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

“We’ll figure this out together, just like you said.”

He looked beyond relieved. “I’m completely out of my element here. I didn’t really have a father growing up; neither did any of my friends. We were raised by nannies, then sent to boarding school. I don’t have the faintest idea where to begin.”

I considered it thoughtfully. “How about not beginning there? You know exactly the kind of parent you don’t want to be. Everything else…you’ll figure out as you go.”

He flashed a genuine smile but flushed a little self-consciously. “Yeah, or I’ll fuck it up.”

“I’m not going to let you fuck it up,” I assured him seriously.

He threw back his head and laughed, that sparkling laugh I loved so much, drawing me up tighter against him. “So we’re going to be shit parents, then? That’s all we know for sure?”

I stretched up and kissed him softly on the cheek. “I know we’re going to love it. And we won’t be shit parents because we’re going to give it our all.”

He stared down at me for a long moment, then smiled. “Yes, we are.”

“Nobody is going to love this child like us.”

“Come back with me to Los Angeles.”

“And stay where?”

“With me. Marry me, for real, Rebecca. I’m going to try hard to be the best father and husband that I can be.”

“Okay then.”

He smiled as hit whole face lit up.

“I love you, Rebecca. Since the day I first laid eyes on your radiant face.”

I touched his face. “I love you too.”

“Then come home.”

He pulled me close as he softly kissed me.

Chapter 8

We got back to the house late that night. Despite the cold, we’d lingered another two hours on the beach—cuddling, making plans, making out. It turned out to be exactly what I needed. Reconciling my old world with my new. Finding equal happiness in both.

The curtain fluttered guiltily as we pulled into the drive, and I knew my mom had been watching for us. It was an unspoken game we’d played since I was a teenager. She could pretend to be as laid-back and unconcerned as possible, but when we walked inside, I knew exactly where she’d be.

Sure enough, she was flitting innocently around in the kitchen. A little stir here, a dash of salt there. When Marcus cleared his throat, she looked up in mock surprise.

“Oh, darlings—there you are!” She smoothed back her flyaway hair. “Perfect timing. I just took out the casserole.”

“Imagine that.” I grinned, taking a seat at the counter.

“You put all the pictures away,” Marcus remarked, staring at the now-empty floor.

She nodded proudly. “Got them all filed. But I got your text, Marcus, I saved you a few.”

To my extreme dismay, she slipped a small stack of photographs into his hand. He started flipping through with a little smile as I turned to her in horror.

“You two are texting now?” I exclaimed. Then I turned to Marcus. “Give me that—don’t look at those!”

“I love the pic with the spaghetti on your head.”

“Hey!” I giggled, grabbing for them but missing spectacularly. “I was adorable!”