Forbidden Boss (Nikki and Rome's Story) (Manhattan Billionaires)

32. Nikki

It was notthe best weekend ever. The next morning started out pretty good, with a morning kayak on glass-still waters and only a bit of queasiness when I sat down for breakfast. Our hosts were gracious, and we ended up going on a nature walk with them after our food, where they pointed out the natural rock formations on the other side of the island.

Lunch was lovely.

In the afternoon, Roseanne stole me away while Wilbur and Rome disappeared in the older man’s study to talk business, and I found myself watching her press her fingerprint into a scanner to unlock her closet vault.

It was my own personal utopia. The woman had taste. Every designer was represented, even some that I’d never heard of. She’d been collecting clothes her entire life and excitedly showed me her favorite pieces from decades gone by.

We started pulling clothes from hangers and creating outfits. I felt like I was back in my old job, helping a client find the perfect gem they didn’t know they wanted. I couldn’t stop smiling. When I paired a black-and-white houndstooth blazer with a silky green jumpsuit, Roseanne tilted her head and considered it, her finger tapping her chin.

“I think you might be a genius, Nikki. I’ve never thought of putting those pieces together.”

I laughed. “I wouldn’t say genius. Maybe obsessive.”

She showed me a few outfits she’d created herself, and I suggested a few simple tweaks to style them, like rolling the sleeves of an oversized blazer a few times, forgoing a belt that had come with a pair of pants in a matching fabric for something that coordinated in a slightly different way, tweaking and manipulating clothes to create more flattering silhouettes.

Roseanne’s eyes sparkled as she snapped photos of the outfits we put together. “I feel like I have a whole new set of clothes!” she exclaimed.

There were a few pieces that belonged in a museum. A vintage Alexander McQueen dress covered in thousands of hand-sewn fabric flowers, for example, was worthy of its own display mannequin. I didn’t even dare touch the fabric but clasped my hands at my breast in appreciation.

Her wall of shoes was a gorgeous, perfectly organized shelving unit with strategically placed lighting along every shelf. She had them split up by color and occasion, so they were almost an art installation instead of wearable garments.

It was fun. We were two grown women—me in my thirties, her in her sixties—and we were acting like little girls who got to play dress-up. Her jewelry collection was a mix of costume and fine jewelry. The woman loved rings that were just shy of gaudy and earrings that dangled all the way to her shoulders. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

Things went wrong when I let out a breath and sat down on the round ottoman in the middle of the room as a wave of fatigue hit me. It had been sunny this morning, and I thought I was feeling the effects of being outdoors for longer than I was used to.

“And these are what I wore to my wedding,” Roseanne said, a soft smile on her face when she showed me a pair of white satin pumps with a simple gold buckle. “They cost me twelve dollars, and I love them best of all.”

I leaned back on my palms and smiled. “They’re beautiful, Roseanne.”

She gave me a strange look then and asked, “Have you and Rome talked about marriage?”

I coughed, caught out by her question. “I—um—no. Not… Not yet.”

She hummed. “And have you told him?”

Blinking, I tried to make sense of her question. “Told him what?” That I wanted to marry him? That would be a resounding hell no, I hadn’t told him I wanted to marry him. He was still paying me for my presence, after all.

Roseanne gave me a look that was almost chiding, edged with fondness. She placed her wedding shoes back on the shelf in their place of honor and said, “About the baby, of course.”

The world tilted. My vision went wonky. Roseanne turned to look at me, and her face looked like a distorted caricature of what it had been moments ago. Somehow, I found my voice. “The what, now?”

She laughed and came to sit next to me. “Darling, you don’t have to pretend with me. I fell pregnant within a few months of being married to Wilbur, and I remember feeling all out of sorts. But you’d better tell him soon; otherwise, he’s in for a shock. Rome doesn’t seem like the kind of man who takes unexpected news very well.”

I let out the most awkward, half-assed laugh of my life. “I think you might be mistaken, Roseanne. I’m not pregnant.”

She arched her brows. “No? I could have sworn…” Her gaze narrowed on me. “I felt just like you do when I was early in my pregnancy. Exhausted beyond belief, a little queasy, having to use the bathroom seventy-three thousand times a day…”

“No,” I blurted. “No, that’s not it.” I shook my head and leaped to my feet. “Nope.”

Roseanne didn’t push it. She just inclined her head and said, “I’m so sorry to have presumed, darling. That’s my big mouth getting in the way again. Come on. Let’s go out to the patio and have a nice refreshing drink, just us girls. The chef makes fresh juice from the fruit from our orchards, and it’s to die for.”

She swept out of the room, and I had no choice but to follow her. I felt dizzy and nauseous and terrified.

What if…

No. There was no way. With every step, my horror grew. I hadn’t gotten my period in…a while. But my cycle was irregular, and I never tracked it. Maybe it hadn’t been that long? I rewound the weeks in my head and couldn’t remember ever having to wrestle with my period while wearing a designer gown or attending a fancy event. That was over two months without my cycle showing up.

I’d gone without my period for two months before. It didn’t mean I was pregnant.

We’d used condoms every time. We were feral for each other, but we hadn’t…

Horror dawned. The first time—the first time we hadn’t used a condom, because we hadn’t had one. At Garcia’s anniversary weekend getaway in the Hamptons, there were bodily fluids all over us. That was about six weeks ago.

But that was crazy. I couldn’t get pregnant from that.

…Could I?

Roseanne settled me onto a lounge chair and called for fruit juice. I’m sure it was delicious, but I tasted none of it. I sat there, slurping down my juice made from the fruit belonging to a disgustingly wealthy couple, staring at the azure Caribbean water all around their private island, and felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

“You have a real talent with styling,” Roseanne said in the silence, making me jump. Her eyes slid over to study me, and I felt like she could read my panic like words flashing across my face. “Have you ever considered making a career of it?”

“A career?” My voice sounded flat.

“Many of my friends would pay you for what you just did down there. Not to mention having you at our side when we go shopping.”

“I don’t…”

She took a sip of juice and set it down on the side table before glancing at me curiously. “What is it you do for work at Blakely, again?”

The world was pressing in on me. I couldn’t think straight. Roseanne’s gaze was on me, and I felt like she’d be able to tell if I trotted out the tired old lie that I was a consultant for Rome. What did a consultant even do? All she had to do was ask me a few questions and the whole charade would fall apart, because I sure as hell wasn’t able to dodge any incisive questions in my current state of mind.

The thoughts in my head were basically going around in a loop that went like this: I’m not pregnant. No way. But what if I am? But I can’t be. Oh, God, she’s looking at me. Try to look normal. But looking normal made her think I was pregnant. There’s no way. But what if I am…

And on and on and on. And we were on a stupid private island so it wasn’t like I could dart to a pharmacy when no one was paying attention to get a pregnancy test. I’d have to wait.

Hands landed on my shoulders, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Rome chuckled, looking at me curiously. “Are you okay?”

“You gave me a fright,” I said.

“We’ve had a big day,” Roseanne cut in, watching me. “What if you head to your room for a rest?”

“Rest,” I repeated dumbly. “Yeah.”

“I’ll take you,” Rome said, and he had such sweet concern written on his face that I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t blurt out what Roseanne had said, because what if I wasn’t pregnant? Which obviously I wasn’t. Rome took my arm and led me away from the couple, cradling me against his side as we walked through the house. “Are you okay?”

“I think the sun got to me,” I mumbled. “I’m used to being a vampire.”

He huffed a laugh and squeezed me closer. When we got to our room, Rome picked me up in his arms and settled me on the bed before drawing the blinds. He got me a glass of water and helped me strip down to my underwear, handing me one of his T-shirts to wear to sleep.

I wanted to refuse, because I was panicking and wearing his clothes while he took such sweet care of me would just make this whole thing that much worse. But the shirt smelled like him which settled my stomach somewhat, and I couldn’t resist the temptation. I snuggled into it and fell into the lush pillows. The adrenaline that had left me feeling so panicked just moments ago drained away. Exhaustion slammed into me, and I was asleep in an instant.