“Then my answer is yes. I want that too. I know it’s crazy, I guess we just have to know that whatever happens with us, we’ll put the baby first. Deal?”
“Deal.”
*
Imogen was still smiling the next afternoon as they perused cots in a large baby boutique on Oxford street. “See? Didn’t I say you could spend a fortune in one of these places.”
She poked her tongue out, wondering if she should put at least one of the outfits back before deciding it really was practical. Besides, they were so adorable.
“Not twenty thousand pounds.”
He grinned, holding the basket out to her so she could free her hands up. As she dropped the plastic packets into the bottom she saw he had at least twice the amount of items gathered. “And you’re saying I’m bad?”
“No.” He shook his head and dropped a kiss against her forehead. “When did I say that?”
“That I’m spending a fortune?”
“I’m just saying, hypothetically, that between the two of us, I think we could rack up a pretty big shopping bill here.”
“Well, we are going to need a lot of this.” She said, spinning around on the spot, a sense of overwhelm besieging her as she took in the rows and rows of highchairs, pushers, cribs. “But maybe I should have done my research before we came.”
“Our research,” he chided gently, reaching down and brushing his fingers against hers. Sparks of electricity spread over her body, making her tingle from head to toe. It was ridiculous that, after spending the night in his bed, and making love long and slow in the morning, such a small, innocent touch could still fill her with stomach-churning butterflies.
She looked up at him and her stomach dipped like she’d gone over the top of a roller coaster. “Yeah. Maybe we should do some research. I mean, I don’t know. What’s the difference between this cot and that cot?”
“Other than the fact one’s white and one’s … brown?”
“Beige, I think,” Imogen corrected with a smile, moving towards it, glad when he laced his fingers through hers rather than relinquishing contact. “But seriously, does it matter that these bars are closer together? I think they need to be a certain width for some reason…”
“All our cots meet the required safety standards,” a woman’s voice emerged from behind them.
Imogen startled and turned her head to see a pretty brunette hovering just a couple of feet away.
“But you’re right,” the brunette said as she took a step closer. She wore an apron with the store’s branding on its front. “Cribs from a generation ago had the bars too wide so babies were constantly getting their little heads squeezed through them.” She smiled, apparently pleased with her own joke, then lifted her gaze upwards.
She hadn’t recognized Theo before, obviously, because when her eyes landed on his face she visibly started. “You’re Lord Trevalyen.”
He sent Imogen a look of amusement and shook his head. “Theo,
please.”
“Right.” She nodded, but her pithy sales spiel had evaporated in the face of total adoration. Imogen lifted her face to Theo, squinting, trying to see him as she had the first time they’d met. Though even then, she hadn’t really seen him as a celebrity – he’d just been Theo. Why she’d wanted him, that had been them, not him.
“And this is Imogen,” he nodded, drawing the sales clerk’s attention back to the present. “My girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend, right,” the woman nodded. “You’re looking for a gift?”
Imogen smothered a smile but Theo spoke quickly. “We’re looking to furnish our nursery,” he corrected. “We have a mobile and that’s it.”
“Oh! I see!” The brunette blinked, apparently recollecting herself. “I didn’t realize. I mean, I hadn’t heard…”
“No,” Theo murmured, and surprisingly, it was true. The media, who had dogged him since his divorce and emergence back on the society scene, had apparently not caught wind of this development.
Yet.
Somehow he suspected that was all about to change.
“How wonderful,” she was back in sales mode now, even if she was mentally phrasing the tweet she’d send out later. “Let’s have a talk about your preferences in my office and then I can help you style your nursery.”