Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

Good. He’s obviously accepted Jo, which makes things easier. Only his closest friends and family can call him Tony.

“I’m Pascal, Court’s fiancée,” Pascal says. “Just so you know, he calls me Skittles.”

“Skittles? Like…the candy?” Jo asks.

“It’s a long story.” Her cheeks flush a bit, and she smiles.

“Are these Chianti?” Ivy says, sitting down at the dining table and looking at a couple of bottles of wine next to two boxes of pizzas. “I thought you were pregnant, Jo.”

“Jo, there wasn’t any reason to get wine,” I say, not wanting Jo and Ivy to feel left out. Jo undoubtedly loves a good vintage. Otherwise her uncle wouldn’t be sending cases from his vineyard.

“Don’t worry,” Jo says. “It’s not a real Chianti, just a virgin version.”

“Virgin wine? Isn’t that just grape juice that’s been corked?” I pick up the bottle. It even has a fancy-looking label. I shake my head inwardly.

“Probably. But again, it looked interesting, so of course I wanted to get it.”

Tony and Court come over to study the label with me.

“Never heard of it,” Tony says with a deep frown of a concerned connoisseur. I can tell he wants to say more, but is restraining himself to avoid upsetting the women.

“We’ll need a corkscrew for this. Way too much work for juice, if you ask me,” Court says.

I agree silently. I don’t even like grape juice that much. Too sweet.

“Don’t judge. I haven’t had wine in forever,” Ivy says with mock sternness, her hand over her large belly.

“And you still won’t have after you drink this bottle,” Tony says.

Jo shrugs and drapes an arm over Ivy’s shoulder. “Hey, more for us if they don’t want any. Right? It’s going to be fun.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Jo

I smile with satisfaction when Edgar and his brothers finally give up grumbling about the wine and sit down at the table with us girls. I’m glad I have the virgin Chianti to distract him. When I told the pizzeria owner I was pregnant, the nice lady threw in the bottle to celebrate. It was sweet of her, and she said she likes hearing good news from her regular customers. So I bought an extra bottle, just in case I like it. The pizzeria is a bit out of the way.

Although I couldn’t hear the other side of Edgar’s phone conversion earlier, I knew it was nothing good from the way his expression darkened. So I’m doubly happy his brothers and their women are here. It’s obvious he loves them from the way his eyes glow. He’s smiling more easily too.

It’s a relief. After reading articles about his family, I thought maybe there’d be some undercurrent of tension. I didn’t sense anything particular between him and Tony at the party, but then, they hardly had any interaction.

He splits the pizza, giving me a slice of the sausage and mushroom and taking a piece of pepperoni and pineapple for himself. Court and Tony get busy, spreading out the Thai food they brought and handing out paper

plates, bowls and plastic utensils to everyone.

I pour the “wine” into six glasses, hoping it tastes better than just plain old grape juice.

Edgar picks his up. Everyone else is watching, waiting for the guinea pig’s reaction. He swirls it around gravely, eyes the way it cascades down the inside of the glass and then sniffs it ostentatiously. I sense my lips twitch. It’s cute to see him looking so serious about cheap non-alcohol wine. Finally, he takes a sip.

“How is it?” I ask.

Tony squints with exaggerated intensity. “A worthy vintage?”

“Huh.” Edgar lifts his eyebrows.

Ivy’s looking at him, undoubtedly willing him to say it’s good. Tony and Court appear dubious, and Pascal maintains a polite smile.

“That bad?” I tease when Edgar doesn’t volunteer more information.