“At my dream woman, who I’m about to make love to.”
“Oh my, please stop with the gushy lines. I’ll be crying again.” I felt my hips rise to meet his.
“I’m going to go slow.”
“Do we have to? You know, to be safe?” I was pretty sure we didn’t, but what the heck did I know?
He shook his head and said, “No, but I want to take my time.”
Callum
“Frank arranged for a car to take us to your place from the airport, so don’t worry about not meeting us.”
The Fourth of July was quickly approaching, and Billy was coming to visit and stay with me. At my place. It felt like it was a big deal to her, as if she was really excited to be staying in my house versus the hotel.
“I wish I could meet you.”
“I know. Don’t worry,” she said, knowing I’d want to be there to greet her, but I had to finish up work. With the time I took off to go to Mexico and subsequent visits to California, it was my turn to do the most when it came to my patients.
“You deliver all the babies so we can have all the fun over the weekend.”
I appreciated Billy’s ease over the situation more than I could accurately describe… I’d taken call all week to be free with her. It was a worthwhile sacrifice.
“Glory gave you all the supplies for the plane?” I shifted the phone to my other ear, bracing it there with my neck while opening the fridge and surveying what I’d had my housekeeping service stock up on. Blowing out a breath, I glanced around my kitchen, making sure it was tidy. Knowing I’d be called in overnight. It was inevitable.
“Yes, the green juice and the crackers. It’s Ford’s plane, so they have everything else. I’m fine. I feel fine, I mean. I’m good.”
“Hm.” It was more grunt than anything else from me.
Giving up control had been hard for me. When we’d arrived home from Cabo, we’d met with Dr. Rick Barnswell and appointed him in charge of Billy’s care. He’d delivered several babies for Hollywood royalty and graduated medical school with one of my partners. I’d been back and forth twice to Los Angeles, keeping tabs on blood tests and ultrasounds, and everything was absolutely fine with our baby (a girl—but Billy didn’t want to know).
Now, a little past the halfway mark, Billy was flying to me and it was my plan to figure out some sort of solution to our bicoastal relationship.
“I’ll be fine, Cal. I can’t wait to see you. There is one thing. My mom—”
“She called me,” I interrupted. “She let it be known she’s hosting a cookout on Sunday and expects us to be in attendance.” I laughed just as I had when Beatrice Conway called me. As if anyone could make Billy do anything she didn’t want to.
Billy blew out a long breath, and it shocked and pained me that she was anguished. “She’s a pest, but I know her. She will not let up until we do at least a fraction of what she wants.”
“It’s fine, babe. We’ll stop by, take a picture, and roll.” I knew this was part of the deal with getting involved with a Conway. I’d seen it with Ford and Jamie.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve been inPeoplemagazine more than any other Joe Schmo doctor in America, babe.The Postwill feel like nothing.”
This earned me a giggle.
As Frank and Billy had expected, it didn’t take the press long to find my identity and reveal who I was. At first the world speculated about a whole host of celebrities potentially being the father of Billy’s baby, and I was only the doc. Of course, Billy hated the speculation—felt it diminished me—and decided to make a statement. This led to paparazzi being outside my office until hospital security stepped in. My life was invaded for about two weeks, then the media had somewhat settled…until Billy and I were photographed having dinner at the Ivy following the ultrasound. This sent her mom into a tailspin, needing her own photo session which apparently was par for the course with Beatrice.
Now we were having our first visit at my home, and it would end with a barbeque and photo opportunity at the request of Beatrice Conway. I wasn’t an expert, but I was half certain that was a recipe for chaos.
“Okay, go get some rest,” Billy said softly. “I will be there midmorning, and you will see me when you get home.”
“I love you, Willa.”
“Back at you, baby daddy.”
It was how most of our conversations ended. I knew Billy thought it was funny, but all of this shit was weighing on my nerves. I wanted more, and she didn’t.
