Page 62 of Damaged Billionaire Daddy
We sat together on the edge of the sand near the beach. The hotel, which was only fifteen minutes from the state-of-the-art birthing studio where we were tentatively signed up for a room, loomed up behind us.
Below us, water lapped the edges of the sand. We had gone for a walk earlier and were now relaxing. I was stretched out on a chaise lounge, with my feet up.
Richard sat on a stool beside me and rubbed my feet. We had drinks with little umbrellas in them, but no alcohol. I had a Shirley Temple, and Richard had a sprite with a twist of lemon, because now was not the time for either of us to indulge.
I almost purred when Richard hit a good spot. My feet had hurt almost non-stop for the last three weeks. “Oh, you have about a hundred years to stop that,” I said.
“We didn’t walk too far?” he asked.
I shook my head. “My back hurts, but it started hurting yesterday. The midwife said not to worry, but to have our bag packed.”
“It is, right?” he asked.
“Caleb put it in the car yesterday so we wouldn’t have to worry about it.”
“Good old Caleb,” he said. “He’s worked so hard to make up for breaking my hip.”
“Caleb?” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Yeah. Didn’t we tell you? He was on the other team. His tackle and the five guys who piled on top of us kind of wrecked us both.” Richard picked up his stool and moved it beside me where he could rest his head against my swollen middle.
“No, he never mentioned it. But then, he doesn’t talk a lot.” I took a sip out of my Shirley Temple. Somehow, it was not sitting right.
“Are you feeling all right, babe?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “Just tired of being pregnant. I’m ready for this kid to be on the outside so you can take a turn carrying him around.”
We were pretty sure the little slugger was a boy. The ultrasound looked like it, and the midwife said that I was carrying like he was a boy.
Richie didn’t care about that part. He placed his ear against me and listened to the gentle swoosh and churn of life getting made.
A taught ridge of muscle clenched in my belly. Little Slugger wriggled around in there and delivered a kick that caught Richard right in the ear.
“Wow! That was a strong one,” he said, rubbing his ear.
“I’ll say,” I replied. “Glad we made it back here to rest.”
Richard looked at me closely. “Are we talking about the same thing?” he asked.
“Probably not.” I grinned at him. “Our meanings frequently pass each other like ships in the night.”
“Strangers in the night,” he crooned softly to me, “Da-da-di-da-da.”
“Oh, you,” I giggled. I pushed the hair back out of my face and reached for my drink.
We had come so close to missing out on this. Funny how we rarely recognize the really good things in life until they smack us on the head.
Richard had an odd look on his face, so I asked, “Do you ever regret not taking over the vineyard?”
“Only when I have to listen to Delard bitch about it. I got you, and you are worth twenty vineyards, no, two hundred vineyards,” Richard replied.
I laughed. “Love you, too, you big lug.”
“Love you more,” he said, wrapping his arms around my stomach, listening to the life inside me.
“Even though I look like a beached whale?” I asked.
“Kandy Kane Lane,” he said, making my grandparents’ pet name for me into something new, “You are an amazingly beautiful whale, and I’m glad you are beached here with me. I am so lucky you read my letter and decided to give me another chance.”
