Page 180 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Look at me, all domestic goddess with my billionaire husband. Pretty sure this wasn’t covered in my Business Administration degree.

“Tatiana?” Dom’s voice carries from inside. “Sabrina just texted. They’re running ten minutes late.”

I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe, still in his work clothes minus the jacket, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms. Costa Rica’s sun has been good to him. He looks... relaxed. Happy. So different from the guilt-ridden, control-obsessed man I first married in Vegas.

“Good,” I say, walking back inside. “That gives me time to check on dinner.”

He shakes his head and chuckles. “You still have trust issues with professional chefs.”

“Hey, it’s not Antoine I have trust issues with, it’s ovens!” I quip.

Dom catches my hand as I pass, pulling me against his chest. “We just got back from Costa Rica yesterday. We could have eaten out.”

“And miss the chance to show off our fancy dining room? Please.” I press a quick kiss to his lips. “Besides, I wanted to celebrate.”

His smile turns smug. “The resort?”

“That, too.”

His eyes darken with understanding, and his palm slides possessively over my still-flat stomach. “You want to keep it a secret?”

I nod, fighting the ridiculous grin threatening to take over my face. “Just until we’re past the first trimester. Though I’m pretty sure Christopher has figured it out. He keeps sending me these knowing looks whenever I decline coffee.”

Which is basically torture, by the way. Coffee withdrawal while growing a human? Cruel and unusual punishment.

The oven timer beeps, saving me from Dom’s next question. I wriggle free and head to the kitchen, where Antoine has left everything meticulously organized. Notes with precise heating instructions accompany each dish. Precisely the way I like it.

“You know,” Dom says, following me, “we could have had Antoine stay.”

“And have him hovering while Jess inevitably asks inappropriate questions about our sex life? No thanks.” I slide on oven mitts and remove a tray of perfectly browned salmon. “I love your staff, but sometimes a girl just wants dinner with friends without an audience.”

Dom chuckles and reaches past me for wine glasses. “Speaking of friends, Nichols mentioned that Sabrina’s been canceling half your lunch dates last minute lately. Security detail gets all prepped for nothing.”

“That’s because she’s trying to hide something obvious,” I mutter without thinking.

Dom freezes, bottle mid-pour. “What?”

Shit. Way to keep a secret, Tatiana.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just a theory. She’s been claiming it’s ‘the flu’ for months now? And always wearing those massive sweaters even in this heat? Come on.”

Dom’s eyes narrow. “And you think it’s...?”

I shrug, arranging roasted vegetables on a serving platter. “Let’s just say some ‘flus’ last about nine months and result in tiny humans. Trust me, I should know.” She pointedly pats her midsection.

The intercom buzzes before Dom can press further. He sets down the wine bottle and goes to answer, and I hear the distant sounds of our security team clearing our guests for entry.

“Nico arrived at the same time as Sabrina and Jess,” Jake is saying.

“What are you saying, he camewiththem?” Dom asks.

“No no,” Jake replies. “He arrived in a separate vehicle.”

Five minutes later, our dining room fills with the chaos. Sabrina waddling in despite her best efforts not to, draped in what can only be described as a tent masquerading as a fashionable oversized sweater. Jess chattering excitedly about some new club she wants us all to try. And Nico, looking surprisingly put-together, his scars somehow less angry against his skin than when I first met him.

“The prodigal brother returns,” I tease, accepting Nico’s awkward hug. We’re not exactly besties, given how we met, but we’ve reached a strange, tentative peace in the months since Dom confronted him.

“Still can’t believe you forgave this asshole,” Nico says, jerking his thumb toward Dom.

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