Page 28 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Thanks,” I say, turning to leave. But there’s one more thing. “Hey, I need to slip out early today. Lamaze class.”

He finally looks up, something flickering in his eyes that I can’t quite read. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow. “You know you don’t have to pretend to care.”

“I want to,” he insists, then asks, “What time?”

“1 p.m.,” I reply, surprised by the offer but not about to question it.

He nods decisively. “We’ll go together.”

“Great,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean it. One thing’s for sure, though: Today just got a whole lot more interesting.

***

I shuffle into the Lamaze class at Adrian’s side, feeling a cocktail of nerves and something that might be excitement. The room is filled with pregnant bellies and anxious fathers-to-be, all trying to look like they’ve got a handle on the impending chaos of parenthood.

“Never been to one of these before,” Adrian murmurs, his gaze sweeping the room. “Colette wasn’t exactly inclusive when it came to ... well, anything baby related.”

“First time for everything,” I quip, but there’s a flutter of relief in my chest that he’s here with me, experiencing this novelty. It feels less lonely, less daunting.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, swapping my pencil skirt and blouse for leggings and an oversized shirt—because comfort is key when you’re practicing how to breathe through labor.

We dive into the class, and I’m immediately lost in the world of “hee-hee-hoo” breathing. Adrian’s attempts are more “ha-ha-what?” which earns us both sidelong glances and stifled giggles from our classmates.

“Are you sure you’re not hyperventilating?” I tease, as he puffs out air like he’s trying to blow down a brick house.

“Are you sure you’re doing it right?” he shoots back, his tone light but edged with mock competitiveness.

“Let’s focus on our own breathing, shall we?” the instructor chides gently, though her lips twitch with amusement.

“Sorry,” we mutter in unison, then exchange a defiant smirk.

Our instructor smiles, but then turns to the room. “Why don’t we move on to the best labor positions? Does anybody here know which position is best to ensure a smooth and safe delivery?” She wanders over to the board at the front of class containing a diagram with several different positions and points to it.

“I’m telling you, gravity works wonders,” I insist, crossing my arms confidently. “Upright positions help speed things along.”

Adrian, sitting beside me, raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Sure, but do any of these positions involve not looking like I’m trying to break you out of a pretzel? Some of these look like advanced yoga poses gone wrong.”

The instructor chuckles, sensing the opportunity for a teaching moment. “Actually, standing and leaning positions, or even sitting on a birthing ball, can be quite effective. They allow gravity to assist, as Isabella mentioned, while keeping you more comfortable.”

I give Adrian a smug look. “See? Gravity for the win.”

Adrian shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, but I didn’t sign up to be your human jungle gym. What if we just, I don’t know, walk? People have been walking for centuries.”

A few of the other couples laugh, and the instructor smiles patiently. “Walking is a great option, but it’s good to have alternatives. Some women prefer more supportive positions when contractions get intense.”

Adrian rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Okay, but some of these poses … I mean, this one—” he rises and points to a picture on the diagram that involves squatting while holding onto a partner’s shoulders. “This looks like I’m trying to carry a backpack I didn’t sign up for.”

I burst out laughing, earning a playful glare from Adrian. A small part of me now wishes he had taken these classes with his ex-wife. “You’re supposed to be supportive, remember?”

“Yeah, well, I can be supportive and not look like I’m auditioning for Cirque du Soleil,” Adrian shoots back, his lips twitching with a suppressed grin.

The instructor steps in, trying to mediate. “It’s all about finding what works for you both. Maybe we try a simple leaning position, where Isabella can hold onto a chair or the bed, and Adrian, you can give her a massage from behind?”

Adrian’s eyes brighten. “Now that, I can get behind. Literally.”

The room erupts into chuckles again as I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh. “Fine, we’ll skip the acrobatics. But I still say gravity’s going to win this argument.”

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