Page 123 of My Big, Fat, Secret Billionaire Baby

I turn, finding Sabrina standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She’s still watching me. Her arms are crossed, but the tension seems to have drained from her posture.

“You’re good at that,” she whispers.

“Beginner’s luck,” I whisper back, limping toward her. “Or maybe she just exhausted her rage quota for the night.”

A small smile touches her lips. “Maybe.”

I quietly shut the door, and we leave the hallway, heading to the kitchen. I sit down on one of the stools immediately, relieved to finally take the weight off my leg.

We stand there in the quiet kitchen,the shared experience and mutual exhaustion creating a fragile bubble of intimacy around us.

“Sabrina,” I start, needing to break the spell, needing to address the logistical elephant in the room. “We never really talked about… how long this should last. You staying here.”

She looks down, avoiding my gaze. “I know. It’s… temporary. Until the media frenzy dies down. Until I feel safe going back to my apartment.”

“And what if it doesn’t die down?” I press gently. “What if this is the new normal? Paparazzi following you? Bloggers speculating? Your address is compromised.”

She sighs, finally looking up at me, her eyes troubled. “I don’t know, Leo. I haven’t figured that far ahead. Move somewhere else, maybe? Different neighborhood?”

“Stay,” I say, the word out before I fully process the thought. But once it’s out, it feels… right. “Stay here. Indefinitely. For now, anyway. It’s safer for Mia. Easier, maybe? Logistically?”

And maybe I don’t want you to leave.

The thought hangs there, unspoken.

Terrifying.

She searches my face, clearly surprised. “Stay here? Permanently?”

“Not permanently, unless…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. “Just… for the foreseeable future. Until things settle. Until we figure out a better long-term plan. The guest suite is basically an apartment in and of itself. You have privacy. And,” I add, trying for a lighter tone, “access to Rafael’s cooking and Thomas’s organizational skills. Perks, right?”

She bites her lower lip. I see the internal struggle. Her fierce independence warring with practicalnecessity and Mia’s safety. And maybe with whatever tangled feelings are brewing between us.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Okay, Leo. For Mia’s safety. We’ll stay. At least for now.”

Though it’s only a “for now,” relief floods me.

“But,” she adds quickly, holding up a hand as if anticipating my next thought, “I’ll continue sleeping in the guest suite. Not… not your bed.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Why not? After last night…”

“Because,” she interrupts firmly, though a faint blush colors her cheeks, “I don’t want to wake you if Mia needs handling at 3 AM again. Sharing a bed… it’s too… disruptive. For you. For Mia’s routine.”

Bullshit.

That’s an excuse. A well-reasoned, practical excuse, maybe, but still an excuse. Because when Mia cries at 3 AM, I wake up regardless of whether Sabrina leaves my bed or not.

I realize she’s keeping that one last boundary firmly in place.

A way to avoid full commitment?

A way to keep an escape hatch open?

Maybe just residual distrust?

Probably all of the above.

Fine.

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