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

I stroked my stomach lovingly. “I thought you might want to hear that from your mama, little one. I’ve been thinking about you all the time, and I can’t wait for you to come into this world. Always know you were conceived out of perfect love. No matter what challenges we face as a family, I promise to love you more than anything. I cannot wait to meet you!”

Marcus came in and crawled in bed. “I can’t wait to meet our baby too.” He gently kissed my stomach. “Hey, there,” he said. “I’m your daddy. And I love you and your mother more than anything in this world.”

I smiled and put my hands over his. “We love you,” I said to my stomach.

Marcus and I talked and had this bonding moment with our unborn child. It was wonderful to see him so excited and so involved. He wanted to be a father more than anything. He wrapped his arms around me and I closed my eyes. I quickly fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of little fingers curling around mine and blue eyes looking up at me—as blue as his or her daddy’s.

***

February seventeenth. It was official. In all the papers. No backing out now.

And if I thought the media attention Marcus and I were getting before was crazy, it had turned into an all-out circus.

“Well, what about some kind of morning show?” Billings called over his shoulder, one hand muffling the receiver on his phone. “What about Good Morning America?”

Marcus’s famed PR wizard had actually flown out from Switzerland for the month leading up to the wedding, leaving his wife and two young children behind. I’d like to say that I’d found a friend in the strange little man, but I quickly discovered he liked me only as far as I was useful.

“What do you think, Bex?” Marcus murmured in my ear. “You want to do Good Morning America?”

I shrugged helplessly as I looked around at the swarm of people who had taken over our house. Despite their wasted efforts to keep calm so as “not to upset the bride,” the downstairs was beginning to look suspiciously like battle headquarters, and I was still a bit fuzzy as to my part.

“Are we sure I have to do anything?” I asked again quietly. “I mean, at least not by myself. Why can’t you be there with me?”

To say that I was uncomfortable with the idea of “presenting myself to the public on a national stage” was underselling it a bit.

“I told you, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of my head. “The segment is on women who are marrying rich and famous men. They want to focus on the wives. And they’re doing a taped clip of me and you together. And then they’re going to ask me a few questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like why I chose you to be my bride.”

“Then they’ll play it back when I’m on stage.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t they want to know more about you?”

“These people already know me. Over the years, I’ve given enough interviews to fill several weeks of footage. They want to know about you now. You’re the big mystery.” Now he kissed my nose. “The girl who stole my heart.”

I cringed automatically behind him as Billings snapped a “candid.”

“And where exactly do I start with that story?” I hissed under my breath. “The part where you offered to pay me twenty thousand dollars to help you lure a client, or the part where I thought you were propositioning me for sex and I kicked you in the—”

“Marcus!” Billings called again, more impatiently this time. “What’s it going to be?”

Marcus shot me a quizzical look, paired with a much fiercer version from Billings behind him. When I finally acquiesced, they both flashed identical grins and Billings began speed-talking into his phone in German. When he was finished, he sauntered over to where Marcus and I were nestled together on a sofa by the window. He reminded me a bit of Eduardo, the way he puffed out his chest while he walked. And then there was the way he hopped from foot to foot with nervous excitement.

“Okay, so we’re all set for Good Morning America.”

Marcus nodded seriously while I blinked in a daze. “Who is it with?” he asked.

Who hosts Good Morning America? I thought at the same time.

“It’s with Lara or Amy,” Billings answered quickly, “one of the blondes. So now that we know that”—he gestured my direction—“we can take her through a practice run and polish up some of her answers.”

Marcus nodded approvingly, and at some unseen signal, several of Billings’ people started repositioning the furniture and dragging two chairs into place.

“Wait,” I interjected, desperately trying to pause some of their relentless momentum, “a practice run?”