Page 26 of Baby I'm Yours

“If only we had game pieces,” she says, trailing her fingers over the edge of the etched wood. “I haven’t played in ages, not since study hall senior year, but I remember it was fun.”

I reach under my seat, collecting the cloth bag of pieces. “White or black?”

Her expression brightens. “Oh yay! White, please. I need all the advantage I can get.” She takes another sip of her champagne before helping clear our snacks away so I can set up. “Fair warning though, I’m rusty. And I might have forgotten what some of the pieces do.”

“I’ll remind you,” I say, intending to take it easy on her for the first game.

But the chess master next to me isn’t rusty at all. Within ten moves, she has me on the defensive, her strategy aggressive but elegant. Like her.

“Oh look, check,” she announces with obvious satisfaction. “How did I do that?”

I shake my head. “Shark. You’re a shark.”

She giggles. “I am. Sorry. But I wasn’t lying. I haven’t played since high school.” She shrugs. “I’m just really good at it for some reason.”

“I’m guessing strong pattern recognition and solid predictive instincts,” I say. “The same things that make you a good businesswoman.”

She smiles, looking flattered. “Why, thank you.” Her smile fades as she adds, “But speaking of predictive instincts and death by fiery plane crash… What happens if I die?”

I frown. “I’m not sure if I?—”

“Not like, in a philosophical sense,” she hurries to explain. “Or right now. I mean, if I die after the baby’s born. Or when she’s a little girl. What will happen to her?” Her brow wrinkles with worry. “She won’t have another parent to step in.”

It’s an excellent question.

And one I should have addressed in the contract. I was so sure I’d thought of everything, but maybe…I haven’t. The thought is enough to send a fresh wave of dread through my chest as I say, “You’re right. That’s something we should sort out. I don’t have any living family, so if you?—”

“Me, either,” she cuts in with a shake of her head. “Not anyone who would be able to step in and raise a child, anyway. All my relatives are in their sixties or seventies. My mom was my grandmother’s only child, and I was hers.”

“Your family line is on the way out, too,” I observe, struck again by how alike we are in so many ways. “Then, maybe afriend? Maybe Maya and Anthony? I have no doubt they’re going to be amazing parents.”

She nods slowly. “Yeah, Maya’s the best. I was sort of thinking that, too, I just…” She pauses before adding in a softer voice. “You wouldn’t want to step in at all? Not even if I were no longer in the picture?”

“You’renot the issue,” I say, refusing to feel guilty. I’ve made my position crystal clear from the beginning. I couldn’t have been more transparent if I’d tried. But I’m willing to give it one more shot in the name of getting through to her. “I’mthe issue. Me and my certainty that I will never be a good or effective parent. The baby would be better off with Maya and Anthony.” I cover her hand, offering what comfort I can. “But the chances of that happening are slim to none. You’re young and healthy and have a good head on your shoulders. You’re likely going to live a long, full life, and be there for your child until you’re old and gray.”

She sighs. “I hope so.” Her lips curve. “So, one more game? Just to give you the chance to prove that you’re not a chess dum dum?”

I smirk. “Dum dum?”

“Technical term,” she says, beginning to rearrange the pieces. “A little lingo we masters use when we’re alone. You can be white this time.”

“You’re good to me.”

“I know,” she agrees with a serious nod. “Practically a saint.”

We play two more games, splitting the victories and the rest of the bottle of champagne, before the captain announces our descent into New York.

Elaina tenses again, but less severely than before.

“Tell me about your castle in the deep dark jungle of Manhattan,” she says as we bank toward the city. “Will my towerroom have a gym? A coffee shop? Will I be able to get into shape and stay properly caffeinated while I’m imprisoned?”

“You won’t be imprisoned,” I say dryly. “Though I appreciate the fairy tale energy.”

“Thank you, but honestly, that part in the contract about not leaving the apartment without permission and keeping my whereabouts a secret from everyone…” She wrinkles her nose. “Sounds pretty prison-like to me.”

“It’s temporary,” I remind her. “I’ll show you several places in the neighborhood that you can explore without fear of discovery. And as far as prisons are concerned, it’s a nice one. Upper West Side, overlooking the park. Three bedrooms, two offices, a private elevator, and yes, a gym. ThoughthatI share with the other residents of the top floors, along with the sauna, hot tub, and swimming pool.”

“Swimming pool and hot tub sound nice. But two offices?” She arches a brow. “Let me guess, one for business and the other for…more business? Because when you go, you go hard?”

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