Page 182 of My Big, Fat, Accidental Billionaire Husband

Dom’s response floats after me: “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

I follow Sabrina down the hall, watching as she navigates with the awkward caution of someone carrying precious cargo. In the privacy of the massive bathroom, she sinks onto the edge of the tub with a sigh.

“How far along are you really?” I ask, leaning against the counter.

She glares up at me, one hand unconsciously cradling her belly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s just weight gain from stress.”

“Sabrina, come on. I’m pregnant, too, remember? I recognize the signs.” I soften my voice. “I’m not judging. I’m worried about you.”

She deflates slightly, exhaustion evident in the slump of her shoulders. “Seven months,” she finally admits. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not with anyone. Not yet.”

Holy plot twist, Batman.

“Leo?” I guess quietly. “From Vegas?”

The shock in her eyes confirms it. “How did you—”

“The timing works out. Plus, I remember how you woke up in his room after taking GHB.”

She presses her fingers to her temples. “He doesn’t remember anything. And I... I can’t deal with this yet.”

I sit beside her, careful not to crowd her space. “You know you don’t have to handle it alone, right?”

“I know,” she sighs. “Just... not tonight. Please.”

I help her stand, thinking of the resort in Costa Rica rising from raw earth. Of the baby growing inside me. Of the therapy sessions slowly healing brothers torn apart by trauma. Of the child Sabrina carries, another unexpected Vegas consequence.

“Good foundations,” I murmur, more to myself than to her.

“What?” she asks, confused.

I smile, squeezing her hand. “Nothing. Just thinking that life has a funny way of building exactly what we need, even when we’re not looking for it.”

Hours later, after our friends have left and the dishes are tucked away (thank you, Antoine, for the detailed instructions on leftovers), Dom and I find ourselves on the balcony again.

The city glitters below us. His arm is wrapped around my waist, his palm resting protectively over my stomach.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“How utterly ridiculous our story is,” I admit. “Vegas wedding. Temporary marriage contract. Billionaire husband with a guilt complex. It’s absurd.”

“Don’t forget the part where I tried to trade you to my brother and you forgave me anyway.” His voice turns serious, his eyes finding mine in the moonlight. “Still not sure how I got that lucky.”

“It wasn’t luck,” I tell him, resting my palm against his cheek. “It was choice. Every day, we choose each other. Through all the chaos and complications, we keep choosing this.Us.”

Dom’s hand covers mine, turning to press a kiss against my palm. “I’ll choose you every day for the rest of my life, Tatiana.”

“Same,” I whisper back. “Though I reserve the right to reconsider when I’m eight months pregnant and can’t see my feet.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. “Fair enough.”

We stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms. Below us, the city continues its relentless pace. But up here, time seems suspended.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” I ask. “That night in Vegas, when we woke up married...”

“Never,” he admits. “I was too busy panicking about the resort deal to see what was right in front of me.”

“And I was too busy plotting my escape to notice I was falling for you.”

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