Page 28 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

And his silver eyes are as serious as I’ve ever seen them. He reaches into his suit pocket, and pulls out a small, black velvet covered square box. A ring box.

His hands are shaking slightly as he opens it and reveals the contents. A gold ring with a deep-red stone, surrounded by dozens of smaller clear stones. It’s totally excessive. It’s beautiful.

“A marriage of convenience,” I hear myself say faintly. “Because of the baby?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he catches my hand in his. Deftly, he removes the ring and tosses the box away without looking. Then using both hands to hold one of mine, he slowly drags the gold band onto my finger.

The metal is cool, but his hands are warm, and the ring is so lovely, I could weep. It’s not at all unlikely, given how pregnancy is making me. I can’t say anything because my throat has closed from emotion.

If Dane wants me to be his wife, I’ll figure out the way to be the best wife I can for him, even if I never earn his love. I am not the sort of idiot who thinks being close but not quite enough is too painful. I’ll take what I can get, love my baby—our baby—and Dane, and consider myself lucky.

And I’ll live off the memory of the night he made me his, and gave me a baby, and this sweet moment when I can delude myself that he’s proposing because he loves me too.

He rubs his thumb over my knuckles where I’m now wearing his ring.

“Marry me. Be my wife.” It’s not quite a question. Typical of Dane.

I nod, my stupid heart expanding.

“Say it. Say yes,” he demands.

It’s so reminiscent of that night when he wanted me to tell him yes before he split me open and gave me a baby, it makes speaking difficult all over again.

“Yes.” The word comes out as a squeak. I don’t even need “please” this time.

He nods slowly, and I could swear he’s relieved. He laces our fingers together, and squeezes.

“The blood tests are back.” His voice is controlled.

I freeze, my body turning to brittle ice as I realise I’ve delayed too long.

“When were you going to tell me?” he says with deadly calm.

“About what?” I croak. But I know. The shiver over my skin as he strips me naked with his eyes says everything.

“I asked you.” Muscles twitch as he clenches his jaw. “I told you I couldn’t remember that night.”

It takes all my strength not to run. I can see myself, clutching my pregnant belly and sprinting out of the room in a futile attempt to not have this conversation with the father of my child and my billionaire boss. Most especially with a man who is known for casually murdering anyone who gets in his way.

I think deceiving him about whether we had sex, and then getting pregnant and refusing to terminate probably falls under the second category, judging by his expression.

I’m trembling. The fear pulses through me as I open my mouth and try to come up with an excuse that isn’t a terrible betrayal.

“What happened?” he asks again. He hasn’t let me go. Our fingers are still laced together, the engagement ring mocking me. Was that a trick?

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry as a plant I’ve been tasked with caring for. I don’t know whether to try to back away or say something sensible like, “I love you and please don’t be upset with me, I just really wanted your baby.”

Then my chin is between his forefinger and thumb, and he’s jerked it up so I’m looking into his face. He’s silent for a long beat, and I realise that what I assumed was anger, is torment. He’s in pain.

“Tell me what happened, Stephie. Please.”

And that one word unravels me. He’s only said please to me once before, and my body melts in recollection.

“You said in the morning you couldn’t remember, and I thought you were lying,” I whisper. “You said you’d been drugged, but you were acting weird. I assumed you didn’t want it to be awkward, because I’m your employee…” I trail off, desperate to make him understand, but aware I messed this up. “You had this expression on your face, like you felt… Guilty? As though you knew that we had sex.”

Dane rubs his thumb over my bottom lip slowly, then releases my chin and slides his fingers up over my cheek, pulling me to him with our clasped hands.

“I thought it was a hallucination.” He pushes his fingers into my hair. “I thought it was impossible. I dreamed that you were in my arms, all night. And I thought I’d done something stupid or terrible, or both,” he admits in a low, tortured voice. “I feared I might have hurt you, or scared you.”