Hollywood Prince (Hollywood Royalty 3)

“’Cause I’m a fucking insecure asshole who thought you were using him because he’s an actor in Hollywood,” I tell her, getting up and running my hands through my hair. “So I paid her to come home with me. I’m not proud of my actions.”

“Not proud of your actions? Are you kidding me?” she says, throwing up her hand and walking to the door. “Get out.”

“Erin, we need to talk about us,” I tell her, walking to her.

“There is no us.” She shakes her head. “The only thing we need to talk about is the baby.”

“This isn’t over,” I tell her, walking out of the door.

“It was over the minute you decided to do what you did,” she says, slamming the door, turning the lock with a click.

“It’s not over!” I yell at the door, waiting for her to say something. When she doesn’t, I turn and go away but only for the time being.

Chapter Thirty

Erin

I slam the door behind him when he walks out. He lied to me. Everything that I went through, everything that I felt was because he thought I was using him. I shake my head and walk to the kitchen, opening the white plastic bags that he dumped there and taking out the stuff. He got everything from ginger root to ginger tea to ginger snaps. I shake my head and walk over to the couch, sitting down and closing my eyes. My hands go to my stomach, and I say, “I love you.” Getting up, I walk to my bedroom and lie down on the bed, closing my eyes and slowly falling asleep.

I wake to a soft knock on the door, and I get up, the motion making me a little sick. I breathe in just a touch, and the knocking continues. I get up and see it’s almost dark outside, the sun setting. I unlock the door and open it, and I’m stunned. He is standing there with flowers and a stuffed animal under one arm and both his hands holding plastic bags.

“I brought some more things.” He walks in, and I watch him walking over to the kitchen, dumping the bags on the counter. “You look better,” he tells me, and I walk over. “I didn’t know what you were feeling like, so I stopped and got you a bunch of things. I have some soup, and then I have some pasta mild on the sauce so the acid doesn’t give you heartburn,” he says, taking out the containers. “I got you some chicken soup with rice. They said online that bland carb food helps.”

“Carter,” I say.

“I also got popsicles and Jell-O,” he tells me. “What do you feel like eating?”

I shrug. “Chicken soup,” I tell him, and he pours some in the bowl and puts it in the microwave. I walk over to the dining room table and sit down. “Thank you,” I tell him when he puts the bowl down in front of me. He goes over to the bags and warms up his own food and comes back to the table. I stir the soup with my spoon and watch him sit in front of me. “This is a little overwhelming.”

“I know,” he says, cutting into his food that looks like chicken parm. “It’s surreal.”

“I took seven tests,” I tell him, and he looks at me. “I wanted to be a hundred percent sure.”

“Were they all positive?” he asks me and smiles when I nod my head.

“I am going to tell my father tomorrow,” I tell him. “I’ll FaceTime my mother at the same time.”

“I’ll come with you,” he tells me, and I drop my spoon.

“Listen, this is all happening too fast,” I tell him. “One day, I wake up and go about my day, and by the end of the day, I’m pregnant, and all of a sudden, I’m going to be a mom.”

“Erin,” he says, putting his fork down. “There are certain things in life you are never sure of, at least for me. But there is one thing I’m a hundred percent sure of. I love our child with everything that I am. I never thought I would be a dad, never thought I would deserve to be a dad.” I look at him. “Maybe I don’t deserve it, but it’s here, and I’m so in love I can’t believe it. I wanted to tell every person I saw today.” He smiles. “Every single person. I don’t deserve you to be kind to me, I don’t deserve anything that you are giving me, but thank you for giving me the chance to be a father.” He looks down and then looks back up with a smile plastered on his face. “I’m going to be a dad.”

“So I guess this means you want to be fully involved?” I ask him.