The Billionaire's Illicit Twins - Holly Rayner Page 0,45

sort of life?

And that conclusion—or rather that particular thought bubble—had absolutely zero to do with the jolt of sheer excitement I’d started to feel whenever I saw Ethan’s number come up on my phone. Yeah, sure, I’d been enjoying spending time with him. What girl wouldn’t? The man had gone out of his way to take me to every sight he could think of in New York City, and had been wining and dining me—always with nonalcoholic wine, of course—for nearly five months now. Despite the fact that my belly was growing.

Despite the fact that I couldn’t always keep up with him because I was heavier on my feet than I used to be.

Instead of complaining, Ethan had spent his time complimenting the glow he insisted I had and making sure I had enough to eat. Hell, the man had even taken to having groceries delivered once a week.

“To help our babies grow,” he’d said when I had accused him of trying to get me fat—or worse, not believing that I could take care of things on my own.

The problem was, every time he did something like that, it loosened the hold I had on my self-discipline a bit more. Because I’d marched into his office that day with one thing cemented in my mind: That I was going to raise the baby by myself, rather than leaning on him. And when I heard his ludicrous idea about actually buying the baby—well, one of them—I’d almost punched him.

I’d promised myself that I would never take him up on it, and further, that I couldn’t actually have anything to do with him, given what it might do to my career. To the reputation I was working so hard to build.

So why was I suddenly looking forward to the next time he took me out? Why had I completely forgotten about watching out for the paparazzi taking pictures of one of the city’s most eligible bachelors hanging out with some pregnant lady? Why had I started suggesting outings of my own, rather than telling him again and again that we couldn’t afford to be seen together?

Why did it feel like there were champagne bubbles popping in my veins every time he got close to touching me?

All of it meant that the question of giving him one of the babies had evolved into something even more complicated. Because if I gave him one of the babies, it was going to mean that our contract was done. And if that happened, it wouldn’t only be the baby I would never be seeing again.

It would be Ethan Parker, too.

Chapter 26

Ethan

That weekend, I took her to a show. Because when you live in New York, that’s what you do. I mean, who hasn’t gone to either an on- or off-Broadway play, musical, opera, you-name-it when they’re in New York? And if you haven’t, what were you doing with your time in the city that you didn’t make time for that most important of all experiences?

It was second only to visiting Times Square and Central Park, in my opinion. Hell, if you were going down the list… add to that the Met (which we’d done), the Guggenheim (which we’d done), Greenwich Village (yep, several times), the Statue of Liberty (obviously yes), Bryant Park (done it), Grand Central Station (went there to eat in the restaurant that served the best cheesecake ever), The High Line…

Right, well you get my point. There’s a ton of stuff to do in New York. The touristy stuff that everyone has to do when they visit. The stuff that Bella had never done because she didn’t have the time to do something like… enjoy life. We’d done almost all of it now, though, and I had one of the big things still on my list. Broadway.

When I got to her door, she opened it slowly—either because she was nervous or because she was trying to tease me. When the door was all the way open, though, I realized that it was definitely the former.

Bella’s eyes were enormous in her face, and they were wet, as though she was on the verge of crying about something. She looked flat-out gorgeous, though, in the floor-length fitted red number she’d bought with my assistant as her co-shopper. The dress was so tight that I could see the outline of everything—including her baby no-longer-just-a-bump—and that, it turned out, was the problem.

“I can’t wear this,” she said quietly, looking down at her body and running her hands self-consciously