Page 109 of The Billionaire's Baby

"So?" My father digs his elbows into the table, then places the tips of his fingers together. "You leave the country and sever all family relationships because you want to build your career on your own steam, then you turn up married? When were you going to tell your family about it?" He scowls at me and I shuffle my feet.

Shit, why does it feel like I am five again and sneaking off behind his back to do something I shouldn't?

"There's nothing to tell, because we are not married...yet."

"And the ring?" My father scowls at my hand, "What's that about?"

"That...uh..." I toy with the band but don't take it off, "that was for the benefit of Arpad's family. We were trying to convince his grandmother that we were married, because she's unwell and may not have much longer to live and—"

My father's gaze narrows. "So, you lied to her?"

I flush. "Uh, yeah, that was the general idea," I mumble.

"And the marriage? Whose idea was that?"

"It...uh, it was his idea."

I jerk my chin toward Arpad, at the same time that he says, "It was her idea."

My father glances between us.

"So, both of yours?"

"No," I say.

"Yes," Arpad snaps.

My father's gaze widens.

"So, did both of you come up with the idea?"

"He suggested a pretend marriage first," I nod toward Arpad. Not that I am going to tell my father why. If he finds out that I'd been trying to get pregnant through artificial insemination he'll have a cardiac, and I definitely don't want that to happen. "Then," I swallow, "I proposed to him."

My father turns to Arpad, "And you accepted."

"Yes." Arpad glowers at me.

"Hmm." My father scowls, "Unconventional." He rises to his feet, walks over to where Arpad stands over me. My dad looks him up and down. "So, you want to marry her?"

Arpad holds his gaze, "Yes, Sir."

"And you promise to take care of her, for the rest of her life?"

Arpad opens his mouth to reply and I throw up my hands.

"Hold on, him taking care of me? I can take care of myself."

"I'm not talking to you," my father informs me.

"But both of you are talking about me."

"Don’t talk back to me," my father snaps, and I wince.

"Why is it that all of the men in my life think it’s their right to tell me what to do?"

"Because I’m your father."

"And I’m your husband," Arpad growls.