Page 113 of Sexting the Billionaire

“I’m not sick… exactly,” I say, gently patting the seat beside me. “There’s something we need to tell you. Something that didn’t come from those awful blog posts.”

I can see her trying to connect the dots—her brow furrows, her mouth opens, closes. Then her eyes widen slightly, like the truth slides into place all at once.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, her hand going to her mouth. “You’re pregnant. That’s what all those stories were really about.”

I nod, watching her expression carefully. "Seven weeks. We just found out ourselves, barely a week ago. We were going to tell you this weekend, after things settled down."

"And today? What happened today that has you looking like death warmed over and Roman hovering like a helicopter parent already?"

"A scare," Roman answers when I hesitate. "Some bleeding. But the doctor says everything is fine."

Mia's eyes widen, her hand reaching automatically for mine. "Oh my god, Cass. Are you okay? Is the baby okay?"

"We're both fine," I assure her, squeezing her hand. "Just a false alarm that reminded us how quickly priorities can change."

"So I'm going to be an aunt." A smile blooms across Mia's face, genuine excitement replacing concern. "Aunt Mia. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"The best," I agree, relief flooding through me at her immediate acceptance. "Though I'm still getting used to the idea of 'Mom' myself."

"You're going to be amazing at it," she says with characteristic certainty. Then, surprisingly, she turns to Roman. "Both of you are."

The simple vote of confidence seems to catch Roman off guard. He's been watching our exchange with careful attention, as if measuring Mia's reaction, preparing for rejection or judgment. Instead, her easy inclusion of him in this new family configuration visibly moves him.

"Thank you," he says simply. "That means more than you know."

Mia stays for an hour, her presence bringing normalcy to what has been the most abnormal day. She chats about her internship, about a new technique she's developing, about everything except the media storm surrounding us. It's exactly what I need—a reminder that life continues beyond headlines and health scares.

After she leaves, Roman and I sit in comfortable silence, his arm around my shoulders, my head resting against him. The day's events have left me drained but strangely peaceful. Nothing like a brush with tragic loss to clarify what truly matters.

"We need to get ahead of this," I say finally. "The media speculation, the half-truths. We need to tell our own story."

Roman nods, his fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm. "I've been thinking the same thing. No more hiding, no more separate arrivals at events, no more pretending our relationship doesn't exist outside office hours."

"A joint statement?" I suggest. "Simple, factual, with a request for privacy regarding the pregnancy?"

"That's a start." He shifts to look at me directly. "But I think we need more. A clear signal that this isn't just some office fling or power play."

I study his face, reading the determination there. "What exactly are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting we face this together. Completely together." His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "Move in with me. Not to my penthouse—somewhere new, like we discussed. Somewhere that's ours."

The offer hangs between us, momentous and mundane simultaneously. Living together. The logical next step, yet somehow more significant than even the pregnancy in formalizing what we are to each other.

"That's a big step," I say, though my heart is already racing ahead to imagine it.

"So is having a child together," he points out with a small smile. "But yes, it is. And I'm not proposing it just because of the baby, or the media situation. I'm proposing it because I sleep better with you beside me. Because my penthouse feels empty when you're not there. Because I love you, and I want our lives intertwined in every way possible."

The simple honesty in his voice undoes me. This man who calculates every business risk, who strategizes three moves ahead in every negotiation, is offering the most straightforward truth: he wants me with him. Not for optics or convenience, but because he sleeps better when I'm there.

"Yes," I say, the word coming easily. "Let's find our place. Together."

His smile is rare and radiant, transforming his usually serious face. He leans forward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens, his hand coming up to cradle my face with exquisite tenderness.

"The doctor said to rest," I remind him when we break apart, both slightly breathless.

"This is restful," he argues, pressing feather-light kisses along my jaw. "Very therapeutic."

"Is that your professional medical opinion, Dr. Kade?" I tease, though I'm already melting under his touch.

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