Page 4 of Doctor Billionaire's Surprise Baby

Tucked away in the corner, a secluded booth draped in privacy awaited our arrival. Dominic, Logan, Austin, and I slid into the plush velvet seats. The intimate space seemed to shrink even further, bringing us closer together; friends bound by years of shared history and laughter. We were also bound by business and it felt like carefree nights like this were growing further and farther between as we juggled the day-to-day of running our medical practice.

There was Dominic – the analytical one, Logan – the fun one, and Austin – just an all-around good guy. Going through medical school together was more than bonding. The late nights studying, late nights partying and basically growing up together in some of the most formative parts of our adult lives made us family. Family by choice.

It also didn't hurt that we formed the Fearless Foursome, or F2. We formed the stupidly named investment club when we graduated from school. We knew we wanted to build a practice, but we also knew we had to pay ourselves and invest for the future. We started day trading with our combined savings and shit, we hit it big with a few lucky guesses in the stockmarket. It's not something we advertised a lot, but let's just say that being neurosurgeons was due to a shared passion, and nothing to do with having to earn money. We were billionaires, a few times over after a few lucky investments in start-ups that went to the big leagues. None of us were crying for cash, and that made life pretty entertaining and easy.

"Wow, this place is something," Austin laughed, his blue eyes dancing with excitement as he took in the elegant chandeliers and rich tapestries adorning the walls.

It was true. This was a bit more upscale than the bars we usually haunted.

“Only the best for us,” I said with a wink. But I felt a swell of pride at introducing them to one of my favorite spots in Boston. A surprisingly quiet place in the ever-bustling North End neighborhood. It felt like Italy. It felt like home. “I invited Seth, too, by the way. He should be here any minute.”

Seth was Simone’s older brother and the first friend I had in this city. They were both born here, but lived in Italy with their grandmother for a while. I met Seth at school and becamehisfirst friend in Italy. When I came to Boston for medical school and while Seth was in law school, we shared the crappiest, tiniest, buggiest apartment in Cambridge and had the time of our lives. Unfortunately, he wasn't part of F2, and he worked hard for what he had. He wasn't hurting in the money department by any means, being one of the best criminal lawyers in Boston, but he still had to watch what he spent.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Seth said as he rushed to the booth, shirt wrinkled and tie loose around his neck – the hallmark of an overworked man. It was helpful that he and the rest of the guys got along so well.

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Dom said, sliding over to give him a space in the booth.

We spent a few minutes scanning the menu. My mouth watered at the descriptions of decadent pastas and tender cuts of meat. They even had the menu just like we had it in Italy. Antipasti, primi, secondi, dolci and caffe. I took a few minutes to explain the menu to the guys because I'm sure they were kind of expecting to indulge in some crazy large pizza. Today we were doing authentic Italian and I couldn't wait.

A waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt came to get our aperitivo and antipasti orders – our pre-meal drinks and appetizers – and offered to bring a few extra drinks on the house.

Small talk and Red Sox scores–my friends were much better at keeping up with local sports–filled the space until the food started to arrive.

As I savored the first bite of bruschetta, the tangy tomatoes and fragrant basil sending shivers down my spine, Logan raised his glass in a toast.

"Here's to us, guys. We haven't been able to get together as often as we would like, but if we would all stop being so brilliant at our jobs and crushing it in the office and the surgical suites, we could do this more. To a continued thriving practice!" We all roared in agreement.

As the food arrived and the conversation slowed due to our eating, Austin cleared his throat and leaned forward, his expression turning serious.

"So, Hugo, about your green card situation: where are you at with that?"

I felt a familiar knot tighten in my stomach at the mention of my immigration status. "Well," I began cautiously, swirling the wine in my glass. "My current visa will expire in six months, and it's taking longer than expected to get the green card approved."

"Man, that's rough," Austin sympathized, taking a drink of wine. "But you have one of the best immigration lawyers working on it, right? I'm sure it'll all work out in the end."

“My lawyer is the best. He’d better be for what I’m paying him.” I forced a smile to mask my growing unease. "But the waiting, the uncertainty... it's starting to take its toll on me." I took a sip of my wine, hoping to wash away the bitter taste of doubt lingering on my tongue.

"Hey," Austin said gently, that earnest gaze of his never leaving mine. "You're one of the best neurosurgeons in the country, and you have an amazing support system here. We'll all do whatever we can to help you through this."

"Grazie, Austin," I murmured, touched by his unwavering loyalty. "That means more to me than you know."

The evening continued, laughter and spirited conversation chasing away our worries for a few precious hours. As we raised our glasses in a toast to friendship and brighter days ahead, I couldn't help but feel that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, I was exactly where I was meant to be.

A comfortable lull in conversation took over when Dominic cleared his throat.

“I can’t help thinking about your immigration issue. Why don’t you get married?” Dom said, swirling the burgundy liquid in his glass and raising it as if he had a brilliant idea in his head. “Hey, maybe Simone would be willing.”

His giant smile and wide eyes flickered only when Logan kicked him under the table, and he turned his comical expression toward Seth. Seth was doing his best to memorize thepattern in the plaster of the ceiling, while showing us his huge eye roll.

Austin dropped his fork, and it clattered loudly on the plate next to his cheesecake. The noise echoed through the restaurant, drawing a few eyes toward our table.

I stared at Dominic in disbelief, completely sure that I was completely unsure what he just suggested.

"Dom, what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart raced, pounding against my chest like the beat of a primal drum. MarrySimone? I wasn’t sure what scared me more about the idea: her brother’s avoidant gaze from the other side of the table or the pleasant warmth that swept through my body at the thought of being with Simone.

"Think about it," Dominic continued, undeterred by my reaction. "You've known Simone for years, and you two get along well. If you got married, it would be a marriage of convenience. You'd get your green card, and she'd... well, she'd be married to a successful neurosurgeon." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, as if this alone was enough to convince me. Or her.

"Wait, wait," I interjected, holding up a hand. My face must have been flushed, because this was all little too weird. "This is too much. I can’t marry Simone. I could never ask her to do something like that."

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