I decided to go shopping just to appease Auggie and get him off the baby thing for a while. He smirked victoriously as we walked together down the sidewalk. People did doubletakes as they passed us. “Was that?” “Is that?” “What’s he doing here?”
Though he had argued we should go shopping for an engagement present for Fern and Gav, Auggie kept drifting towards the baby sections. “What are you doing?” I’d hiss under my breath.
He’d feign innocent. “What? I’m just looking for a gift for a friend. A good friend,” he added with that arched eyebrow.
When he went into a children’s store, I wouldn’t even follow him in. Instead, I did some window shopping at a store nearby. If he wanted to play this game of chicken, he was going to lose.
“Hey, McPhee.”
Oh, God.
I turned slowly towards the sound of the regrettably familiar voice, only to be met with the smug smirk of Christopher Tyler. My tummy clenched and I had to fight the urge to cradle it, which had become an unconscious habit.
“What are you doing here?” I accused, knowing full well he wouldn’t be shopping on Rodeo Drive for shits and giggles.
“Small world,” he shrugged. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” I grit between my teeth.
“Oh, right. You’ve got a super-rich boyfriend now.”
“I’ve got my own money, thanks,” I sneered.
“Right,” he said. “Money your super-rich boyfriend paid you after you spent the night with him. Tell me something. Does that technically make you a whore?”
My palm itched to slap his hateful face. “Fuck you.”
“Such language,” he chided. “Not very proper for a lady.”
“What do you want?”
“Not much,” he shrugged before handing me a business card. “Just an exclusive.”
I glanced down at the card. The fucker now worked for PING.
Of course, he did.
“I’m not giving you anything,” I said as I tore the card in half.
“You gave me everything once,” he reminded. “Can’t play shy now.”
“Really? Did we do anything? I can’t remember. I’ve had a real man for months. Impossible to remember every three-minute Charlie that came before.”
His face reddened with rage. He stepped closer. “Go ahead. Run your mouth. But I know your secrets,” he whispered. “And I’m going to know this one, too.”
Before I knew what was happening, he grabbed at my stomach and squeezed harder than could ever be justified. Just as I was going to shove him away, he got violently jerked back by a hotheaded Aldaynean. “What the fuck do you think you are doing?!” Auggie thundered at Christopher, who visibly shrank from the bigger, more imposing man.
“Sorry, Your Majesty. Just saying hello to an old friend,” he added, sliding me a sick smirk. “No need to fret, she’s not my type. Too fat,” he added.
Auggie reared back and punched him right in the face, knocking him back five paces.
I know. I counted.
Sean joined the fray, backing a hysterical Christopher against the nearby building. “Way to fuck up, asshole!” Christopher bellowed. “You’re going to jail!”
“I don’t think so,” Sean told him as he towered over him. “Ever heard of a thing called diplomatic immunity?” Whether or not Sean was full of shit, it made Christopher think twice. I could tell by the way his face fell. “Besides, I saw you assault Miss McPhee myself. It was clearly self-defense.” Sean turned to me. “Did he assault you, miss?”
I glanced between Auggie and Sean, then finally, Christopher. “He grabbed me.”
“There you have it,” Sean said to Christopher. “Did I also happen to mention that I am a major in Her Royal Highness’s Military Guard?” He flipped his card to prove his point. “You might want to get along, then.”
It was Christopher’s turn to glance between us. Finally, he nodded, giving in. “Fine. You win this one. But you’ll see me again,” he said, turning to me. “Peaches.”
It was the first time he had ever used my first name. Quite frankly, it scared me to death.
By nightfall, Christopher Tyler had his exclusive when #RoyalBaby began trending.
“Does Aldayne finally have a new heir to the throne?” questioned the click-bait headline straight from PING, with his loathsome byline.
Pictures taken that very afternoon had been amplified to show the hint of a bump straining against the tunic. Different outlets were already doing the math of how far along I might be. Of course, PING had the closest margin, given Christopher had circled it back to that very first night I had gone to Fifty Oaks, which was only four weeks off the actual conception.