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She plays it coy, shrugging innocently as she uncrosses and recrosses her legs. “Is this going to pose an additional complication for you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Bee smiles thinly and holds up her hands. “Oh my, did I touch a nerve?”
If she were anyone else, I’d bite her head off, but there’s no point getting all worked up. Bee is the only person in the world who isn’t in the least bit affected by my anger. As my oldest friend and ally, she’s also the only person who’s safe from it.
“Can I ask how the meeting went?” she ventures.
I’m already jonesing for another drink, but I resist the urge this time. “Did you not hear me? She wants to keep the baby. So I’d say not fucking great.”
Bee’s eyebrows hit the roof of her forehead. “Are you seriously telling me you tried to get her to agree to terminate the pregnancy?”
I pounce out of the barstool and start pacing. “It’s not what any of us wanted! I mean, fuck, it’s bad enough that I’m being forced into having an heir. I didn’t sign up to have a baby with some random civilian woman. And I saw the look on her face when she realized why I was in that restaurant tonight. She doesn’t want my DNA in her baby any more than I want hers in mine.”
Bee swivels her stool in my direction, one eyebrow arched high. That expression usually means I won’t like what’s coming next.
“You know… this could work.”
“Fucking hell,” I mumble. “Don’t start.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are. Which is why I’m pissed off.”
She snorts. “Oh, no—you’re pissed off because you don’t have control anymore. And you haaate when things happen outside of your control.”
I pause my pacing and narrow my eyes in her direction. “She’s a problem, Bee.”
“Might that opinion have a little something to do with the fact that you’re attracted to her?”
Scowling, I twist around so I can pace away without having to look her in the eyes. “Quit with that bullshit.”
She chuckles and jangles the bracelets on her wrists. “I know your type, Dmitri. And she’s definitely your type.”
“She’s more your type than mine.”
“Maybe. But the only reason I didn’t hit on her at that gala was because of the way you looked at her. I know how you are: territorial.”
I shake my head, still keeping my gaze rooted on the path my feet are walking. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.”
“Oh, wouldn’t you like me to believe that?” she scoffs. “The truth is, this unexpected little petri dish mix-up baby might be a blessing in disguise.”
“You want this baby?” I gawk at her. “You’re actually going to fight for a fetus that’s not yours?”
She pops off her stool and sashays over to me. “Like it or not, we’re getting married, D. What’s yours is mine—which means that baby is mine, too. I don’t really care how it happened; the point is, it did happen. So now, it’s time to deal with the situation.”
She rests a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I scowl and shrug it off. “You are a pain in the ass, Zanetti.”
She blows me a kiss. “I love you, too, baby. Now, I’m already late for my date. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night, fiancé.”
She grabs her purse and heads out while I walk my ass back to the bar and pour myself yet another drink. I’m not sure why I’m restricting myself anymore; it’s not like Elena’s here to wrinkle her nose at the smell.
She hated vodka—but she loved me.
That made all the difference.
I don’t have the luxury of brooding about El, though. Not when I have a fake fiancée and a pregnant personal assistant on my hands. Beatrice was right: I do need a plan—and it starts with that miserable sack of shit, Dr. Saeder.
