The Billionaire's Pregnant Fling (Jameson Brothers 2)

Zelma nodded. "Of course. I will be just outside the door if you need anything."

As soon as she had vanished from view, Eddie rose and crossed to Margot. Now that the consultant was out of the room, Margot's proud posture deteriorated to a slump. Eddie put his arm around her bowed shoulders, and turned her face away from the mirrors with a gentle finger guiding her chin.

"Margot," he whispered, "you can talk to me. Tell me what's wrong." He hated seeing her like this. Was it the baby? The wedding? Was it him? He dreaded hearing any or all of the above, but he'd rather she plunge the whole handful of emotional knives through his heart than hold back at this point. He would rather take on the pain than see her crestfallen look now.

"It's just that...I had sort of envisioned wearing something different on the big day," she admitted. "These dresses are wonderful, Eddie. Really. But you know better than anyone how I used to drag you into playing out all my wedding fantasies when we were kids. I thought I grew out of them, but…" She shook her head. "God, I remember how much space it used to occupy in my little brain. I had oodles of drawings describing how I thought my dress would look. And these…"

"Are hideous," Eddie supplied.

Margot nodded gratefully and chuckled.

&nbs

p; "I should have known better," he said. "I wouldn't have let any of these—what did she call them, muumuus?—near you. Wait right here." He pulled his arm from her shoulders and went to relay this latest information to Zelma in the hallway. After a thoughtful moment, the consultant nodded and disappeared back inside the store. Moments later, she returned with an armful of dress that, to Eddie, looked identical to all the others. When he opened his mouth to protest, Zelma shook her head.

"Wait," she advised him. She passed the dress off to Margot; the latter shot Eddie a desperate look. Surely Zelma's selection had come too easily to be correct. Eddie just shrugged and sat down. As much as he tried to help, he knew he was ultimately useless when it came to this sort of thing. He was willing to try just about anything at this point if it meant putting a smile back on Margot's face.

Moments later, when Margot stepped from behind the partition, he lurched back out of his seat.

"Margot!" Eddie blinked, and his eyes raked her figure. After all the previous failures, he hadn't expected to be dazzled by the vision of her in the dress, but this...this was something else.

Margot laced her hands together in front of herself and grinned. The gown she wore was so pristinely white its shadows held an almost blue edge. The slightest tilt of her body caused the sequins of the embroidered bodice to catch the light and cast resplendent, dancing motes upon the wall. The heart-shaped top of the bodice perfectly cradled her breasts, while also pushing them proudly forward; the deep valley of her cleavage made his pulse triple, and he quickly raised his eyes to take in the rest of her. Without sleeves, Margot's sun-kissed shoulders and elegant bare arms were on full display. This gown may have been tighter than all the others, but it allowed her to move and breathe in a way he hadn't seen all afternoon. Margot looked at home; the dress looked as if it had been made for her.

"Well?" Her thickly-lashed hazel eyes looked bigger than usual; they looked hopeful. Expectant. Somewhere behind him, Zelma gave a low whistle.

"Margot, I…" He had no words. He was struck dumb by the sight of her. All he could do was reach forward, and offer her his hand to help her up onto the platform at the center of all the mirrors. Margot rose to the occasion and stared at herself. She looked as if she didn't recognize her own face in the mirror. No, Eddie thought. That isn't right. It's the girl who always played wedding finally meeting the bride.

"...I wanted to say you look like an angel," he continued after a long moment. "But that isn't a satisfactory comparison. You look like Heaven, Margot."

Her eyes glistened, and she glanced down quickly to smooth her hands along the bodice. When she had composed herself, she sighed. "It really was a nice fantasy, Eddie...but you know I won't fit in this by the time our wedding day arrives." She turned to him and smiled sadly. "Thanks for making all my childhood daydreams a reality, even for a moment."

Her certainty was almost enough to break his heart on the spot. Eddie wanted to leap up; he wanted to explain her father's ultimatum; he wanted to take his beautiful bride-to-be in his arms and kiss her senseless. He wanted to tell her they could still seize the fantasy and make the big day completely their own despite all the outside pressures that had started the ball rolling in the first place.

But he knew that he couldn't bring the truth into it now. The moment Margot realized this wedding wasn't his idea was the moment she confirmed for herself that he wasn't in control. He wanted her to think he had arrived at the idea to propose on his own. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that it was the right thing to do, and that it was the thing he wanted to do. So did it really make a difference whose idea it was?

Maybe it does, and maybe it doesn't, a nagging voice whispered in the back of his brain. But maybe what matters most is that your white wedding is about to be founded on a little white lie of omission.

"Margot." Eddie stepped to the pedestal she stood atop, allowing his hands to alight on her curves. The dress she wore felt as good as it looked; the bodice hugged her trim waist and practically trumpeted the existence of her womanly dips and swells. He skimmed his fingers up towards her ribcage. Margot hummed with appreciation, sounding a little like a cat on the receiving end of a familiar caress. The noise made Eddie want to banish Zelma from the room, and undo all of Margot's hard work trying on dresses by completely stripping her of clothing. Whatever she thought of the body that lay beneath her dress, he could conceive of a dozen ways to show her his appreciation for it.

"Yes, Eddie?" Her breath caught a little as he smoothed his fingers down the fabric of her skirt.

"We don't have to wait to get married," he stated. "We can get married two months from now. Hell, we can get married next month."

"Are you serious?" Her eyebrows shot up. "You don't think that's too soon?"

Your father certainly doesn't. "Why not?" he asked instead. "You can wear the dress of your dreams. You can have the wedding of your dreams."

"It's too fast," Margot replied dubiously. "Even two months is…"

"Just leave all the planning to me," he jumped in quickly. "I want your input, of course, to make sure I'm on the right track. But the timing...and all the technical stuff...I want you to let me be the one to worry about it."

Margot's hand caught his and closed over it. She was white-knuckling again. Eddie sensed that she was waging an internal battle, but over what? Was she having trouble letting go of all the responsibility that usually fell to her—and could he really blame her for feeling nervous letting him take the lead on this one? He didn't have the best reputation when it came to planning, much less execution.

Or did Margot's hesitance stem from something else?

"Go with the flow," he heard her breathe to herself. She relaxed her grip on his hand, but Eddie squeezed her fingers before she could release him. "All right, Eddie. If you think it's doable...and if you think it's a good idea…"

"I think it's a good idea you wear that dress," Eddie said. "You look hot as hell, Margie. You might burn the church down by accident."