Page 42 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Really. That’s so sweet,” Isabella adds.

“Love always finds a way to work its magic. I can see it in the way the both of you look at each other.” The father-to-be leans in closer like he’s about to reveal the secret of the Universe. “He looks at you like he’d give you the moon if he could.”

A blush creeps up on Isabella’s cheeks, and she glances down at the linoleum floor before I can catch anymore of her reaction. Is she uncomfortable, or flattered?

“Thank you,” I reply, tugging at the corner of my mouth in what I hope passes for a smile.

Isabella stands beside me, her shoulders squared with joy that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, tinged with an awkwardness that speaks volumes.

The mom-to-be eyes Isabella’s belly. “How far along are you, Isabella? You’re hardly showing.”

“Twelve weeks. I’ve taken to wearing loose clothing. It’s going to become more obvious within the next few weeks, I think.” Isabella places a hand on her stomach, and my lips part when I catch thehint of a baby bump. It’s small, but her belly is sticking out a bit more than usual.

I turn to the couple. “Is this your first?”

“Nope. Third time’s the charm, right?” her husband says, chuckling and patting his wife’s bump.

“Or third time’s for bravery awards,” I quip, earning a light chuckle from the couple. But as they beam at us, I catch the flicker of something in Isabella’s gaze—something like longing or maybe just a pang of fear. I can’t decide which, but either way, it has me questioning if she sees a future with us beyond baby boot camp buddies.

A knot tightens in my chest, one that’s becoming all too familiar. I shove it aside and focus on the here and now—the way Isabella’s hair catches the light, how it makes her green eyes pop. If only she knew I’d give her more than a co-parenting contract; I’d write her a blank check for her heart if she’d let me.

“Any tips for surviving the first year?” Isabella’s question snaps me back to the present.

“Stock up on coffee and concealer,” the mom-to-be says, pointing to the dark circles under her eyes like battle scars from sleepless nights past. “And maybe earplugs, depending on your tolerance for the midnight symphony.”

Isabella lets out an almost inaudible laugh, and I bask in the sound, even though it’s brief and fleeting.

When the conversation lulls and the couple mingles with another group of parents, I seize the moment for a gesture that’s been simmering in my mind.

“Hey, before I forget,” I say, pulling out my phone with a casualness that belies the thumping in my chest. “Let’s add our locations to each other’s phones.”

“Location?” Isabella asks as we make our way out of the building.

“Think of it as a digital umbilical cord,” I quip as we amble toward the parking lot, my phone in hand. The sun is high, casting long shadows on the pavement that seem to reach out like fingers trying to trip us up.

Isabella’s stride falters for just a second, her sharp gaze locking onto the screen as I navigate through the settings. She arches an eyebrow, the corners of her lips twitching with uncertainty. “Isn’t this a bit ... much?”

“Emergencies come in all flavors,” I reply, shrugging as if sharing locations isn’t a big deal—though it’s about as subtle as a billboard declaring “I’m into you.”

“You know, in case you ever need to find me in a crowded bookstore because I got lost in the thrillers section.”

It sounds ridiculous even to my ears, but there’s a truth behind the humor that I hope she hears.

Her hesitation is brief, almost imperceptible, but it’s there. A moment of vulnerability where she lets herself rely on someone else. It’s a leap for Isabella King, whose independence is as much a part of her as her relentless ambition. But then she nods, and I can practically hear the “what the hell” she’s thinking.

“Okay, Adrian. Just in case of emergencies,” she concedes, and there’s a smile there, private and small, that tells me it’s not the inconvenience she’s worried about—it’s the connection. And it’s getting harder by the day to pretend I don’t want that connection to turn into something more tangible.

She passes her phone over to me so I can work my tech magic. When I’m done, I hand her phone back, and the slight curl of her lips feels like a win. I pocket my own device, pushing down the urge to make a bigger deal out of this than it is. Colette would’ve taken a mile if I’d given her an inch, but with Isabella, every inch feels like anegotiation.

“Your chariot awaits,” I say, gesturing grandiosely towards my SUV before going around to open the passenger door for her.

She rolls her eyes, but her smile only grows bigger as she slips inside.

Traffic is a snail-paced monster, but I let the car idle in the afternoon crawl, stealing glances at Isabella as she scrolls through her phone. There’s a certain calm that’s settled over us since the class ended, something unfamiliar and not entirely uncomfortable.

“Caleb won’t stop talking about you, by the way. He keeps asking when he’ll see you again. Says he wants to thank you for helping him a while back,” I say, breaking the silence. A smile tugs at my lips as I watch her reaction.

Isabella looks up, clearly surprised. “Really?” she asks, her voice tinged with something like wonder.

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