Fatima's POV
Meeting up with Milan always gave me a little slice of peace. My god brother, my partner in crime since we were kids, and one of the few people who could make me laugh even when life was completely on fire.
He was in LA for the week, doing a styling campaign for some music exec's wife, and texted me the minute he touched down. "Lunch. Tomorrow. Somewhere cute, preferably where they serve real carbs and not foam," is what the text said. Classic Milan.
So we met up at one of our favorite low-key spots in West Hollywood — tucked off Melrose, great wine list, nobody bothering you if you showed up in sunglasses and attitude.
I spotted him before he even reached the table — dripped in neutrals with a silk scarf tied around his head like he was about to host a Vogue panel. I rolled my eyes with a grin.
"Well if it isn't Mister 'Don't tag me, the girls are watching,'" I teased as he leaned in for a hug.
He laughed loud and messy, already pulling his chair out. "And don't you ever tag me unless I got my angles right. You know the rules."
We ordered quick — I got a grilled chicken salad I probably wasn't gonna finish, and he ordered the truffle fries like he didn't just tell me he was on a cleanse yesterday.
"So," he said, sipping his cucumber water like it was wine. "How's married life with your superstar fiancé?"
I smirked. "Engaged life. Still not married yet. Life's been... a lot."
He leaned forward, eyes already nosy. "Is all that Sabrina drama true? Or just internet foolery?"
I rolled my eyes, stabbing my lettuce. "Boy, you only asking 'cause you like that girl."
"And do!" he said with a grin, unapologetic. "I mean, she's fine and chaotic. My kind of challenge."
I gave him a look. "You really want a woman that posts passive-aggressive captions every time she loses an argument?"
He shrugged, unfazed. "As long as she look good doing it. I can live with it"
I shook my head, laughing in spite of myself.
Then — without thinking — I rubbed my stomach lightly, which was becoming a habit I hadn't even realized I was doing until Milan's eyes narrowed.
"Wait..." he said slowly, pointing at me. "Is that... is that what I think it is?"
I froze for half a second before nodding.
"You're pregnant? Wait. That's real? I thought that was just Sabrina's messy rumor of the week!"
"Nope," I said, sipping my water calmly. "Very much real. Very much happening."
His jaw dropped before he smiled big, standing halfway out his chair to lean over and hug me. "Oh my God, Fatima! Congratulations! You about to be somebody's mother? That's crazy."
I laughed. "It's crazy to me too."
After we caught up for a bit — swapped gossip, talked about my pregnancy symptoms, how Zac's been over-the-top protective, and how Kolby's fully switched from calling me 'Titi' to 'Mommy' — an idea started brewing in my head.
I needed peace. Some damn space. And the only reason I couldn't get it was because Sabrina refused to stay in her lane.
So I leaned back in my seat and looked across the table at my god brother, who was now scrolling through his phone looking at something ridiculous.
"Oh brother..." I started, slow and sweet.
He glanced up, suspicious already. "Uh-oh. What?"
"You wanna do me a favor?"
