Marrying My Billionaire Hookup - Nadia Lee Page 0,104

glad I have the virgin Chianti to distract him. When I told the pizzeria owner I was pregnant, the nice lady threw in the bottle to celebrate. It was sweet of her, and she said she likes hearing good news from her regular customers. So I bought an extra bottle, just in case I like it. The pizzeria is a bit out of the way.

Although I couldn’t hear the other side of Edgar’s phone conversion earlier, I knew it was nothing good from the way his expression darkened. So I’m doubly happy his brothers and their women are here. It’s obvious he loves them from the way his eyes glow. He’s smiling more easily too.

It’s a relief. After reading articles about his family, I thought maybe there’d be some undercurrent of tension. I didn’t sense anything particular between him and Tony at the party, but then, they hardly had any interaction.

He splits the pizza, giving me a slice of the sausage and mushroom and taking a piece of pepperoni and pineapple for himself. Court and Tony get busy, spreading out the Thai food they brought and handing out paper plates, bowls and plastic utensils to everyone.

I pour the “wine” into six glasses, hoping it tastes better than just plain old grape juice.

Edgar picks his up. Everyone else is watching, waiting for the guinea pig’s reaction. He swirls it around gravely, eyes the way it cascades down the inside of the glass and then sniffs it ostentatiously. I sense my lips twitch. It’s cute to see him looking so serious about cheap non-alcohol wine. Finally, he takes a sip.

“How is it?” I ask.

Tony squints with exaggerated intensity. “A worthy vintage?”

“Huh.” Edgar lifts his eyebrows.

Ivy’s looking at him, undoubtedly willing him to say it’s good. Tony and Court appear dubious, and Pascal maintains a polite smile.

“That bad?” I tease when Edgar doesn’t volunteer more information.

“Actually… It’s fruity.” His tone is serious as he studies the glass. “Very fruity. Sweet, but not overly sweet. Some tannins in the finish.”

I have to laugh. He might as well be talking about a Bordeaux from Château Ausone. “So you’re saying it passed?”

“It’s certainly drinkable. And better than just juice.”

“I’m glad you approve,” I say with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Awesome,” Court says, obviously happy he doesn’t have to drink grape juice.

“Hold on a minute,” Tony says. He goes through the same process Edgar did, then takes a sip, holding it in his mouth a few moments longer than usual before swallowing. “Damn. It is pretty good.”

We clink glasses.

“To Jo and Edgar. May you be happy and in love forever,” Tony says with a wide grin.

At the mention of love, my heart constricts a bit as confusion and surprise flood through me. Didn’t Edgar tell them about how he feels about me? Or is it something that Tony just assumed?

From Court, Ivy and Pascal’s pleased expressions, it’s obvious that Edgar’s family believes that Edgar and I are together out of love. And Edgar’s looking at the four with a fond smile, like he’s grateful for their acceptance of our relationship and he has nothing to correct about what Tony just said.

With more control that I thought I could muster, I maintain my cheery face. I don’t want anybody to think anything’s wrong. And maybe, just maybe, Edgar didn’t correct Tony because he’s starting to have some feelings for me. He’s been much more open about wanting our relationship to become permanent—marriage and all. So it is possible that even though he initially said he didn’t love me, he’s starting to come around.

It puts me in an optimistic mood.

We start eating. As soon as food hits my belly, I realize I’m actually really hungry.

“So tell me what you do. I’ve never worked with a fashion consultant,” Pascal says.

“You want to hire her?” Court asks.

“I might, if I knew what it entailed.”

“Nothing complicated. I just make sure you look your best for whatever occasion you need to be at,” I say.

“And she handles fashion emergencies,” Edgar adds.

“Emergencies?” Ivy asks. “What would constitute a fashion emergency?”

In between bites, I tell them about the Maria drama I had to deal with today. Of course, I don’t mention her name. “She’d go around naked if I didn’t stop her, because she honestly doesn’t understand she needs to buy more than purses and shoes.”

“Can’t she just wear what’s in her closet? That’d be better than going nude,” Tony says.

I shudder. “I can’t even imagine what she’d do if I were to suggest such