Page 45 of My Horrible Arranged Marriage (Bancroft Billionaire Brothers #20)

MINA

I stood in the elevator on my way up to Isaac’s penthouse.

I smoothed my hands down the front of my dress for the tenth time.

The silk clung in a way that made me acutely aware of every curve—especially my stomach.

Rationally, I knew I wasn’t showing. I was barely past six weeks, not even enough for my jeans to start protesting.

Still, the mirror at home had become my worst enemy.

Every tiny bloat, every barely there curve, made me panic.

I was so paranoid. I was convinced my secret was going to come out before I was ready. There was no way anyone would look at me and know I was pregnant. I had gained exactly one pound. And that was pretty normal.

“Just water retention,” Tori had assured me this morning while eating an entire muffin in two bites. “You’re not showing. You’re just stressed. And wearing unforgiving fabric.”

She wasn’t wrong. The pale gold silk dress I’d chosen was gorgeous.

It had delicate straps, a soft cowl neckline, a draped skirt that hit just below the knee—but it showed everything.

And I wanted to look beautiful tonight. Isaac had texted me earlier saying he had a “special night” planned.

No clues, no hints. Just a smirking emoji and a time to be there.

I’d spent half the afternoon alternating between nervous and giddy.

We had both been trying to divide and conquer with the wedding stuff. We hadn’t had a chance to really spend time together. We kept saying we had the rest of our lives. We would get married and have every morning and every night together.

I stepped out of the elevator and into Isaac’s foyer. Isaac stood there in a dark button-up and slacks, barefoot, with sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. The man had no right to look that good in his own living room.

Hot damn.

This was my husband. Well, almost.

“Wow,” he said, eyes sweeping over me slowly. “You look…”

“Overdressed?” I offered, trying not to fidget.

“Stunning,” he finished, stepping back to let me in.

I felt my cheeks warm as I crossed the threshold. “You look hot. Sexy. And I’m suddenly really horny.”

“Save it.” He laughed. “I’m going to wine and dine my fiancée. I figured I should at least brush my hair and put on something more than jeans.”

“I noticed. Did you also iron your shirt?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, and gestured toward the kitchen. “Wine?”

My heart did a little anxious flip, but I smiled. “Sure.”

He poured me a glass of white and handed it over before grabbing one for himself.

I let him clink glasses with me, brought it to my lips, and made the smallest, fakest sip in history.

The moment he turned to grab something off the stove, I padded quietly into the kitchen, tipped the wine down the sink, and added a splash of water to the glass from the tap.

“I’ll get my shoes on,” he said.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Actually, nowhere,” he said.

“What?”

“We’re going to have a nice, romantic dinner right here,” he replied.

“You got dressed up for dinner here?” I asked.

“If you want to go out, we can,” he offered.

“No!” I cleared my throat. “I mean, no. This is perfect. How about we make a deal?”

“I’m always willing to make a deal with you.”

“You leave off your shoes and I’ll take off my heels. We’ll wear our fancy clothes, but we’ll let our feet be comfy.”

He laughed. “That’s a deal I’m happy to accept. Do I have to put on my tie?”

“Nope,” I replied. “Leave it off. I like it off.”

I made it back to the counter before he turned around and took a very convincing sip. He didn’t notice. He was too busy pulling a pan from the oven and plating what looked like seared scallops with risotto and grilled asparagus.

“You cooked ,” I said, raising a brow. “Like, real food?”

“Um, I kind of cooked,” he admitted. “I ordered in, but I am going to grill the steaks. They’re marinating. I’m going to take the steaks up.”

“Up?”

He waggled his eyebrows. “Patio. Rooftop dining experience.”

“Should I get some dishes?” I offered.

“Table is already set. But you can grab the risotto.”

I followed him up the stairs to the rooftop, balancing the risotto plate carefully in my hands. The moment I stepped outside, I gasped.

The entire rooftop had been transformed.

String lights were draped across the space, casting a warm golden glow over everything.

The small table was covered with a crisp white tablecloth, set with fine china and crystal glasses.

Candles flickered in hurricane lamps, protected from the gentle summer breeze.

“Isaac,” I breathed, taking it all in. “This is beautiful.”

He took the risotto from my hands and set it on the table. “I figured we needed a night just for us. No wedding planning. No tabloids. No family drama. Just you and me.”

The city sprawled out around us. The sun was just beginning to set, painting Manhattan in shades of pink and gold. The city could be loud and obnoxious, but from up here with the sun casting everything in a soft glow of yellow, it was gorgeous.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” I said, sinking into the chair he pulled out for me.

“I’ll do anything for you,” he replied easily.

He moved to the small grill set up in the corner, placing the steaks on with practiced ease. The sizzle filled the air. Thankfully, the smell was making me hungry instead of nauseated.

“I forgot the wine,” Isaac said.

“I’ll get it,” I said and jumped up.

I hadn’t forgotten the wine. I was hoping he wouldn’t remember. I went downstairs, dumped the rest of my glass, and filled it with water. Hopefully, in the dim lighting he wouldn’t notice it was missing that faint beige color.

I returned with the wine and sat down. His focus remained on the grill. I watched him and felt more in love with him by the minute. Standing there barefoot, shirt hanging loose and looking absolutely devastating was doing things to my body I hadn’t expected.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting across from me, and we were enjoying the dinner he had so thoughtfully planned.

“Delicious,” I said. “Really good.”

“Thank you.”

“This is truly beautiful,” I said breathlessly.

“I thought we could use a night to breathe.”

God, he was right. Between the wedding planning and the pregnancy, my brain had been in a constant state of spin. But up here, with him, everything slowed down.

We ate, we laughed. We talked. It was strange because we were going to be married in a week, and we didn’t really know all that much about each other.

“Were you a precocious child?” I asked him.

He laughed, a genuine sound that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I was a nightmare. My parents put me in every sport imaginable just to burn off my energy. Baseball, soccer, swimming—you name it, I tried it.”

“Did any of them stick?” I asked, cutting into my steak.

“Swimming,” he said, a nostalgic smile playing at his lips. “I was actually pretty good. Won some regional competitions. But then I discovered girls, and suddenly spending every day in a pool seemed less important.”

I snorted. “Of course that’s what derailed your Olympic dreams.”

“What about you?” he asked, leaning forward, his eyes reflecting the string lights above us.

“I bet you were perfect. Straight A student, never talked back, always had your room clean. You probably did the dance thing. Ballet. Or that contemporary stuff. I have a niece that dances. Pretty good at it, too.”

“Hardly,” I said, laughing. “I was a disaster. I went through a phase where I cut my own bangs every two weeks. And I once convinced the staff to let me paint my entire bedroom black. And I mean all of it. Walls, ceiling, everything.”

“No way,” Isaac said, eyes widening. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen. My rebellion started early. Dad was so mad he couldn’t see straight. Made me live in it for six months before he let me repaint.”

Isaac’s smile widened. “I would’ve loved to see that.”

“I have pictures somewhere. I’ll show you someday.”

Someday. Such a simple word, but it carried so much weight.

“I was thinking,” he said. “After the wedding, we should start looking for our place. I mean, I know you’re going to move in here, but I want a place that’s ours.”

I blinked.

He said it so casually. So confidently. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Seriously?” I asked, heart suddenly racing.

“Yeah,” he said, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand.

I laughed, a little breathless. “You want that?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

I felt something unravel. All the caution. All the wariness. All the rules I’d made for myself after Sampson. I lectured myself to stay guarded. Told myself I didn’t need anyone. I was strong. I would never let anyone make me feel the way Sampson did.

With Isaac, I didn’t feel like I had to be anything other than exactly who I was.

“I would love that,” I said.

“Good.”

“You’ve brought me so much peace, Isaac,” I said, voice trembling slightly. “I didn’t realize how far off the rails I was. How much I’d stopped trusting people. I’ve been so angry, and scared, and cold. I didn’t even recognize myself. But with you, everything feels different.”

“Mina—”

“No, let me finish,” I said, gripping his hand a little tighter. “You’re the first man I’ve ever trusted this deeply. Fully. I didn’t think I had that in me anymore. But you’ve always been in my corner. Even when I didn’t deserve it. And I just thank you. For that. It means everything.”

Things got quiet. And weird. I felt the shift in the mood. Had I said too much? He was a man after all. Men didn’t do the feelings thing.

I saw the second he pulled back. A shadow crossed his features. My stomach dropped. I definitely went too far.

“I need to talk to you about something,” he said.

I froze.

Oh God. He knows.

That’s why he was suddenly so serious. He’d figured it out.

He noticed me not actually drinking the wine.

He put it all together. He had noticed me get sick at the tasting.

Maybe I wasn’t being as stealthy as I thought.

Maybe I was already showing. Maybe he’d noticed the way I’d sniffed the risotto like a bloodhound before daring a bite.

I swallowed. “Okay.”

He glanced down, then back at me. “It’s something we should’ve talked about sooner.”

My heart thudded. I put my fork down carefully, my appetite suddenly gone. “Isaac…”

He looked like he was struggling to keep himself together. “Yeah?”

“Can we maybe not talk about it tonight?” I asked, my voice soft, almost pleading. “I’ve had a really long week. And with the wedding coming up so fast, I just… I don’t think I can take anything else on right now.”

He hesitated. “This is important.”

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Please? After the wedding. We’ll deal with everything after the wedding.”

He looked at our hands for a long moment, then nodded. Slowly. Reluctantly.

“Okay,” he said. “After the wedding.”

I felt like I had just been given a pardon. A reprieve. I would have to come clean, but it could wait a week.