11. Stephie
STEPHIE
The shopping trip doesn’t go as planned.
Dane takes me to an expensive shop that specialises in mother and baby clothing, and picking out anything is impossible.
Dane says yes to everything I suggest and seems to randomly select more items. It’s the blind leading the blind.
He lives in suits, I only wear shift dresses or wide-leg trousers and an oversized blazer.
We manage to pick out some baby clothes. I choose an adorable little Babygro in yellow, with socks and a hat to match. Dane scoops up the same but in blue and pink, and is unrepentant when I point out we’ll only use half of those.
Then he nudges me to the women’s clothing, and it’s the same. I try things on, but none of it feels quite right. It’s all too expensive, or exposing, or I’m just not sure.
“What’s the problem?” Dane asks bluntly, after I put the tenth item he’s brought me into the discard pile.
“I just don’t know what looks good.” I shrug awkwardly. I’ve never been great with clothes, and pregnancy adds this extra layer of complexity on top that I don’t really understand. Plus, I’m super self-conscious of my bump, small as it is. So far.
“You look beautiful in all of it,” Dane says gruffly.
I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that so I’ll be quick with the shopping.”
“No.” The expression on his face as he allows his gaze to drop, almost caressing my body, heats me from the inside. “I’m absolutely not.”
I have no idea how to deal with this version of my boss. This whole thing is incredibly confusing, from him being the real father to pretending to be the father, to being sweet and kind after deserting me for four months.
“You don’t know what looks good when pregnant either, though.” I return to critically appraising my appearance in the mirror. “I guess I wish I had another opinion.”
“A friend?” Dane suggests. “I can have one of my men pick them up.”
I bark with unexpected laughter. “That would be terrifying!”
His expression remains the same. “I’ll send my least scary man. Brian?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I think I’ll leave clothes. Maybe when I’m showing more, it will be obvious what I should wear.”
“We’re here now, though,” he insists. “If you can’t take my word for it, or the shop assistants’, I’ll bring your friends—”
“I don’t have any friends!” I snap, emotion rising in my voice.
He’s silent for a beat. “You do. You have—”
“They stopped hanging out with me.” I’ve told him about all my friends from university, but I’ve held back some more embarrassing details. Like I never see them anymore.
“Why?” he demands.
Because of you. Because my job kept me so busy and out of the country for half the month. Because I let them down one too many times. Because I love you far more than I ever cared about them, and eventually I couldn’t hide that.
“We grew apart. And besides, none of them are pregnant, or have kids. They wouldn’t know either. I need someone who has children, and who isn’t being paid.” An impossible task.
Dane’s eyes narrow, and he gives a curt nod. “Will you try on something more?” I start to make a noise of dissent. “For me.”
For him? Of course I’d do anything for him. Even carry his secret baby and continue this confusing charade.
It hits me again that he doesn’t want a relationship with me so much he’s going to all this trouble. A stronger, less hopelessly in love girl would demand clear answers or just tell the billionaire mafia boss to get stuffed. I’m neither of those, so I’m coping as best I can.
I nod.
“I’ll bring you some things.” And then he’s gone.
By the time I’ve removed the dress, there’s another shoved through the gap in the changing room curtain, and I put it on obediently.
I suppose if I’m going to be a kingpin’s…
I’m not sure what I am. The mother of a mafia boss’ acknowledged child?
I should be better dressed than I was as his assistant.
“We were just around the corner, and we came as fast as we could!” a female voice says. I’m checking the line of this dress, which admittedly is cute.
I tilt my head.
“Thank you,” Dane’s deep voice replies to the woman.
Jealousy pricks me. What’s going on? Obviously, I have no claim on Dane, but I am irrationally possessive of him, anyway. He must have called this woman specifically.
“Where is she? Have her waters broken?” says another female voice. “How far apart are the contractions?”
What?
“And are you sure it’s not Braxton Hicks? They’re very convincing.” A third woman.
Ready to breathe fire, I draw back the curtain and come face to face with three girls about my age. Two are in jeans and tops, the other is wearing a floaty dress.
“Oh! This is your wife?” The blonde in jeans comes forward and envelops me in a hug before I can respond. I meet Dane’s silver eyes over the girl’s shoulder. He has a neutral expression. Maybe even amused.
“I’m not his wife!” I panic
“You’re so welcome to the London Smut Club!” The blonde steps backwards, and I’m trapped in her beauty and warmth.
“You’re about sixteen weeks on?” says the black-haired woman, assessing my body, then glances back to the other woman, who tilts her head in confusion.
“Yes. I mean, no to the wife part, but yes to the sixteen weeks,” I say faintly. How does she know that?
“Wait, you said it was an emergency?” The other woman, in the floaty dress, rounds on Dane.
“A clothing emergency,” he replies, without a hint of repentance.
“Oh my god.” The blonde begins to laugh. “We broke every speed limit on our way here!”
“Should I call Callie and tell her she can stay at home? She’s a nurse,” the woman in the dress says to me as an aside. “We thought you were in labour.”
“I was expecting a head poking out, at very least,” the blonde says.
“Wyn?” A man’s voice echoes from the main part of the shop.
The woman in the dress’ eyes light up. “Ben!”
A man in a sharp suit, complete with waistcoat, bursts into the changing room. “What do you need?”
“This is my husband.” The girl in the dress nods at the man. “I’m Wyn, by the way. This is Jessa.” She indicates the blonde. “And Felicity.”
The man’s brow furrows, looking between me, his wife, and then Dane. “You said it was an emergency. That line is for emergencies only.”
“It was an emergency,” he says mildly, putting his hands in his pockets.
Ben massages his forehead. “We need to add more guidance about this into the group chat.”
“So mafia bosses will read your rules and follow them?” Dane responds dryly.
“I’ll call off the helicopter I ordered, shall I?” Ben has the put-upon patience of a father. “And—”
“Why are we here, exactly?” Wyn interrupts, sending a warning look at her unamused husband.
I stay quiet. Especially since I’m not sure.
“This is Stephie. She needs your help choosing clothes.” Dane and my gazes meet, and my stomach does gymnastic moves worthy of an Olympic Gold.
He’s looking at me like… Well, I don’t even know what that expression means. It fizzes through me, just as it did when he first looked at me that way. The night he got me pregnant. The awareness of each other is a physical thing.
I long to throw myself into his arms. I can still remember the feel of his kisses on my lips. And the delicious fullness of him inside me. The memory of exploding with pleasure shakes me, even months later.
Dane as my boss is a dangerous man. As my onetime lover, he was even more perilous. And as my fake-not-fake baby daddy, he’s all my dreams and nightmares mixed together.
“Ohh, we can help you choose clothes!” says Felicity excitedly, dragging my attention from Dane. “There’s such a nice selection in here, too. What’s your hesitation?”
I swallow. Dane’s gaze remains on me. Intent. Like I’m one of his business deals that he must close under all circumstances.
“I didn’t know if I should wear anything tight,” I say, although that’s not exactly it. I think there’s more of a fear in me of admitting just how much the tiny life growing inside of my belly means to me, and the instinct is to protect it in any and every way possible.
“With such a cute little bump? Are you joking? Definitely show that off,” says Wyn.
“Have you been pregnant?” I ask cautiously.
Felicity snorts with laughter. “Have we been pregnant? Just a bit.”
“It’s Wyn’s favourite hobby,” Jessa teases.
“That’s not true!” Wyn puts her hands on her hips, mock annoyed. “My favourite hobby is my plants. Making babies is more like a semi-professional vocation.”
Everyone laughs, and I look over at Dane again. I’m drawn back to him constantly. He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows enquiringly. And I nod in answer.
He smiles and claps Ben on the shoulder before leading him away, so I guess the question was, “Are you okay?”. If it was “Do you want to be semi-professional at making my babies” then that’s fine, because the answer is yes to that too.
“Who we need is Ren,” says Jessa. “She’s had so many pregnancies and births, her vagina must be like a rocket launch pad.”
I splutter with laughter.
“Yes!” Felicity has her phone out of her pocket in a second. “She has such a cute story about how she met her husband too, you’ll love it. Death or donuts!” The other two women join in the last phrase and then giggle.
“Ren!” Felicity takes a few steps away, presumably to convince her friend to come and get involved in what has become a major event. “You won’t believe this.”
“Death or donuts is like ‘am I the arsehole’ but mafia style,” explains Jessa. “Does someone deserve death, or just a donut because they’re a bit hungry and grumpy. Now, show me what you’re considering wearing, and I’ll tell you that it looks amazing, and your man will want to rail you in it.”
I wince. “It’s really not like that.”
Jessa blinks at me with the innocent confusion of a confused puppy. “Not like he wants to fuck you and adore you every minute of the day? We’re talking about the same man? The one who called out the London Maths Club—”
“The what?” I can’t help but ask.
“Yes, silly name, not many words sound like mafia when you’re trying to disguise that you almost said you were part of the London Mafia Syndicate.
Canary Wharf maintains that he did his best to cover up his mistake,” she explains at a pace that makes my head spin.
“Anyway, the point is, that man adores you.”
“I don’t understand.” This is as overwhelming as these women are endearing. “And I think you have it wrong about Dane.”
“You don’t understand that a man who knocked you up and then has risked infuriating the most powerful men in London so you can get a second opinion on a dress might be head over heels about you?” Jessa’s eyes shine with amusement.
“He… It’s complicated.” That’s a pathetic explanation. “He’s my boss, and this is just so he can have an heir for Beckton.”
Jessa’s expression indicates I’m as convincing as a kid with chocolate around my mouth saying I haven’t eaten anything. “What does this man need to do to convince you that he cares?”
“Kidnap,” Felicity answers dryly.
Jessa and Wyn splutter with laughter.
“We were stranded alone in Scotland? Does that count?” I joke. It’s not the same thing at all.
“Is that where you got the bump?” Wyn asks. “If so, I think it definitely counts.”
I blush and don’t respond. But knowing looks are exchanged between the other women. I really don’t want to embarrass myself and Dane by explaining everything that happened. It feels too personal, somehow. Even though these women are far nicer than I would have expected from mafia wives.
Jessa seems to sense my discomfort and picks a top from the discards rail and examines it. “What was wrong with this one?”
“It was kinda short? You could almost see my bump?”
Tilting her head, Jessa thrusts it into my hands. “Put it on, and we’ll give you the second opinion you needed.”
“While you’re changing, I’ll go and grab something I spotted as we came in that is so cute it’ll have me tempted to get pregnant again,” Wyn says.
“As though you need any incentive,” laughs Felicity.
From then, it’s a chaos of clothing and chatter.
They treat me like I’m one of them, however many times I repeat that Dane and I aren’t married, and it’s not a love match.
They try to get me to buy practically everything in the shop, and Dane strolls in later and gives them unlimited permission to put things on his credit card, and winks at me.
And it’s only hours later that I leave the shop with a whole new wardrobe and invitations to the London Smut Club—their book group—and several evening charity events.
I thank them sincerely for their help, and I mean it.
Dane is waiting patiently, chatting with Ben and the husbands of Jessa and Felicity who arrived at some point.
“Trust me. He loves you,” Jessa whispers in my ear as we hug.
I shake my head. “Your fashion eye is very sound, the other bits, I’m not so sure.”
“You’ll see.” Jessa gives me an impish smile.
And in the car on the way back to Dane’s house, I try to see what she sees. I sneak looks at my boss. But his grey eyes seem as cool as ever.
There’s nothing convenient about my feelings, and even though he just wants an heir, I would love Jessa to be right. I wish I were something meaningful to Dane, like he is for me. The dark sun around which all things pivot.