The Trouble With Him: A Secret Pregnancy Romance (The Forbidden Love 3)

“Why does everyone say that?” I raise my voice, the cushions falling off the sofa as I pace the area in front of it. “I can’t be pregnant! If nothing’s one hundred percent, then why are people having sex?”

“Abstinence is your one hundred percent,” she reminds me.

What a stupid remark. No one is going to abstain from having sex.

My life is a fucking mess.

This will ruin me.

“I was with the same man before that night for nearly two years. How come I didn’t fall pregnant with him?”

“It could be several things. Perhaps you weren’t having intercourse during ovulation, but most likely, you’ve found a male partner with strong sperm that’s extremely compatible with your eggs.”

“And if I don’t want this kid?” I ask in a strangled voice.

“I’m afraid it’s a little too late if that’s what you’re asking me. However, there is always placing the baby up for adoption.” Dr. Taylor keeps her gaze fixated on me. “So, I take it you’re not in a relationship with the father?”

“Three words for you, Doc. One. Night. Stand.”

I see pity or maybe even a little bit of judgment in her eyes. She carries on about prenatal appointments, supplements, and other things that are flying in one ear and out the other. In my head, I only see the look on my family's face when I tell them.

Chances are—this will destroy them.

And it’s all because of one night.

A night when my entire life came crashing down, and the only person able to comfort me was a man completely forbidden.

Seven

Ava

Dr. Taylor leaves my apartment but not before referring me to an OBGYN.

This can’t be happening.

I don’t even hear the sound of the door closing, fixated on the sofa in a catatonic state.

All noise drowns out, from the sound of the sirens outside the apartment block to the sudden burst of thunder from the predicted storm.

Breathe, Ava.

My head drops between my legs to shut out all the incessant noise inside my mind, which refuses to shut the hell up. The tips of my fingers run through my hair while I intake shallow breaths. Then, suddenly, my head snaps up, my hands gravitating toward the paper Dr. Taylor left on the coffee table.

Pregnant—positive.

I continue to sit in silence, not even to blink as I watch, hoping for a miracle that the word ‘positive’ disappears. Closing my eyes, I pray that this is an awful dream, and at any moment, I’ll wake up, and everything will be back to normal. I will go back to being the fabulous Ava Edwards who will take the world by storm.

But denial is a curse for the weak.

Minutes later, I open my eyes as reality slaps me in the face—hard, forceful, and unapologetic. Thoughts run rampant, from everything I assumed I knew about pregnancy to reality. There’s supposed to be morning sickness, but aside from a few questionable moments, not once have I thrown up in the past few months.

I hop on my feet, scurrying to the bathroom. The damn bodysuit I’m wearing doesn’t help, so I strip off in a rush to stand naked in front of the mirror. Slowly, I turn to the side and gaze upon my stomach. There is a slight bulge the closer I look. Yet nothing alarming and it can easily be passed off as bloating.

My hands move on their own accord, falling flat against my skin to see if anything feels different. Nothing at all feels unusual aside from my breasts.

And then reality hits like a wrecking ball. This time, knocking the wind out of me.

Austin is the father.