Marrying My Billionaire Hookup

Another factor is Tío Manny’s new tortilla soup, which is so, so good. You just can’t get upset or stay grumpy when you have his amazing food filling your belly.

Tía Bea packs most of it for me to take home. “You gotta take care of the little one, chica. Nothing like home-cooked soup for that.”

“What about us?” Jorge says.

“When you bring me a baby, we’ll talk.” She points at her sons, giving them the evil eye one by one. “I told you I want grandbabies!”

They groan in unison.

My brothers go to the kitchen to help clean up. Edgar starts toward it too, but my dad stops him. “You should probably take Jo home. She looks tired.”

“I’m fine,” I say, even though I do feel the tiniest bit sleepy.

“Don’t lie to your father, Jo. I know you. Your eyes are getting droopy.”

I blink hard and open my eyes wide. “See?”

“Your father’s right, Jo.” Edgar holds my hand. “You should get some rest. You were up late last night. All those invoices you sent out.”

I stare at him, torn between laughter and respect over his lies. I was up late last night not because I was busy sending out invoices, although I did some of that too, but because he kept me up.

But I can’t tell my parents the truth, so I just laugh. “Fine, we can go. You carry the soup.”

“Of course.”

We hug and say goodbye. It takes a good fifteen minutes. Once I have the baby and bring him over, it’ll take half an hour because everyone will need to hug and kiss the baby. Just thinking about it makes me smile. The little bun is going to know he’s the most beloved baby of them all.

“What are you looking so pleased about?” Edgar says as we climb into the car.

“Oh, the baby.” I tell him what I was thinking.

He smiles. “Your family’s great. She’s going to be lucky to have grandparents like your folks.”

“He. It’s a boy.”

“We’ll see,” Edgar says calmly.

When we’re home, Edgar gets a call as I’m putting the soup away in the fridge. His serious face grows even more somber, and he sta

rts scowling.

“Got it.” He tosses the phone on the counter and sighs.

“You okay?” I ask.

“I have to be in Tempérane for about a week.” His dark expression says he’d rather not, and whoever’s dragging him home will pay. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? I know you have a job in Louisiana. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve been able to get away for this long.”

“I hate leaving you alone.”

I put my fingertip on the furrowed skin between his eyebrows. “I won’t be alone. I have the baby. And my family and friends. I’m going to be fine. And the baby isn’t even due for, like, eight months!”

To be honest, I’m a little sad he has to go, but he’s already so unhappy about it that I feel like I need to be upbeat as a counterbalance. He’s supportive about my career, and I should do the same for him. Otherwise, this isn’t going to work.

“So when are you flying?” I ask.

“Tomorrow morning. As early as possible. I’ll be gone before you’re up,” he says.