His father only gave him a curt nod, saying dismissively, “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Fliss couldn’t decide if she was Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella.
She’d been half-asleep when they had landed and driven into the city last night. Saint had shown her around his cavernous penthouse before they’d gone back to bed, but she hadn’t fully appreciated his home until she’d woken to the sunshine pouring in on her.
Situated eighty floors into the sky, it was two stories wrapped in an arc of glass offering panoramic views of the Hudson River, New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. She descended what looked like a glass staircase to the main floor, where a color scheme of slate and midnight blue and quiet cream welcomed her. All of his furniture was modern with rounded corners and long, flowing lines. The floors were marble and hardwood, and the area rugs were so exquisite they had to be handloomed. The contemporary abstracts on the walls were by names she didn’t recognize but would look up later.
She and Saint hadn’t spoken much. It had still been early, so they’d made love, eaten breakfast, showered, and then he’d dressed in a suit, telling her he had an important meeting with the board this morning. It was a special project that had been derailed by the bad publicity after their initial affair.
Fliss had grown uneasy, deducing that her presence, and pregnancy, could impact his aspirations again.
“There’s still time to...not do this,” she’d reminded him.
He had turned from the mirror, his tie still dangling loosely from his upturned collar, the top button of his shirt not yet closed. She’d been barefoot in her cotton pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt without a bra.
“Do you want to not do this?” His gaze had flicked to the bed they’d used with enthusiasm.
“I want to do this.” She’d pointed at the floor. “Be in this room and never leave. I don’t want to do that.” She’d waved at the windows. “Be out there as a thing that strangers can judge.”
“Good news. Your wish is granted.” He’d come across to drop a kiss onto her lips that had been seductive enough that she’d leaned into it, encouraging him to linger. He’d drawn back with reluctance. “For the day, anyway. We’ll have dinner with my parents tonight, but it’s best if you stay inside until then. Do you mind?” He’d finished buttoning his shirt and expertly tied his tie without looking.
“Dinner? Tonight?” she’d cried. “Where? Here? Am I supposed to cook? What do I wear?”
“Wow. This is not an actual emergency. Take a breath. I’ve asked Willow—Ah. They’re here.” He’d pointed toward a muted ping that had sounded from a hidden speaker.
“Who’s here? Who’s Willow?”
“My executive assistant. Their pronouns are they/them. I’ll introduce you, then I have to go. Do you mind getting dressed?” His gaze had dropped to her chest. “I like seeing your nipples through your shirt, but I’m getting possessive about who else does.”
Her nipples had tightened in a responsive sting that had made her blush. He’d smirked.
She’d hurried to change while Saint had shrugged into his jacket and put on his shoes, then he’d led her down the stairs, saying, “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” the well-dressed twenty-something had responded. They’d worn a very smart pinstriped suit and boots with a heel. They hadn’t batted an eyelash at Fliss, even though they’d known who she was because they’d said, “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Corning. I’m Willow.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Fliss had shaken their hand, smiling uncertainly because even in jeans and a fresh T-shirt, with a bra, she’d felt very underdressed. “Please call me Fliss.”
“I’ll go to the office alone,” Saint had said to Willow. “I need you to stay and help Fliss get settled. First order of business is to find her an obstetrician.”
“Of course.” Willow had drawn a phone from the inside pocket of their suit jacket, again seeming completely unfazed. “My sister has a specialist she loves. Let me ask her for the number.”
“See if she has a stylist she likes, too.”
“For tonight?” Fliss had asked him.
“And the foreseeable future,” he’d replied, adding to Willow, “Someone stronger in procurement than opinions. Fliss knows what she wants. Make dinner reservations at that place my mother likes. Warn them that my father will be with us so they can have a steak on hand. I’ll text if I think of anything else.” He’d checked for his phone, then he’d dropped a kiss onto Fliss’s pouted mouth. “Willow is extremely trustworthy. You’re in good hands.”
Seconds later, he’d been gone and she’d been alone with the stranger.
“My sister,” Willow had said with a satisfied smile as their phone had pinged. “The office won’t be open yet, but I’ll set up a call to interview the doctor as soon as I can get through.”
“Thank you. Saint ordered breakfast.” Fliss had waved toward the kitchen where they had eaten at the island bar. She hadn’t put it away yet. “They must have thought we were a party of thirty. There are pastries and fruit medley for days. Would you like something?”
“I’ve eaten, thanks, but I’ll make myself a coffee.” Willow had gone to the industrial grade espresso maker behind the island. “Can I make one for you, too?”
“I prefer tea, but I’ve had enough for now. You don’t seem shocked that I’m here. Or that I...need a specialist.”
“I expect the unexpected, working for Saint.” Willow had reached unhesitatingly into the various cupboards, clearly familiar with the layout. “It’s funny because a lot of my days are very boring. He travels and leaves me with reports to analyze, or I’m picking up dry cleaning. I start to think I’m overpaid and underutilized, then he drops a jigsaw puzzle on the table and tells me to finish it by lunch.”
“Am I the jigsaw puzzle?” Fliss had guessed.
“You are. But I love puzzles,” Willow had said, lips tilted with amusement.
“Me, too. I used to do them with my granny.” Fliss had smiled. Maybe she didn’t need to be so intimidated by Willow and their ultra-efficient manner after all.
In truth, they got along like a house on fire. The stylist, Regina, was nice, too. The only hiccup occurred when Fliss balked at ordering more than a handful of items on top of the dress she had picked out for the evening.
She was used to making her own clothing or buying from consignment and altering or embellishing to make a piece her own. There was also the fact that whatever she bought today wouldn’t fit her for very long, which Willow picked up on, waiting until Regina had left to say, “Saint wants you to have everything you need for the foreseeable future. That includes maternity wear. If you’re not ready to tell Regina, we can work around it, but I’m confident she could source some items without revealing who they’re for.”
“I’ll think about it,” Fliss murmured, but she really wanted to keep her pregnancy under wraps for as long as possible, certain it would put her in the spotlight again.
By the time Regina returned with three racks of clothing and a metric crap ton of shoes, it was time for Fliss to get ready. Since her prep for the gala had failed to measure up to Saint’s usual crowd, she let Regina’s staff do her hair and makeup and even allowed Regina to alter her dress when she would normally do that herself.
She definitely felt like Cinderella when she was pronounced “ready” and made her way out of the spare bedroom and down the stairs.
Regina had leapt on Fliss’s appreciation for vintage styles with contemporary touches. She’d brought her a selection from an up-and-coming New York designer including this A-line style skirt in Mediterranean-blue satin with a black fitted bodice. It was off the shoulder while still being meet-the-parents modest. The sweetheart neckline made the most of her ample breasts while creating the illusion that she had a well-defined waist. Her shoes were a closed-toe Mary Jane with a medium heel.
Fliss felt like a screen legend from the black-and-white era but gripped the rail with tension as she came down, half fearing that Saint’s parents were here because she could hear him speaking.
