Page 20 of Baby Daddy Protector

He stood, pacing over to pick his jeans up off the floor and tug them on. “I don’t know, princess. Sorry. Families can be ripped apart in an instant, and from what I’ve seen, nothing lasts forever.” He zipped up his pants and padded over to the door. “I’m going back to my room now. We both need a good night’s sleep. See you in the morning, princess.”

For a long time after he left, I lay there staring at the door, imagining the pain he must carry every day and mourning for the lost little boy still grieving inside him. I fell asleep with my hand on my stomach, vowing never to let something like that happen to my baby.

THIRTEEN

“Where are we going?” Es asked me the next evening.

We’d spent another day going to endless interviews and press junkets, followed by hours at the hospital. I was worried about the toll on her from all of it. My research indicated that stress wasn’t good for conception. It had gotten me thinking about the way she’d asked about fun. At the time, I’d shot the idea down, but during the long day, I rethought my response. Maybe a little fun was just what we both needed. With that in mind, I’d planned a surprise evening for my princess.

At the sound of her question, I looked over at her in the back of the darkened limo and grinned. “Sorry, princess. Can’t tell you that. If I did, I’d have to kill you.”

Es rolled her eyes, looking exceptionally adorable tonight in her faded jeans and a fuzzy sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy. She looked good enough to eat. Probably best we’d gotten out of the townhouse when we did because I had a feeling I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her much longer, and getting distracted by falling into bed would have ruined my plans.

Moments later, we pulled up to the curb on a quiet side street, and I got out, looking up at the brightly painted sign for the Bottle & Bottega. I reached back into the limo for Es’s hand and helped her out to stand on the rain-soaked sidewalk. The showers had let up at last, leaving the night cool and damp. She shivered and without thinking, I put my arm around her shoulders to pull her in to share my body heat.

Es cuddled against me, her minty warm breath fanning my neck. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure, princess.” I gave the limo driver instructions on when to pick us up then led Es over to the door. I’d rented out the entire place for the evening and invited Es’s stylist friend to join us. The rest of my security team was already in place around the neighborhood, keeping the paparazzi at bay. Tonight was just for us, just to relax and unwind and enjoy before we started the chaos all over again the next day. I’d figured since she loved crafting so much, with all her knitting and stuff, painting might be right up her alley as well.

“What the…” Es’s voice trailed off as we walked inside the shop. Gray cement floors and distressed brick walls complemented the industrial-esque vibe of the renovated warehouse. Long tables were set up, laden with various tapas dishes I’d ordered ahead of time—all mama-to-be friendly, of course—and between them were two easels and a myriad of art supplies at the ready. The air smelled of acrylic paints and possibilities.

“Oh my gosh, Z.” Es turned back to face me, the happiness and gratitude shining in her pretty hazel eyes more than enough thanks for me. “This is fantastic! I’ve always wanted to try one of these places, but never had the chance. Thank you!”

“My pleasure.” I gave her a quick wink before surveying the space. Everything was perfect, except for one thing. Es’s stylist friend was missing.

The owner rushed over as if sensing my confusion. “I’m so sorry, sir. She called right before you arrived and said she couldn’t make it. Some sort of mistake with her schedule at the salon. She said you two should go ahead and enjoy the night without her. I was going to call or text you, but you’d already pulled up outside.”

Es glanced at me over her shoulder and grinned. “Guess you’ll be painting along with me then, huh?”

“Oh, uh…that’s not a good idea. I’m not good at any of this stuff.” I stepped back hands up. “Really, no one needs to see that.”

“C’mon. Please?” Es gave me a dazzling smile, and my heart sank. “It’s no fun painting alone.”

“There’s no skill needed, sir,” the owner chimed in. “We specialize in beginner artists. All you have to do is be willing to learn and follow the instructor. Oh, and have fun.”

Much as I wanted to run screaming from the building, I sighed and gave a resigned nod. This was Es’s night, after all, and maybe my heinous art skills would be good for a few laughs. Especially once I got some wine into me. Just because Es was avoiding the booze didn’t mean I had to. Besides, I’d made sure they had some nice sparkling apple juice on hand for her so she wouldn’t feel left out.

I took off my black suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my white dress shirt before loosening my tie. “Fine. Let’s get this party started. Leonardo da Vinci, eat your heart out.”

We soon settled into a lovely evening of snacking, snarking, and snuggles. Each time Es would come over to peek at my work—a neon-bright monstrosity of tropical beaches and palm trees—she’d find some reason to touch me. A hand on my arm or shoulder, a brush of her breast against the side of my chest as she leaned in to peer closer at my interpretation of a surfer in the ocean, which ended up looking more like the poor guy had been half-eaten by sharks.

It was nice. And surprisingly relaxing, too.

I hadn’t spent any time in this kind of art studio setting since before my mother died. I remembered as a little kid running around amongst my mother’s cast-off canvases while she worked on her next masterpiece. She’d always encouraged me to follow my heart and do whatever came naturally with the paint. My art had sucked back then, too, but my mom had never been anything but supportive.

“Well,” Es said, standing beside me again, her gaze narrowed on my dubious artwork. “You certainly have a unique perspective on the world.”

“Thanks.” I chuckled. “My mom used to say the same thing. She was always kind and encouraging, like you.”

“She was a painter?” Es asked, moving back to her own canvas. Her artwork looked amazing—a delicate beach scene that would’ve made any of the impressionist masters proud. She really was creatively gifted even if those talents weren’t necessary for her royal duties.

I put down my brush and stood behind her, feeling a need to open up about my past for once. Talking about my parents brought back all that old grief and loneliness, even all these years later, but I wanted Es to know about them so maybe I would feel a bit less alone. “Yeah. She was good too, like you. She did mainly abstract stuff, and a few landscapes. We moved around a lot with my dad’s job, so there was no shortage of inspiration.”

“I bet she was a lovely woman.” Es watched me from over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “And what a great mother, keeping you involved in what she was doing while still pursuing her passions.”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Don’t really remember her having any other passions, though, besides painting. She was always just a great wife and mother.”

“She must have had other hopes and dreams, too. Everyone does, even if she didn’t talk about them much.” Es concentrated on her painting again, and I walked back over to my own easel, my mind whirling with that insight.

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