Chapter 10
Ella
Sixteen months later.
I gaze fondly at my son as he wobbles in the living room. Marty’s dressed in a red and green onesie with a Santa hat on his bald head. He can’t quite walk yet, but he’s upright with one hand on the ledge next to the fireplace.
“Mama,” he babbles while shooting me a toothy grin. “Mama, Mama.”
“Yes, I see you, sweet boy,” I coo. “Are you ready for your first Christmas? Are you excited for Santa to come tonight?”
Of course, Marty has no idea who Santa is because he’s still a baby, but I’ve gone all out with the tree, presents, and holiday decor.
There are garlands on the stone fireplace, as well as two stockings hanging from the mantel, one spelling “Marty” and the other “Mama.” The cottage gleams bright and cozy, and I let out a sigh of happiness because my life was rocky for a while.
I don’t have too many memories of what happened after passing out in the women’s lounge.
What I do know is that I was heartbroken, overwrought, and suffered heart palpitations.
Someone found me slumped on the floor, and 9-1-1 was called on the spot.
Paramedics whisked me to the hospital, and when I woke, Nick was at my side, a tortured expression on his handsome features.
“Ella,” he murmured, taking my hand in his own. “I was so worried.”
I struggled to sit upright, but even that movement made my head spin and I lay back down again, dizzy and out of breath.
“You’re expecting another child,” I croaked, my heart feeling as if it might explode from my chest.
Nick’s expression was downcast, and he couldn’t meet my eyes.
“Yes,” he replied. “My son will be born any day now.”
I stared at him, my gaze accusatory.
“How could you not tell me?” I whispered, my heart burning with hurt and shame.
Nick shook his head, defeated and embarrassed.
“I know I should have, but things were going so well between us. I was working up to it, I swear, Ella. We were just getting to get to know each other on a deeper basis. You have to remember that we only reconnected recently, when you moved to New York. I wanted to tell you—”
“But you didn’t,” I interrupted in a scratchy voice. “Everyone else at the party knew that you have another babymama, and I was left looking like an utter fool, pregnant and round and fucking clueless! What was her name? Hadassah?”
Nick’s expression falls again as I yank my hand away from his, as if he’s contaminated.
“Yes, Hadassah,” he says in a low voice. “But it’s not what you think, Ella. I was never in love with her, and the baby is just a transaction between us.”
“Oh really,” I snort as rage begins to build in my chest. “Does she know that you’re referring to your child as a ‘transaction’? Does she know that you’re utterly heartless and cruel, and a douche to boot?”
I’m so angry now that the words are hurled from my mouth like bullets. Nick flinches as if he’s been struck, and I don’t blame him. Fury radiates from my form, and this time, I manage to sit upright, my face red and hair standing on end.
“Why do your excuses seem false, not to mention convenient? Since when is pregnancy a transaction, anyways?” I grit out, my hands white-knuckled as I clutch the metal bed railing. “It takes dick in a pussy, if you don’t recall, to conceive a child. Your dick, in her pussy, if we’re being specific.”
But the billionaire takes me by surprise then.
“No, not always,” Nick says in an even tone, his own hands gripped into fists as well. “Hadassah is my employee, and we conceived our child using IVF. I’ve never slept with her, and she’s not interested in a relationship with me.”
This is so far-fetched that I guffaw loudly before devolving into a coughing fit.
“Really,” I manage, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. “So you’ve never touched this woman.”
“Never,” Nick swears, raising one hand up as if he’s doing a boy scout promise.
“Hadassah is my employee. A good one, and a woman whom I know on personal terms now. But yes, we reached an agreement to have a child together via IVF, and there’s even a contract stipulating all sorts of things, from custody, financial arrangements, to what to do in case there’s an emergency during the pregnancy.
I know you hate the word, but the pregnancy is a transaction. A contract. I swear it, Ella.”
I squint at him.
“I don’t believe you,” I say in a trembling voice. “The women at the party were discussing Hadassah like she was a beautiful woman whom you were romantically involved with. They were looking at me with pity, like I was a stupid idiot who was getting played! Because I was!”
“No, that’s not what happened,” Nick immediately denies. “I have to correct you there, Ella. Hadassah and I were never involved, and we’re not involved to this day. Yes, we’re involved as co-workers and future co-parents,” he corrects quickly, “but nothing more. I swear it.”
But I’ve had enough. Tears brim in my eyes as my face burns hotly with shame. I can’t stand any more of this man’s lies and I flop back on the bed while staring straight ahead.
“Just go,” I say in a defeated voice, refusing to meet his eyes. “I want to be alone.”
At that moment, a nurse bustles in and looks at Nick.
“Sir, we need to do an IV,” she says. “If you could step outside.”
The billionaire looks like he wants to refuse, but the nurse waits expectantly, and with slow feet, he departs.
“We’ll talk more,” he says in a low voice with a meaningful look my way. “I know this is a shock to your system, Ella, but I promise, everything I’ve said is true.”
But his words fell on deaf ears because too much had happened to me in too short of a time.
I was still feeling humiliated and devastated from the revelation that Nick was expecting a child with another woman.
And even if his relationship with Hadassah wasn’t romantic, he didn’t think to utter a word about what was going on in his life.
I hardened my heart, my eyes tearing again, and stared at the wall as the nurse inserted an IV into my arm.
But of course, I couldn’t avoid the billionaire forever.
I could, however, refuse to talk to him in person, and as a result, everything was done through lawyers after that.
I demanded an attorney for myself (paid for by Nick) and from then on, we did all the scheduling and arrangements through intermediaries.
My child was born, and despite Nick expressing a strong desire to be in the delivery room, I refused.
Marty was put in my arms, squalling and red-faced, and it was only after a few hours that Nick met his son in the hospital’s nursery.
Then, I took my child and moved back to my old neighborhood in Minnesota, and into a cottage paid for by Nick, of course.
I wasn’t asking for much, but when a wealthy man is your babydaddy, he’ll make sure his child has everything he needs.
As a result, the cottage isn’t really a cottage.
It’s three bedrooms with a nice-sized living area, a dining room, and a dedicated nursing room which I can later convert into a playroom for Marty.
There’s a gorgeous kitchen with top-of-the-line appliances, and of course, a giant yard for my son to play in that I’ve outfitted with a baby slide and rudimentary swing.
Everything’s covered in snow right now, but that’s okay.
When it warms up again, Marty will be let into the backyard, and I can already anticipate my son’s squeals of joy as he comes down the metal slide, little hands waving.
So this is my life now, and I’m happy being back in Minnesota with my child.
Occasionally, there’s a pang of hurt in my heart because it would be so nice to be back with Nick at my side.
Sometimes I allow myself to dream that we’re a real couple, and that I have a doting husband looking over my shoulder as we coo down into the happy face of our child together.
Sometimes, I pretend that the interlude in New York never happened, and that Nick is just an everyday, ordinary dude, whom I love with all my heart, and with whom I created our wonderful family together.
But that’s about as far from reality as you can get because Nick doesn’t live in the cottage with us, nor am I his girlfriend or wife.
Nor is Marty his only child. I read in the papers a while back that Hadassah’s child was born, and there were photos of Nick with her and the new baby.
She’s pretty, to be sure, but the papers confirmed everything he told me about their relationship.
Hadassah really is Nick’s employee at Rocket X, and the child was conceived via IVF.
It was a transaction, albeit a baby transaction, which idea makes me shudder a bit.
But I guess that’s how life is these days.
Science is changing everything, and a man can now have a child with a woman he respects, but doesn’t love (Hadassah), while simultaneously expecting a baby with a woman he knocked up accidentally (me).
The two children can be born a month apart, and he can father potentially hundreds of babies with willing mothers who agree to undergo IVF.
It’s a crazy hypothetical, and I still don’t know how I feel about reproductive technology.
It’s as if we could populate the entire planet of Mars with the progeny of just one or two “supermen” and their concubines. Ugh.
But I’m here, and I’m happy and safe with my son. I smile at Marty as he reaches for a pretty red ornament on the tree, and then rush forwards when he begins to steer it to his mouth.
“No Marty,” I say, taking the candy cane from his hands as he stares at me with accusation in his eyes. “This isn’t a real candy cane. Do you want Mama to get you a real one to eat?”
But my baby doesn’t understand my words and bursts into tears because he can’t have the ornament. I swoop him up into my arms, hushing him as he buries his face against my neck.
“Shhh, baby, it’s okay,” I croon while rocking him a little. “You shouldn’t be eating so much candy anyways! I know it’s Christmas but Mama wants you to grow up big and strong, and sugar isn’t going to help you grow.”
Marty’s sobs only become louder, almost drowning out the sound of the doorbell.
I squint, still rocking my son, while striding to the front door.
Who could it be? It’s Christmas Eve, for crying out loud, so who would stop by?
Balancing my bawling child awkwardly in one arm, I reach forward to yank open the door, only to see Nick standing there, with his arms full of presents, as tall and handsome as ever.
“Merry Christmas, Ella,” he growls, his blue eyes flaring as he takes in the sight of me holding his son. “Can I come in?”
The connection between us is as intense as ever, and my knees buckle a bit as my heart goes into overdrive.
Oh my god, I must look like such a mess with my blonde hair in an untidy bun and my ugly Christmas sweater on, not to mention my red and green striped knee socks.
But it’s snowing outside, and I can’t really slam the door in his face.
At least not on Christmas Eve. So I step aside, still clutching my baby son, and allow the huge alpha male to enter our small cottage.
But what’s going to happen next? Will Nick deliver his presents and then leave, gone once again?
Or does the billionaire have more in mind .
.. making this the happiest holiday of all?