Page 44 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Isabella, are you going to marry my dad?” His voice cuts through the din, innocent and curious.

I nearly choke on my steak, and for a moment, the world seems to hit pause. The easy rapport, the shared glances—it all hangs suspended in midair. My gaze snaps to Isabella, whose fork is frozen halfway to her mouth.

“Uh ...” is all I manage, eloquent as always.

Isabella’s cheeks take on a rosy hue, and it’s clear neither of us prepared a script for this scene.

“Wow, kiddo,” I chuckle, hoping to defuse the bomb he’s just dropped. “You sure know how to put someone on the spot.”

Caleb looks between us, unfazed by our discomfort, waiting for an answer with the patience only an eight-year-old can muster when they’re expecting dessert.

“Marriage is, uh, a big step, Caleb,” Isabella starts, her lawyer brain likely scrambling to draft a statement that won’t lead to further questioning or emotional perjury.

I nod. “Yep, a very big step.”

“Your father and I don’t plan on getting married. We’re just friends.”

“Right. Friends.” The word tastes like a forkful of overcooked rib-eye steak.

I watch Caleb’s frown deepen, his little brow furrowing as if he’s trying to solve a puzzle where all the pieces look the same. “That’s all you guys are? Friends?”

“Exactly,” Isabella chimes in, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a hint of something—regret? Uncertainty? “But friends can be really important people in our lives.”

“Like Batman and Robin?” Caleb’s analogy almost earns him a spit-take from me.

“Something like that, champ,” I say, chuckling despite the awkwardness clawing at my insides. “Except, uh, without the costumes and crime fighting.”

“Too bad,” he mutters, poking at his gnocchi. “That’d be cool.”

“Wouldn’t it, though?” I muse, glancing at Isabella, who gives me a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Caleb scoops up a big spoonful of gnocchi, oblivious to the emotional gymnastics his dad and pseudo-aunt are performing. “So, no wedding?”

“Weddings aren’t the only way to show you care about someone,” Isabella explains gently, tapping her spoon against her dish thoughtfully. “Spending time with one another and having dinner together counts too, right?”

“Guess that means we should order some dessert, huh?” I interject, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yup!” He’s grinning now. “Isabella can pick, though.”

I point to his bowl. “You need to take one more big bite of your gnocchi before we order.”

Without hesitation, Caleb takes a big forkful of his food and eats it, a bit of parmesan smearing on his cheek. Caleb laughs, the sound clear and pure, and for a second, I wish life could be as simple as he sees it.

Isabella laughs too, and it’s like a hit of caffeine straight to my heart. There’s a warmth there, a shared moment of genuine joy that dances dangerously close to the line between “just friends” and whatever mess of feelings we’re actually wading through.

“Tiramisu it is, then,” she agrees, and we lean into the comfort of dessert and denial. But even as we banter and laugh, I can’t shake the feeling that Caleb’s question has unspooled something delicate between us, leaving a tangle neither of us is ready to sort out. Not yet.

***

We arrive at Isabella’s apartment after dinner. I kill the engine, and the car hums into silence. Caleb’s stuffed dinosaur drops from his limp hand, hitting the seat with a soft thud that seems louder than it is. I glance back to see his chest rise and fall in the steady rhythm of sleep, his forehead pressed against the cool window.

“Hey,” I say gently, catching Isabella’s eye, “can we talk for a sec?”

Outside, the night feels like a splash of cold water after the stuffy warmth of the diner. Isabella’s breath fogs in front of her as she wraps her arms around herself, looking up at me with raised eyebrows.

“Sorry about that curveball earlier,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. The gesture does little to ease the knot there.

She gives a dismissive wave. “It’s fine. Kids have zero filters, remember?” Her smile doesn’t quite hide the edge in her voice, that lawyerly shield snapping up even outside thecourtroom.

---