Mr Reluctant Billionaire || BWWM

Sixty

Nausea or fatigue, I don’t know which I will pick. Right now, I am tired of being tired from doing nothing all day. Pregnancy is a lot of work. Brandon is acting suspicious, my advisor is giving me hell, my shirts are tighter, jeans barely fit. Everything is against me.

Taking the stairs two at a time in a yoga pant pulled over my football-sized bump, I step into the kitchen and head straight for the fridge, the bottle of Nutella hidden behind an egg box. Sunlight baths the top of the island in a golden glow, I dip my hand into the chill chocolate goodness, scooping it into my mouth. Brandon will have a heart attack if he sees me right now with chocolate staining the corners of my lips but that can never equal the headache from my overthinking due to his attitude. He can’t even act normal.

He had better not be cheating on me or I will cut off his balls and feed it to him. He can’t cheat. He won’t.

With the stress of handling an advisor who is on my neck about redoing the second chapter of my thesis, I cannot deal with a cheating scandal. I can’t even think straight without constant migraines. Rubbing a hand over my belly, I picture myself giving my girl a long lecture when she disobeys me. She will never hear the end of this pregnancy.

She? I laugh. We haven’t checked the gender, I am curious, Brandon is too but we want it to be a surprise. I want a girl, he wants a boy. But I know it will be a girl, a mother knows best, I think. If it were a boy, I would have felt his movements long ago. Nothing up till now because girls are little angels who don’t roll around in their mother’s bellies.

The bag of crisps draws my attention to the task at hand, I place the jar of Nutella on my bump after spreading some on a crunchy piece. I moan my satisfaction when the piece disappears into my mouth, bobbing my head. The first time I asked Brandon to join me in this delicacy, he blanched. I can never understand his disgust, it’s almost the same thing as eating toast and Nutella, people eat that right? Yeah, they do. I am normal.

“You eat too much,” a voice says behind me. I flinch and the jar crashes to the floor. The arms that wrap around me stops me from cleaning the mess, I inhale his scent. “Wifey.”

Brandon is home. My husband is home.

The excitement dies when I remember his words, I frown and push the second bag of crisps away with a mild look of disgust. I didn’t realise I was on the second bag until he spoke, if he hadn’t arrived this moment, I might have gotten started on the third. It is his fault, he left to work without me. I have nothing else to do other than eat, eat, eat, think.

He twirls my chair, I scan his face. His hair is ruffled, eyes tired and I fold my arms across my chest. “I eat too much,” I say and sweep a hand over my body. “So, I’m fat?”
Brandon freezes, he must have realised how much of a bad joke that was and offers me a contrite smile. I am used to his expensive jokes but today, I am not up for it. He has been out there all morning and the first thing he says to me on his return is that. I make to turn away from him, the floor needs cleaning but he places a hand on each side of me.

“I missed you.” Pulling me flush to him, well, as much as my bump allows, he pecks me. I refuse to relax, he steps back to inspect my face, one hand holding mine. “Of course not, you are not fat, baby. I didn’t mean it like that.” A smile springs to my lips, he called me baby. He pushes my shirt up to caress my belly, one kiss on my bump and my resolve weakens. “You are perfect.” His tongue runs over his upper lip, I lick mine. “Forgive me?”

Bunching my shirt below my breasts, I place my hands on his waist. “On one condition.”

“Elna.”

I shake my head. “Baby, call me baby.” His eyes narrow, I bat my eyelashes and he sighs, I want to be his baby too. “What are you hiding?” His mouth drops, fear races through me. “I know you are hiding something?” He confirmed it by his reaction. His jaw ticks, I allow a second pass before saying, “What? Say it. I am no longer attractive to you? Is it another woman?” My voice cracks, he pries my hands off him. “It better not be Sophia.”