Page 29 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

Adrian leans in closer, his voice soft but playful. “As long as I don’t end up doing downward dog in the delivery room, I’ll let gravity take the lead.”

I smirk, leaning into his side. “Deal.”

“Your child is going to have such fun with you two,” the instructor observes, her eyes twinkling. “Laughter is the best medicine, after all.”

Adrian gives me a pointed look, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. But inside, the tension unwinds a notch. This back-and-forth—it’s our weird rhythm, and it steadies me more than any breathing technique ever could.

Because even though we can’t agree on the little things, when push comes to shove—literally—we’re on the same page. And that’s what matters.

Finally, the Lamaze instructor announces the end of the session, and I can’t help but feel a weird mix of relief and disappointment.Adrian’s been surprisingly supportive—well, in his own sarcastic, Adrian-like way.

“From now on, I’m coming with you to these things,” he declares as we stand up, folding the yoga mat like he’s negotiating a business deal. “And the doctor’s visits.”

“You sure?” I arch an eyebrow, unable to hide my surprise. “You want to be involved?”

“Yes, Isabella,” he says, his voice serious for once. “I think we’ll make good partners.” My heart skips at “partners,” but then he adds quickly, “Co-parents, I mean.”

“Right, co-parents.” But secretly, I down a flutter of something that feels dangerously like hope.

We walk out of the building and into the crisp air. The evening sun casts long shadows across the parking lot as we head to his SUV.

“You’ll take me back to my car, right? I’m parked in the firm’s lot.”

“Actually, let me take you home. I want to see where our kid will be living,” he decides, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Fine,” I consent, too tired to argue.

His SUV purrs to life, and soon, we’re pulling up to my apartment building. We ride the elevator up in silence, but my curiosity is piqued and loud in my mind. Adrian really wants to raise the baby with me. Yesterday, I was certain I would be doing this solo.

Stepping off the elevator, I lead the way to my door and unlock it. I step inside, with Adrian close behind.

“Two bedrooms,” he murmurs, more to himself than to me, as he begins his inspection tour. He pokes his head into my home office, seemingly already envisioning it repainted in pastel colors and filled with stuffed animals and storybooks.

“This will be perfect for the nursery,” he says, making mental notes. “The dimensions are perfect for a toddler’s bedroom.”

“I know,” I reply, arms crossed over my chest. “I’ve already thought about it.”

“Of course you have,” he nods. “But we’ll need to make sure everything is top-notch. Safety first.”

“Adrian, we’re not decking out a royal nursery here,” I snap, trying to keep my cool. “Let’s just stick to the essentials.”

“Isabella.” He turns towards me, eyes meeting mine, “I don’t skimp on two things—legal cases and family. We’ll get the best for our kid.”

“Great, can’t wait for the diamond-encrusted crib,” I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes.

He chuckles, unfazed by my sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I won’t go overboard. But if it’s a choice between fancy and safe, we’re going with safe.”

“Fine,” I concede, knowing there’s no point arguing with him on this. “But don’t expect me to start getting used to luxury.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he grins, and starts listing baby items like he’s reciting court evidence. It’s meticulous, thorough, and so very Adrian.

And, if I’m being honest with myself, maybe it’s also a tiny bit endearing. Just a tiny bit.

“Is that all then? Did everything pass your inspection?”

“Shouldn’t we check the bedroom too?” Adrian’s casual suggestion reverberates in the hallway, and I’m tilting my head at him, eyebrow cocked in suspicion.

“Why?” I challenge, half expecting him to spout something about crib placement or square footage.

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