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

That’s when I realized I was still wearing the medical gown.

“Hey, sweetie,” Marcus smiled anxiously, squeezing my shoulder.

I blinked in confusion, glancing around me as the heavy truth settled in once more.

“I’m having a panic attack,” I said.

“Just try to breathe slowly,” he said.

“I’m trying.”

He held my hand. “It’s okay.”

“I better get dressed,” I said. “I think I’m losing it.”

“Catch your breath first,” he reassured me.

“Okay.”

When I stabilized, I went back to the room. All at once, the tears that I had so staunchly kept at bay came down in a flood. I sobbed, covering my face and bringing my knees up to my chest. The door opened, and a couple of nurses came in with Marcus. Two of the three faces took a nervous step back, but Marcus bravely lingered, trying to stroke my hair before I cringed.

“It’s all right,” he murmured comfortingly.

“No—I mean—th-this is r-real! I’m ac-actually pr-pregnant!”

With that, I really let go. The rest of the world fell away as I wept without shame. I tugged at the pillow on the head of the chair to cover my face, but quickly realized it was attached and settled for just twisting myself onto my stomach and hanging on for dear life.

Two pairs of footsteps hastened away as the door opened and shut, and before I knew what was happening, Marcus had curled up next to me. Despite my strange leanings toward despondency and blame, I grabbed his arms and wrapped them around me, intertwining my own and hugging them all tightly around my stomach as I doubled over and sobbed. His face pressed against the back of my head, and I could feel his warm breath against my neck.

After a while, I calmed down enough to take in details of the world around me. The chair was clearly designed for only one person, so Marcus had awkwardly perched, keeping one leg on the floor to hold himself up. The nurse and tech had cleared out, and judging by the tiny blinking red light above the door, clinics like this had their own version of the “do not disturb” sign.

Feeling about as frail as tissue paper, I twisted around and stared at his face. He looked as pale as I felt—wild, panicked eyes, keeping it together under only a very thin layer of control. But while he was clearly on the edge of a nervous breakdown himself, all his thoughts were for me.

“Can I get you anything?” he murmured anxiously. “Would you like some water?”

I couldn’t answer. With trembling fingers, I pulled the sonogram from where it had slipped from my fist and wedged into the chair beneath me.

“We’re having a baby,” I whispered, holding it up.

Without seeming to think, he reached out to touch it, stopping just before the tips of his fingers grazed the edge.

“I’m going to be a dad,” he breathed aloud, leaning closer to get a better look.

A lump rose in my throat. “Our child was conceived in a global deception. An international fraud.”

The breathless crying was giving an unintentional comical edge to everything I was saying, and despite my best efforts to be understood, Marcus smiled faintly.

“Are you trying to make me feel better? How can you joke at a time like this?”

“I’m not joking,” I wailed. “I’m serious!”

The smile faded as I set the sonogram onto the mobile table that held the little screen. “I can’t be a mom…I can’t do this,” I gasped. “What am I going to do!”

His fingers laced suddenly through mine, and I stared up in surprise at the fierce determination written all over his face. “We are going to do this together. I’m going to be there for you every step of the way. No matter what you decide to do—I’ll support it.”

A wave of nausea crept up my throat, and I pulled my hand away. Ignoring his petrified, anxious expression, I swung my legs over the side of the chair and looked around for my clothes.

“I want to go home,” I murmured, pulling on my jeans.