Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

“Perhaps later. It’s probably not good to fly while pregnant,” Edgar says.

His answer is like a slap. He knows all we have to do is call Dr. Silverman to ask if I’m healthy enough to travel if he’s that worried. Besides, she cleared me for “all activities.” Doesn’t that include flying?

Court looks down at his wine. Ivy starts to open her mouth, but the intercom rings. I get up, not out of a particular desire to answer it, but to escape from the awkwardness that just fell over the table and give myself some time to regroup.

I can hear furious whispers behind me. Crap. Now—somehow—I feel like an outsider in what’s supposed to be my own house. If there are some…things about Tempérane, they can just tell me. It’s not like I’m going to scream and run.

On the intercom screen is a man I’ve never seen before, although something about him seems familiar. He’s angled slightly away from the camera, so it’s hard to figure out. About the only thing I can tell is that he’s in a dark suit.

“Yes?” I say.

A polite male voice comes from the speaker. It isn’t the man shown on the screen, though. “Sorry to bother you, Ms. Martinez. This is Jake from the security desk. A man claiming to be Mr. Edgar Blackwood’s father is here. You should be able to see him on the monitor. He isn’t on the guest list, so I wanted to confirm before I allow him up. I already verified his ID, and his name is Tulane Blackwood, if that helps.”

The man finally turns around to face the camera, and the resemblance is unmistakable. I stare at the screen in surprise. Isn’t he supposed to be in Louisiana? On the other hand, maybe he just decided to drop by, like Edgar?

?s brothers.

If I weren’t feeling like Edgar is trying to hide me from his parents, I’d probably say something to him first. But rebellion and pride urge me to let this man in…and see what Edgar does. He must really be determined to keep me away from his parents if he didn’t bother to put his father on the guest list.

Ashamed of me or not, buddy, I’m going to at least meet your daddy.

“Sure,” I say with a sidelong glance back at the table. “Let him up.”

Chapter Forty

Jo

“Who was that?” Edgar asks when I turn away from the intercom.

I give him a bland smile. “Your father.”

A mix of shock and annoyance crosses his face like lightning. “What? Are you sure?”

I nod. Why is it such a big deal that I get to meet his dad?

But Edgar isn’t the only one reacting oddly. Everyone else at the table freezes. Tony and Court exchange a glance. Ivy is staring at her plate like a winning lottery number is hidden in the sauce patterns left on it.

Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t have let him in.

Too late now, though. The private elevator dings as the car arrives on our floor.

All the men stand. Tony and Court move next to Ivy and Pascal. Edgar comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder.

They’re standing like warriors guarding hard-won treasures against an intruder. But it’s their father.

What the hell is going on?

Finally, the elevator doors part and Tulane Blackwood walks in. In person, he looks a lot like Edgar. The same dark hair, the same green eyes. And the same imposing physical presence. Even his outfit is similar—a pinstriped navy Brioni suit and Prada loafers. A conservative tie and a discreet but expensive diamond and gold bar is pinned to the strip of silk.

But that’s where the similarities end. Edgar can come across as cold because of his control. This man is cold. I always thought green was a warm color, but Tulane’s eyes are like emeralds under a sheet of ice.

His gaze sweeps over Tony and Ivy with inscrutable aloofness mixed with a tinge of shame. A sliver of disappointment fleets through his eyes when he notices Court… And is it resentment I sense when he glances at Pascal?

Shit. I really shouldn’t have let him up.

He regards Edgar with the disapproval a parent might reserve for a wild child he doesn’t know how to manage. But I must be mistaken about that. There’s no way Edgar is unruly.

But finally Edgar’s dad turns his focus on me. He studies me from head to toe, then back up. I feel like a returned purse being inspected by a shop clerk from the careful attention he pays to me. Do I have popped stitches along my neck or a stain on my fabric?