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

I can’t afford to lose her, but deep down inside—I know it is inevitable.

Nine

Ava

After my pity stop at Eric’s office, I change my mind and head back to work instead of wallowing at home.

Inside the sanctity of my own office, workaholic Ava comes back to life. To say I miss her would be an understatement. In the space of six hours, I schedule several meetings and even approve the final touches on our fall loungewear line. Ideas are flowing, so I make sure to write them down, ready to explore when I have more time.

Powering through emails, I even respond to Dad, who sent me an article he read on manufacturing locally and incentives for business owners. It was an interesting read. Given my company has grown over the last twelve months, it makes sense to source a factory space and maybe even a shopfront. Aunt Adriana had been pushing me for years, but it didn’t make sense financially to establish a brick-and-mortar business when most people preferred online shopping.

When night falls, I drag myself home but make a quick stop at McDonald’s for a cheeseburger and strawberry shake. It had been on my mind all day long, and I’ve never been one to crave cheap junk food, unable to recall the last time I ate such a thing. Yet the greasy burger and sugary drink are oddly satisfying.

It’s barely eight when I let out a yawn. My limbs feel heavy as I lazily make my way to the closet to grab a tank and bed shorts, ready to hit the shower and sleep. Today felt like it dragged on forever, especially after this morning with Austin. I haven’t heard from him, nor do I want to make contact. I figure, being a guy, he needs to let off steam and me pushing this pregnancy in his face won’t do any good.

Besides, there’s another pressing situation fighting for attention—my family.

My flight for LA leaves at midday tomorrow. Then, suddenly, I remember I forgot to tell Mom. Quickly, I pull out my phone to text Mom, praying my impromptu trip won’t alarm her.

Me: Hey, Mom, just letting you know I’m flying over tomorrow. I should be there late afternoon. Sorry for the late notice, last-minute trip.

Mom: You’ve made your Mama happy. Any reason for the trip?

Me: Just need to sort some things out.

Mom: Love you, Ava. Can’t wait to see you xx

My stomach flips, but I blame the cheeseburger and do not succumb to the nerves of visiting my family.

I grab my things to head to the bathroom. When I strip off my clothes, my glance shifts toward the mirror, turning sideways to examine my body.

The swell has become more evident over the last week, but it feels like it popped overnight. Slowly, I glide my hands across to try to connect with this unborn child inside of me.

Motherhood.

I have no idea how to be a mother despite being raised by the most perfect woman ever to exist. Charlotte ‘Charlie’ Edwards set the bar so high, setting gold standards. I don’t think my sisters or I can ever compare.

When it came to raising us, we were never without anything. Mom cooked delicious dinners, making all of us eat together every night at the same time. She would make each one of us talk about our day, encouraging us to be communicative. Often, it resulted in dramatic arguments, but what did my parents expect with four girls? When Millie left for college, it eased, making it obvious that she caused most of it.

Then, during my sporting phase, Mom drove me around to practice. It wasn’t just me, but my sisters too. Each one of us played different sports which made it all the more time-consuming.

Although Mom worked too, it never felt like we missed out. She tried to work when we were at school or asleep, and when she had deadlines, Dad took over.

How she juggled it all with a husband who ran an empire is beyond me. To add to that, Mom didn’t believe in nannies or full-time maids. We did have a house cleaner and gardener—an old married couple whom Mom met through work, but they only came once a week.

All in all, Mom ran a tight ship and still managed to look unbelievably beautiful.

As for me, I have a cleaner who comes twice a week, and I still can barely take care of myself. At what point will I be able to take care of a baby? I’m not sure how I feel about nannies, but something about another woman raising my child doesn’t sit well with me.

Stepping into the shower, I’m desperate to slow down my thoughts. The hot water and steam are so relaxing I wish I could stay here forever. I use all the fancy body washes, basking in the smell of vanilla and lavender.

When my skin begins to wrinkle, I climb out only to hear the door buzzer ring. I’m not expecting anyone, so I quickly throw on my tank and shorts, my skin still damp, then run to the door.

I press my finger on the intercom.

“Miss Edwards, I have an Austin Carter here to see you.”

Oh, shit.