabin. Though not understanding all the technicalities, she’d decided to follow the doctor’s advice and insisted Gavin go home without her. His appointments and meetings would’ve been impossible to reschedule.

“Flying first class wasn’t that bad,” she said.

“Uh-huh. Not even when airport security patted you down for your own good?” He snorted. “I don’t think so. Besides, I don’t like the idea of some guy pawing you like that.”

From the set look in his eyes, that was it. No point in arguing anymore.

“Let me show you the inside.” He led her up the steps into the interior of the jet.

It was all cream and the palest opalescent pink. A table with matching ivory chairs and couches dominated the area closest to the door. Panels that together formed her favorite painting, Renoir’s Le Déjeuner des Canotiers , made up the ceiling, Sistine Chapel-like. In the back, she found a bedroom with a king-sized bed complete with silky gold-striped linen, and a walk-in closet full of brand new clothes in her size. The bathroom sported a double-head shower and double vanity. Again, stocked with her preferred brand of toiletries.

Gavin spread his arms. “What do you think?” His eyes twinkled as he waited for her answer.

“It’s…grand. I don’t know what to say.” I don’t know what to make of the fact that you keep giving me these extravagant things . She and Gavin now owned two jets, one for her and one for him. Had she celebrated too prematurely? He must’ve thought she’d take on more duties or something at the various charities and fundraisers. Why else would he give her a jet?

“You could say, ‘thank you’.”

“Of course.” She pulled her lips back in a smile, though her cheeks felt rubbery now. “Thank you, Gavin.”

“You’re welcome. Now that we’re done here, let’s—” The vibration from his pocket interrupted him. He looked at his phone and scowled. “Excuse me. I need to take this.” With a flick of his wrist, he gestured at the rest of the plane. “Why don’t you look around? I’ll make it quick.”

* * *

“Yes?” Gavin said when the cockpit door closed behind him.

“Sorry to bother, but can you come?” said his oldest brother Jacob’s housekeeper Bee. It wasn’t her real name, but not many could pronounce her Vietnamese name correctly, so everyone called her Bee.

Gavin frowned. Why was she calling him from Jacob’s house phone? “What’s going on?”

“I feel worried. Mrs. Catherine acting strange.” Her accent thickened as she grew more agitated. “The other wife came, and Mr. Jacob left with her.”

What the hell? “What other wife?”

“Mr. Jacob has other wife. Number One Wife.”

“Bee, there’s no ‘other wife’. Jacob only married once.” To Catherine.

“Yes, yes, he never divorce. So Mrs. Catherine is Number Two Wife.”

“Okay, slow down. Who is this Number One Wife?”

“Number One Wife from Las Vegas. Did…uh…sexy shows, and I think Mr. Jacob liked…” Bee cleared her throat. “Anyway Mrs. Catherine will not stop crying. She fire everyone and throw things!”

Gavin could hear the housekeeper’s breathing. Maintaining the giant Houston mansion was her pride and joy. Gavin had seen how spotless his older brother’s place was.

But the idea of Catherine throwing things was surreal. She was one of the most perfectly mannered high-society women he’d ever met. He couldn’t imagine the circumstances that would cause her to lose control to the point where she’d actually throw things.

Although he had to admit, if he understood correctly what Bee was saying, bigamy might very well do it.

Shit.

“She very angry,” Bee said. “Please, somebody need to come. I can’t stay, you know? I’m fired, too.”

“What about Jacob?”

“Not answer his phone.”

Damn it . “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”

He hung up and considered his options. In her current state, Catherine would never let a stranger come inside her home, so sending someone from the concierge services firm he kept on retainer would be useless. For somebody like her, who liked being surrounded by staff who catered to her every whim, firing everyone meant that only family would do in this crisis.

What to do? Ask Ethan to go? No, he was swamped with work. Besides, Ethan wasn’t the warm and fuzzy type, and he thought poorly of Catherine. Mom was out—she despised her daughter-in-law, even though she’d never said a single ungracious word to Catherine. She’d killed all the yellow roses in her garden when she’d learned they were Catherine’s favorite. And Catherine’s own mother, Olivia Fairchild, was about as maternal as a piranha.

That left Gavin. Damn it. He didn’t want to go. He’d planned to spend the day with Amandine, but Catherine was family, and his mother had taught him better. No Lloyd turned his back on a family member in crisis.

Besides, this wasn’t just Catherine in a snit. If Jacob really had married someone before her—and failed to get a divorce before wedding Catherine—it was a horrific scandal that would rock his entire family. And most especially his poor mother.

Take Amandine, too? No. He shook his head. She and Catherine didn’t seem to get along that well. His sister Meredith had said it was because he was Catherine’s ex, though why that could ever be a problem, he might never know unless he grew a uterus. True, he’d proposed to Catherine first, but she’d turned him down in favor of his older brother. Since the moment she’d chosen Jacob, Gavin had been free to pursue whoever struck his fancy. He didn’t need her permission.

Gavin did the math. About three hours to reach Houston. Maybe half an hour calming Catherine down and assessing the damage Jacob had left behind for the family to clean up, then three hours back. It’d be cutting it close, but he could be back in time for dinner at La Mer. Amandine had been looking forward to it for weeks, and so had he.

A decision reached, he stepped out of the cockpit.

* * *

While Gavin was taking the call, Amandine took another look around the jet. It was a frightfully lavish gift.

Should she have prepared something more for the anniversary? An expensive sports car? A yacht?

Of course , you should have , you idiot! This is how people like him live . They don’t do something as plebeian as dinner , even if the restaurant is exclusive . How can you still not know this after three years of being his wife?

“Are you crying?” Brooke whispered under her breath.

“No.” She blinked away the moisture in her eyes.

“You totally are. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Drat, she didn’t want Gavin to see her crying. She needed to smile happily. That was the least she could do.

“You’re getting hormonal.”

“Probably.” That explained her tears. Yup.

The cockpit door opened. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, Gavin approached her. “That was…” He shook his head, his face unreadable. “Never mind. I need to go to Houston.”

“Now?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Disappointment flattened her voice. “I thought you had the rest of the day off.”

“Sorry. I did too, but something urgent’s come up.”

“Can’t you send somebody else?” She bit her lower lip as soon as the question was voiced. She didn’t want to look whiny or anything, but damn it, she was his wife, and this was their anniversary. It was cruel to set all those lovely expectations for the day and then yank them away because of one lousy phone call.

“I wish I could, but it doesn’t look like it.”

She swallowed her frustration. She should’ve known better than to think he’d really have so much time off. His work was important. “Are you going to be back in time for dinner?”

“Yes. Guaranteed. I’m looking forward to it.”

She forced her mouth into a smile. “Okay then. I’ll see you this evening.”

He kissed her gently. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

But as Amandine watched Gavin disappear down the ramp, she couldn’t help but think nothing could make up for her disappointment.