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

“Now it can hurt you,” he said quietly, kissing me on the forehead. “Now it can hurt our family.”

Our family.

My hand came down, and I stared up at him seriously. “I don’t like hiding this from anyone. I don’t like that the first thing we’re doing for our child…is keeping it a secret.”

He dropped his head and sighed. “I think it’s for the best…”

My chest tightened, but I let it go. The decision had been made. At least for now.

But as we lay there, side by side, I couldn’t help but wonder.

The best for who…?

Chapter 13

For the first time since I moved into Marcus’s room, I couldn’t fall asleep. Whether it was my constant irrational fear of rolling over onto my stomach and crushing the baby, fear of the impending morning show where I was absolutely not allowed to talk about the baby, or leftover prickly energy from our fight about the baby, I tossed and turned for hours. It wasn’t until the sky tinged pink with the rising sun that I was finally able to doze off a little, but by that time, morning sickness kicked in, and I found myself racing to the bathroom.

I collapsed against the side of the bathtub after a few minutes of retching and hugged my knees to my chest. Marcus didn’t have cool tiles like Amanda and I used to. There was a thick white carpet—the kind you could sink your toes into after a hot bath. On most days, I actually found this quite charming, but today, when I was sticky with nausea and bursts of sweaty chills, I would have almost preferred to be back in my old apartment.

Soft footsteps padded from the bed to the bathroom, and a second later, Marcus knocked softly on the door. “Hey, honey, you okay in there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said with a shiver, holding on to the side of the toilet in case it started up again. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after five.”

I grimaced and shut my eyes. So much for getting a full night of beauty sleep before my blood-shot, puffy, not-pregnant mug was going to be plastered on every television screen from here to Rhode Island.

Marcus leaned against the door, so it opened a crack. When he caught my eye, he flashed a sympathetic smile. “You want some crackers or water or anything? Or maybe a blanket?”

“No,” I said with more confidence than I actually felt. “I think that was the worst of it.” I got up, and he led me gingerly back to bed. But one glance and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any more (that is any) sleep tonight. “Actually, I think I’m just going to get up. They start filming pretty early and Amanda’s going to be here at six to help me get ready.”

“Are you sure?” He looked concerned. “You’re a sleep hoarder. Usually, you can’t get enough.”

“Not today.” I flashed a queasy smile and headed back to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower—go back to sleep.”

He rubbed his eyes wearily. “Nah, you’re up—I’m up. Care for a shower buddy?”

I paused. “Actually…not today, if that’s all right? I’m still feeling like I might be sick.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, slipping into his bathrobe and going to fire up his computer.

I rolled my eyes and grinned as I headed back for the bathroom. He had habit of checking the Japanese stock exchange every morning before breakfast. Different folks, different strokes.

Increasingly confident that the worst of the queasiness was behind me, I fired up the jets and took a step into the warm steam. A million goose bumps popped up all over my arms, and I shivered with belated chills. A second later, a pair of warm arms circled around me. I leaned back automatically as Marcus kissed the part of my neck just below my ear.

“Becca…” he murmured, “you don’t have to do the show if you don’t want to. I can call Billings right now and have him cancel—you just say the word.”

Any warm stirrings I might have been starting to feel dissipated immediately in the steamy fog. I took a step away and shook my head with a tight smile.

“We need this, right? It’s good for…you know—it’s good for everything?”

I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “business.” If anyone were to ask me directly, I could honestly say that at this moment, I didn’t give a flying fuck about Marcus’s business.

His face tightened, and he watched helplessly as I began to lather my hair. “Well…I me

an, yes—it would be good. But that doesn’t mean that you have to.”

“Then I’ll do it,” I said simply.