The Billionaire's Fake Girlfriend: Part 3 (The Billionaire Saga 3)

She pulled me into a huge, dripping hug, too caught up in her excitement at seeing me to realize that anything was wrong. The rain was successfully camouflaging the tears that had somehow, inexplicably, continued to fall since the doctor’s office in LA. I truly didn’t understand how it was possible. I had to be massively dehydrated by now. She figured it out though, the second she pulled back and looked at my face.

“Oh, gosh—what’s wrong?” She put both hands on the sides of my cheeks and searched my eyes with her strange mother’s radar, hoping to find the answers there. “Is it Amanda, is she okay? Is it Marcus—did the two of you have a fight? You didn’t break up, did you? Oh my gosh—Bex, talk to me! What is it?”

I opened my mouth with a simultaneous gasp and hiccup. Where did I even begin? How much was I even planning on telling her? In my brain-erasing panic, I’d come straight here, like a homing pigeon returning to base. I hadn’t even considered what I was going to say.

“Mom…I just came from the doctor’s.”

“Oh gosh—you’re pregnant!”

Good thing with moms, sometimes they said the words for you.

“Yep. You’re a grandma.”

She hugged me tightly. “Congratulations, honey! And I’m so happy for you and Markus. And I’m so happy I get the chance to be a grandma! You know I’m going to spoil this kid rotten, right?”

I smiled.

She pulled me inside and out of the rain, setting me firmly on the couch while simultaneously lighting a fire and preparing two steaming cups of cocoa in a sudden, superhero blur of speed. She returned a minute later and settled down beside me, tossing a blanket over our legs as she handed me my favorite mug.

“When did you find out?”

“I just found out, and then came straight here.” I tried to take a scalding gulp, but it burned my tongue.

“How far along are you?”

The questions fired out like well-meaning bullets, intending to extract as much information as possible before she knew I’d shut down. We’d had hypothetical variations of this conversation for as long as I could remember. She knew I didn’t want kids. But she knew I’d never get rid of one. The trick then was to just never get pregnant. A task at which I’d failed spectacularly.

“Six weeks.” I showed her the sonogram.

She nodded calmingly but bit her lip. “Is Marcus the father?”

“Yes! Mom!”

She held up her hands. “I’m just asking. You’ve done a lot of things these last few months that have surprised me, Bex. I still can’t believe you’re getting married to the man.”

My heart felt like it froze in my chest. A chill ran up my body, and there was a strange tightening that was making it hard to breathe. My mother set down her cocoa at once, misinterpreting my pained expression as some kind of judgment on her part.

“Oh no, sweetie—don’t get me wrong.” She squeezed my knees and gave me a glowing smile. “You’ve surprised me, but you’ve made me so, so very proud. As long as I can remember, I’ve been telling you to put yourself out there and take a leap of faith. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you finally did it. And Marcus is an amazing man. It warms my heart to see the two of you together.”

A wretched sob shook its way out of me and I dropped my head into my hands. This was making everything so much worse.

She gathered me up at once, taking the mug from my hand and setting it safely on the floor. “Sweetheart, what is it? Are you worried about the baby? I know it’s not something you were planning on…but the two of you are in love. This is just a little jump-start, that’s all.”

“No, Mom, it’s not that.” I gulped and hiccupped all at once. “Well, it is, but I mean…it’s everything. This whole thing has just gotten so far out of control.”

“What ‘whole thing’?” she asked, rubbing my back with concern. “Honey, what is it?”

I drew in a long, shaky breath and squared off my shoulders. This wasn’t just about the two of us anymore. Other people were involved; other feelings were on the line. It was time to come clean.

“Mom…” I stared up nervously into her eyes. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Chapter 4

“So…you kept all that money behind the popsicles?”

“Oh my gosh, for the fifth time, Mom—yes!”

How was it that upon hearing this unbelievable tale—front page news, a scripted romance, an international deception—my mother had somehow latched onto this one, insignificant detail?