Page 23 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him in earnest.

“Eh. It’s all right,” he says, though I can tell he’s pleased. “I like this place better than the Aspen house, though it could use a woman’s touch.”

“What’s wrong with the Aspen house?”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know. It’s just a little . . . medieval dungeon.”

I snort.

“Are you hungry?”

“These days, I’m always hungry.”

Garrett grins and takes my hand, leading me into the dining room. Floor-to-ceiling windows fill the wall, and a set of French doors leads out to the terrace. The long glass table is already set for two, and he deftly pulls out a chair for me so I can sit down.

“What can I get you to drink? Sparkling water? Iced tea? I do a mean mocktail . . .”

“Water’s fine,” I say, my nerves ratcheting up a notch. This room, the table — it all feels very formal, considering I’m wearing sweats.

Garrett brings me a glass of water and scurries back to the kitchen in a hurry. He reappears a moment later with a ceramic dish full of crab dip, along with a plate of freshly baked bread and cut veggies.

“The appetizer,” he announces with a little flourish of his hand.

My stomach rumbles at the sight of his spread, and I have to restrain myself from pouncing on the appetizer like a starving animal. Garrett takes the seat beside me, and I put my napkin in my lap before serving myself a scoop of crab dip in a very ladylike manner.

“Mmm,” I say as I take the first bite. It’s hot and gooey and just a little bit spicy, and I immediately want to eat it with a spoon. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Well, my family has employed Michelin-star chefs since I was a boy,” he explains. “I bribed one of them to give me some recipes for tonight that I couldn’t possibly screw up.” He winces. “Well, technically, I did screw up our entrée, but I think you’ll find the replacement more than satisfactory.”

A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “I’m sure I will.”

“Wait — crab isn’t going to make you feel sick, is it?” he asks, looking suddenly panicked. “I know that being pregnant can make you queasy.”

I shake my head. “I was a little sick during the first trimester, but I’m past that now. I’m good with crab.”

Something like hurt flickers in Garrett’s eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by relief. “Good.”

Unease oozes into my stomach, and I surreptitiously study his face on the pretense of getting more bread. Garrett looks totally content now, but I can’t ignore what I saw.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the baby,” I murmur. “It was pretty shitty of me.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t blame you for just . . . trying to move on.”

“I should have told you,” I whisper. “I just . . . I’d already left town when I found out, and I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with it.”

Garrett presses his lips together in a tight line. I can tell he wants to say something, but instead he gets to his feet and heads back into the kitchen.

I slump back in my chair with a sigh, feeling as though I said the exact wrong thing. I don’t know Garrett — that much is clear. Somebody who sends me Fendi sweatpants and painstakingly cooks a beautiful meal doesn’t fit with the image I had in my mind of the playboy billionaire.

A moment later, Garrett reappears with two square plates. He sets one down on the table in front of me, and I can’t help but laugh with delight.

Before me is an expertly plated dish. A bundle of grilled asparagus tied with bacon is propped on an artful pile of what is unmistakably white-cheddar mac and cheese.

“I burned the beef Wellington,” he confesses. “But I figured mac and cheese fit the theme of our sweatpants night.”

“It looks . . . delicious,” I say, mouth watering at the sight of the gooey cheese sauce dripping from the outer noodles.

Being pregnant has turned me into a ravenous beast, and it takes all of my self-control to handle the meal one dainty bite at a time. The mac is perfectly salty and creamy, and the crunch of bacon tossed in the sauce adds an extra decadence to the concoction. The asparagus is cooked to perfection, as well, and I quickly clean my plate.

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