Page 31 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

T here he was. My fiancé. The man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. The man that would hopefully give me a bunch of dark-haired, blue-eyed babies.

He was already seated at a corner table in the coffee shop, sipping a big glass of iced coffee while scrolling through his phone.

I took just a second to admire how handsome he was.

He looked very casual in the Nike T-shirt that stretched just enough around his biceps and across his chest to show off that fine physique I loved so much.

He told me he went running in the park this morning.

I offered to go with him and then I remembered I didn’t like jogging.

I didn’t really care for exercise in general.

All the sweating was just a real drag. I preferred Pilates or yoga.

I knew one day I would have to take fitness seriously, but not today.

He looked up and smiled, the kind that made the bottom of my stomach dip in that delicious way I was still getting used to.

That was my man.

I walked toward him.

“Hey, future wife,” Isaac said, standing to greet me.

I leaned in to kiss him, pressing my hands against his chest. “Hey, future husband.”

It had been about a week since we got engaged in the middle of the freaking Grand Canyon, and I was still adjusting to the fact that this was real.

Isaac Bancroft wanted to marry me. Me. Wild, mouthy, temperamental Mina Duvall.

I wore the ring every day like a trophy, flipping it into the light when no one was looking, admiring how it sparkled even in the dimmest settings.

I loved flashing it to anyone that would look.

And given the size of the rock, it was hard to miss.

“I ordered you the usual,” he said.

“Thanks.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him my stomach was a little upset. Had been the last few days. I assumed it was nerves. Things were moving so fast.

“Zayn told Marigold,” Isaac said, brushing his thumb along his jaw. “Now she’s throwing us a BBQ next weekend. At her house. The Bancrofts really like to celebrate engagements. It’s a tradition.”

I blinked. “Your whole family will be there?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t meet my eyes at first. “You okay with that?”

I sipped my coffee and nodded slowly. “I’ll be there. My dad probably will too, now that he’s all Team Wedding.” I tilted my head. “You mind if I invite Tori?”

“Please do,” he said, relief softening his features. “She’ll make it easier.”

“Easier how?”

He smirked. “For you. You haven’t met all of them yet.”

“I can handle myself.” I smiled. “I’m not scared.”

“I was thinking,” Isaac said, leaning forward like he was about to reveal a secret. “What if we don’t wait?”

I narrowed my eyes. “How soon are we talking?”

“First weekend of September.”

I nearly choked on my muffin. “That’s like five weeks from now.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Still summer. We can plan the big stuff this week, lock in the venue, and go from there. You said you didn’t want a drawn-out engagement.”

I stared at him, heart thudding in my chest. “You’re serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

“I like the sound of it.” I swallowed hard. “It’s fast, but it feels right.”

I did want to marry him. The sooner the better. But Tori and I had been planning for a year or so in advance. I would have to find a dress like today.

“You look pale,” he said. “Forget I said anything. We’ll wait.”

“No, no,” I said and waved my hand. “I’m good. I’m excited. I’m just thinking logistics. There’s no way we’re going to find a venue on such short notice. And I’ll have to call in some favors with my favorite designers to see if I can get a dress. And a caterer.”

I was freaking out.

Isaac grabbed my hand. “We can wait.”

I shook my head again. “No. September it is. We can use the Duvall estate. If you’re okay with that. I’d love to have it at home. I would say small but I think small is impossible. Your family alone defies small.”

He grinned. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

I pulled out my phone. “Open your calendar, Future Husband. You better have the next three weeks wide open. We’ve got some stuff to do.”

“I’ve created a monster,” he joked.

“Bridezilla,” I replied. “I have some contacts from…”

“It’s fine,” Isaac said. “I’m glad you didn’t get married. His loss, my score. Fuck him. If you’ve got some stuff picked out, I’m good. I don’t see it as a runner-up situation.”

“I’m not going to use the same dress,” I told him. “But I did have my eye on some flowers.”

“Hit me,” he said in his usual casual way.

“Peonies,” I said, leaning in as if it were a secret. “Lots of them. White, blush, and that deep magenta. I want them everywhere—on the tables, in my bouquet, lining the aisle. They’re romantic but not too fussy. And they smell incredible.”

Isaac nodded, his expression serious now, like he was committing every word to memory. “Peonies. Got it. Anything else?”

“Yes,” I said, tapping my chin as ideas started to flood my mind. “String lights. Like, thousands of them. I want the whole garden to glow. And a live band. Something jazzy but modern. No cheesy wedding covers.”

“Sea shanties?” he teased.

“Hell no. And no ice sculptures or champagne towers.”

“I remember the rules—no champagne towers.”

“And my dress is going to be stunning if not a little risqué,” I said.

His eyes popped up from where he’d been tapping out notes on the screen. “Risque?”

“Yes. There’s this designer that does…” I stopped myself and grinned. “You’re just going to have to wait and see.”

“Woman, now you’ve got me rock hard in a fucking coffee shop,” he muttered.

A wave of nausea washed over me. I took another bite of the muffin, hoping it would settle my stomach. I waited too long to eat breakfast. I’d been up late last night with Tori scouring every bridal site and searching for the right song that was perfect for me and Isaac.

“What about food? You know my family’s going to have opinions.” He looked thoughtful.

“We’ll need something hearty but elegant,” I said.

“Italian? Pasta stations, but also mac and cheese for the kids. I know your family is on a mission to populate the world with little Bancroft babies. And a dessert bar—mini pies, cupcakes, and of course, a cake. Shit! We have to find a baker immediately. And you’ll need to be available for cake tasting. ”

As I pulled up Google to do a search, I caught a glimpse of my ring.

Part of me wanted to marry him now and plan a wedding for later.

I didn’t want to let this man get away. But that was the panic talking.

Isaac wasn’t Sampson. He wasn’t going to change his mind.

He would marry me. I knew it. I felt it in my gut.

“I can’t believe all this is happening,” I murmured, almost to myself. “It’s so wild. I have to pinch myself every morning.”

He reached for my hand. “Same.”

And that was when the lightheadedness hit. One second, I was sitting there grinning like an idiot, and the next, the room tilted like a boat in choppy water.

“Hey.” Isaac’s voice was suddenly sharp. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly, waving him off. “I think I waited too long to eat breakfast. I’ll be fine.”

But I wasn’t. A sharp pain stabbed through my right side, low and mean and insistent. I winced and set down my coffee, gripping the edge of the table. “Oof. Okay, that’s new.”

“Mina.” Isaac was already half out of his seat. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. Cramps?” My voice was too high-pitched. I was trying to brush it off, but I could see in his eyes he wasn’t buying it.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’m taking you home and right to bed. You can eat breakfast in bed.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “It was just a passing pain.”

That was a lie. It hurt like hell and I was certain I was going to puke at any second.

“Bullshit,” he said. “We’re leaving.”

When I tried to stand, my legs felt like Jell-O. Isaac caught me with one arm around my waist and the other under my knees before I even made it two feet. He picked me up bridal style and for one fleeting second I imagined him on our wedding night holding me just like this.

“You’re going to the hospital,” he said.

“I’m fine?—”

He was already carrying me out the door. He stuffed me into his Porsche and took the time to put my seatbelt on. I wanted to argue and tell him I was fine, but I wasn’t. My stomach felt like someone had lodged a hot knife in it and was stirring up all the stomach acid.

Isaac drove like a maniac. I vaguely remember him cursing at stoplights and flipping on his hazard lights to blaze through traffic.

The pain hadn’t subsided, and it was starting to scare me.

I didn’t argue when he pulled up to the ER and carried me inside like he owned the place, barking at the staff like some kind of very sexy, very worried warlord.

If I wasn’t so miserable I totally would have been turned on and trying to strip him naked.

I got whisked away. Nurses, IVs, machines. Isaac paced the room like a caged lion, rubbing his hands over his face every ten seconds. After an hour or two, he stepped out to call my father after I insisted I was feeling much better.

That was when the doctor came in.

“Miss Duvall,” he said with a calm smile. “We’ve reviewed your scans. It looks like you have acute appendicitis. We’ll need to remove your appendix within the next hour.”

“Oh.” My voice felt small. “Okay.”

He hesitated. “One other thing.”

I blinked at him. “Yeah?”

“Did you know you’re pregnant?”

Silence.

I stared at him, sure I had misheard. “What?”

“You’re pregnant. Very early—about three weeks along. But the bloodwork and imaging confirm it. The fetus is safe, and there’s no risk to the baby from the surgery. Everything should be fine.”

I was numb. Frozen. My mind struggled to compute the words. Pregnant? That didn’t make sense. I hadn’t missed anything. Hadn’t noticed any changes. The nausea the last couple of days. I thought it was just stress.

Oh my God.

Pregnant .

The doctor moved on, talking me through the next steps, the surgery timeline, the anesthesia. I heard none of it. My ears were ringing. My brain was sprinting in a dozen different directions.

Pregnant.

With Isaac’s baby.

Holy shit.

Isaac came back just as they were preparing to wheel me out. He rushed to my side, grabbing my hand and brushing my hair back from my face.

“They’re taking you in?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.

I nodded. “Yeah. It’s appendicitis.”

“I’ll be here. The whole time. I’m not going anywhere. Your dad is in LA. He said he’s on his way.”

I squeezed his hand. “Thanks.”

I wanted to tell him about the baby. The words sat on the tip of my tongue.

But I couldn’t do it. Not yet. Not like this—rushed, panicked, in a cold hospital gown with beeping machines around me. I needed a second to breathe, to think.

So I let them wheel me away.

The operating room was bright and sterile. I tried to focus on anything other than the rapid beat of my heart or the idea of a baby growing in my belly. It felt like a dream, a weird, floating-out-of-body dream where nothing felt anchored to reality.

I was pregnant.

I loved Isaac. I really, truly did.

And I wanted a family. I had always wanted to be a mom. Had even told him that in the bathtub back in Vegas, when everything felt soft and glowy and right.

But this? This was fast. This was now. This was a little life taking root inside me when I hadn’t even figured out how to be a wife yet.