Her Swedish Billionaire’s Baby

He drove to the back entrance of the building, being careful to avoid cameras. He unlocked the service entrance and made his way up the stairs listening carefully for any sounds of another presence in the apartment. He followed Alison’s instructions carefully, counting steps like she’d told him to. Pretty soon he came up to a section of blank cream wall. He felt along the side until he felt the slight protrusion. He pressed down on it and the wall silently parted in two to reveal an iron safe.

He stopped for a minute to do a celebratory dance before he dug into his pockets, to get the slip of paper with the combination. He pressed in the numbers, holding his breath in trepidation; not sure if it would work or not. He pressed in the last number and waited, hardly daring to breath. There was a sound like pressure being released and then the door separated. Chris reached slowly for the handle, pulling the door open.

When he saw what was inside he couldn’t help the whoop of joy that went through him. A stack of bills at the back and various velvet pouches in front. He opened one to observe jewels of various types winking at him from inside. Just one of these pouches would probably set him up for life. excitedly he poked around at the other containers and fingered the stack of cash. He would give Alison one stack, say that was all there was. Maybe a jewel or two. The rest he would keep and trade as necessary. He brought one of the velvet pouches to his lips and kissed it.

“Finally Chris. We made it,” he said to himself before leaning forward and scooping everything into his back pack. He closed the safe back and then returned the hiding place back to its original state. He retraced his steps, almost skipping with excitement as he made his way out.

He opened the service door and looked up to find the barrel of a gun in his face.

“Freeze. Police.”

*****

Chris Khaled was handcuffed to the table at the station, as an officer brought him a cup of coffee and placed it down next to him.

“Mr. Khaled we’ve checked out your story with your daughters. Neither of them have the combination to the safe you claim they sent you to rob. I’ve had confirmation of that from the owner of the safe, Mr. Bjorn Fredriksen. Sooo, I don’t know if you’re ready to tell us who really sent you to rob him?”

Chris shouted, “They’re setting me up! I’m telling you! They are setting me up! This wasn’t my idea.”

“Is that so? Because these people who you claim set you up have hired a lawyer for you,” the officer said.

“What?”

“Yeah. He’s setting up your bail hearing as we speak.”

“What the fu*k.”

*****

“Bail is set at 600,000 dollars,” the judge said banging his gavel. Chris slumped in his seat. He did not have that kind of cash.

“Mr. Khaled, you’re free to go,” his lawyer said and Chris looked up at him in shock.

“I’m free…to go?”

“Yeah. Your daughter paid your bail.”

“Oh.”

Chris stood up and walked slowly out of the court room. His head was ringing with the conversations he’d had with his lawyer.

“Ten to twenty years….parole not guaranteed…”

He’d managed to avoid jail for thirty years. The last time he’d seen the inside of a jail cell was juvie. He couldn’t go back. He just…couldn’t.

Chris Khaled took the next bus out of town. He disappeared without a trace.

*****

“You think we’ll ever see him again?” Samara asked Alison as she walked her up and down, rubbing her back gently.

“I don’t know. I doubt it,” Alison replied. “Anyway, that’s not what’s important.”

“True that,” Amy said from her seat on Samara’s hospital bed. “We gotta get this baby out safe.”

Bjorn made a pained noise in the corner. He was the palest in the room and not just because his skin was the whitest. He’d already thrown up twice. Amy got down from the bed and went to rub his back.

“It’ll be okay,” she soothed. “This baby is gonna be just fine.”

Bjorn nodded tightly as Dr. Lee stepped in the room with a smile.

“Okay people, I think we’re ready to get this show on the road. Let’s get little Thomas out into the world where he belongs.” He said.

“Amen to that,” Samara said and went to put her feet in the stirrups.

Bjorn fainted.

*****

Bjorn and Samara spent their first night in their new home on the floor, Jan’s crib tucked into the corner of the living room with the fire at their head, crickle crackling and snapping.

“Awfully romantic,” Samara commented, clinking her first glass of wine in months with Bjorn’s, then taking a long sip. They were sitting on a square of three blankets in front of the fireplace, pillows scattered around the edges of their “bed”, bare, cold hardwood flooring around them. “In a Benjamin Button kinda way, when they had no furniture.”

“We’ll get some. The Joneses LA is delivering everything tomorrow and I got you a magnificent California king. You still have to pick and choose the rest of the stuff that suits your taste.”

“Don’t remind me. I still have baby brain; I don’t think I can think.”

“We’ll have Inga do it then,” Bjorn said sensibly, grinning at the incredulous look Samara sent him. “Or Alison.”

Samara rolled her eyes. “You know, it’s your house too; you could do it.” She drank some more before she set her glass down and smirked at Bjorn, inching her legs out wider and settling back on the flats of her palms. “You ever heard the superstitions about christening a new place?”

Bjorn regarded her, took another sip of beer. “All the doors are locked, nothing and nobody is getting in here.”

Samara shifted forward, walking on her knees until she was up in Bjorn’s face. “Wouldn’t be so sure, Bjorn.” Samara kissed him, hardest kiss in weeks. Bjorn set his glass behind him and cradled Samara’s face in his hands, pushing into the kiss with a hungry sound. When Samara moved closer, Bjorn rubbed his palms down her sides, her hips, then brought Samara into his lap. Warm, solid weight settled against him, the smell of sweet arousal in the air. Samara broke the kiss to look over at the crib, but Bjorn brought her face back.

“It is okay. He’s okay, Samara. He’s perfect. Let me, God, please let me,” Bjorn buried his face in Samara’s neck, hands mapping her back, the curve of her ass. “Need you. Need to show you.”

Samara knocked her cheek into Bjorn’s hair and sighed. “I’m not… haven’t been taking the pill.”

Bjorn looked at her, and though it burned his lips, Bjorn said, “I can pull out. Or, or, probably a condom in my wallet, I can go get one.”

Samara looked back at him, expression tilting between even and… sad? Bjorn swallowed and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

Samara kept the eye contact a bit longer, then sighed and looked away, teeth catching her lip.

“What?” Bjorn asked again, soft as the fire’s glow over their skin. “Samara?”

Samara closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I was hopin’ that… maybe you’d want to uh, maybe you’d want.” Samara stopped and shook her head with a frustrated sound. “I don’t know why, but since Jan I’ve been feeling kinda like, I’m empty? Maybe it’s ’cause of postpartum or something but I’ve been thinking that, you said that you wanted more kids, so—goddamit, Bjorn, I can’t do this.”

“Bjorn, I want another baby,” she whispered.

“Okay, but first you have to marry me.” He replied.

The end.