Billionaire's Baby Contract (Hawthorne Brothers 1)

“I’ll be off, then. If you need anything, you can just…”

I stand up. “I’m coming with you.”

Stella’s eyes grow wide.

“I just need to answer to a few emails, but then – ”

“No!” Stella protests emphatically, taking me by surprise.

She seems surprised by it, too, because she falls silent afterward. Then she clears her throat.

“I mean, you don’t have to… sir. I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe.” In fact, I’m sure she will be. “But my German is better than yours. No offense.”

“I’ll make do,” she insists. “I’m sure you’re tired.”

I shrug. “I could use some fresh air.”

“And you have a lot of work to do.”

“Not that much. I actually got a lot done on the plane.”

I don’t really understand why she’s arguing with me. Can it be that she doesn’t want my company? Is it because I was asking her a lot of personal questions last night? Did I make her uncomfortable?

“If I said or did anything last night to offend you…”

“No,” Stella cuts me off. “Last night was… good. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you’d rather not have me around?”

Her eyebrows arch. “That’s not what I meant. I just…” She looks away. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble,” I assure her. “In fact, I don’t think it’s a bad idea for us both to try and unwind before the big day tomorrow.”

Stella lets out a breath. “Okay.”

But she doesn’t sound convinced. I guess I’ll just have to convince her as we go along.

“Just give me fifteen minutes,” I tell her. “You need to change, too, don’t you? Unless you want to walk around in heels.”

“I don’t.”

“Then come back here when you’re ready. And bring your list. We’ll try to cover as much ground as we can.”

~

The first thing we do is take a cruise across the sparkling lake, which is right next to the hotel. Afterwards, we head to the Old Town. We explore it on foot, starting from the Bahnhof on Main Street. Then we take a stroll past the colorful houses on Augustinergasse, drop by the Lindenhof and stop by the Uraniastrasse Police Station to see the vibrant murals by Augusto Giacometti.

Through it all, I notice that Stella still seems wary of my company. She keeps her distance from me and doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Every now and then, she slips and drops her guard, especially when something interesting catches her attention and she forgets that I’m there, but when she remembers, she’s quick to put it up again.

I still don’t understand why, but I don’t mind. I’m still glad I decided to accompany her. It’s evident she’s excited to explore Zurich, even though she’s trying her best to hide it, and the more she sees, the more she seems to fall in love with the city. As she takes in the sights, I take her in – her every gasp, every sigh, every furrow and arch of her eyebrows, every smile, every chuckle. I feel like a father who brought his kid to the toy store for the first time and Stella is that kid, crazy and carefree. It’s another side of her I haven’t seen before.

After walking through the rest of Uraniastrasse, we find ourselves at the Old Botanical Garden. It’s not on Stella’s list, but she decides it’s worth a look around.

I follow her in, even though I’m not too keen about gardens. I do like the one back at the mansion, but I don’t see why tourists would want to visit them. Maybe it’s because I’m not very knowledgeable about plants – biology was one of my least favorite subjects in high school. I’ve seen a few gardens, I’ve seen them all. At least the sun has gone hiding behind the clouds so it’s not too hot for a stroll.

Stella, on the other hand, seems enraptured. She takes pictures continually, and every few steps she stops to take a closer look at a plant.

“Something tells me someone is buying more plants when she gets home,” I remark.

“Not really,” she answers. “I’m fine with my succulents and my spider plant. Any more and they would just wilt. But I’d like to have a garden for my kid to…”

She stops abruptly as if realizing she said something she shouldn’t have.

“Go on,” I urge her.

Stella draws a breath. “It would be nice to have a house with a garden. My mother had a small garden. I liked to sit on the bench and write.”

I look at her curiously. “Write what? Stories?”

She nods. “Believe it or not, I used to want to be a writer.”

I shrug. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I think you’d make a good writer.”

Stella narrows her eyes at me. “And how would you know that? You’ve never read anything I’ve written, have you?”

Right. She doesn’t know I read her journal. She’s not supposed to know.